A-chucklèn low, wi’ merry grin.
Though time ha’ roughen’d up his chin,
’Tis still the seäme true soul ’ithin,
As woonce I know’d, when year by year,
Thik very chap, thik John o’ Weer,
Did plaÿ wi’ William Wellburn.
Come, John, come; don’t be dead-alive
Here, reach us out your clust’r o’ vive.
Oh! you be happy. Ees, but that
Woon’t do till you can laugh an’ chat.
Don’t blinky, lik’ a purrèn cat,
But leäp an’ laugh, an’ let vo’k hear
What’s happen’d, min, that John o’ Weer
Ha’ met wi’ William Wellburn.
Vor zome, wi’ selfishness too strong
Vor love, do do each other wrong;
An’ zome do wrangle an’ divide
In hets ov anger, bred o’ pride;
But who do think that time or tide
Can breed ill-will in friends so dear,
As William wer to John o’ Weer,
An’ John to William Wellburn?
If other vo’ks do gleen to zee
How lovèn an’ how glad we be,
What, then, poor souls, they had but vew
Sich happy days, so long agoo,
As they that I’ve a-spent wi’ you;
But they’d hold woone another dear,
If woone o’ them wer John o’ Weer,
An’ tother William Wellburn.
