An’ then wind off ageän, to run
By Blanvord, to the noonday zun,
’Tis only bound by woone rule all,
An’ that’s to vall down steepest ground.
An’ zoo, I thought, as we do bend
Our way drough life, to reach our end,
Our God ha’ gi’ed us, vrom our youth,
Woone rule to be our guide—His truth.
An’ zoo wi’ that, though we mid teäke
Wide rambles vor our callèns’ seäke,
What is, is best, we needen fear,
An’ we shall steer to happy rest.
GOOD MEÄSTER COLLINS.
Aye, Meäster Collins wer a-blest
Wi’ greäce, an’ now’s a-gone to rest;
An’ though his heart did beät so meek
’S a little child’s, when he did speak,
The godly wisdom ov his tongue
Wer dew o’ greäce to wold an’ young.
’Twer woonce, upon a zummer’s tide,
I zot at Brookwell by his zide,
Avore the leäke, upon the rocks,
Above the water’s idle shocks,
As little plaÿsome weäves did zwim
Ageän the water’s windy brim.
Out where the lofty tower o’ stwone
Did stan’ to years o’ wind an’ zun;
An’ where the zwellèn pillars bore
A pworch above the heavy door,
Wi’ sister sheädes a-reachèn cool
