An’ riddèn house is such a caddle,
I shan’t be over keen vor mwore ō’t,
Not yet a while, you mid be sure ō’t,—
I’d rather keep to woone wold staddle.
Well, zoo, avore the east begun
To redden wi’ the comèn zun,
We left the beds our mossy thatch
Wer never mwore to overstratch,
An’ borrow’d uncle’s wold hoss Dragon,
To bring the slowly lumbrèn waggon,
An’ when he come, we veil a-packèn
The bedsteads, wi’ their rwopes an’ zackèn;
An’ then put up the wold eärm-chair,
An’ cwoffer vull ov e’then-ware,
An’ vier-dogs, an’ copper kittle,
Wi’ crocks an’ saucepans, big an’ little;
An’ fryèn-pan, vor aggs to slide
In butter round his hissèn zide,
An’ gridire’s even bars, to bear
The drippèn steäke above the gleäre
O’ brightly-glowèn coals. An’ then,
All up o’ top o’ them ageän
The weaken bwoard, where we did eat
Our croust o’ bread or bit o’ meat,—
An’ when the bwoard wer up, we tied
Upon the reäves, along the zide,
The woäken stools, his glossy meätes,
Bwoth when he’s beäre, or when the pleätes
Do clatter loud wi’ knives, below
Our merry feäces in a row.
An’ put between his lags, turn’d up’ard,
The zalt-box an’ the corner cupb’ard.
An’ then we laid the wold clock-ceäse,
All dumb, athirt upon his feäce,
