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A BIT O’ SLY COORTEN.
33
JOHN.
Then you look smilèn; don’t you pout an’ toss
Your head so much, an’ look so very cross.
FANNY.
Now, John! don’t squeeze me roun’ the middle zoo.
I woon’t stop here noo longer, if you do.
Why, John! be quiet, wull ye? Fie upon it!
Now zee how you’ve a-wrumpl’d up my bonnet!
Mother ’ill zee it after I’m at hwome.
An’ gi’e a guess directly how it come.
JOHN.
Then don’t you zay that I be jealous, Fanny.
FANNY.
I wull: vor you be jealous, Mister Jahnny.
There’s zomebody a-comèn down the groun’
Towards the stile. Who is it? Come, get down.
I must run hwome, upon my word then, now;
If I do staÿ, they’ll kick up sich a row.
Good night. I can’t staÿ now.
JOHN.
Then good night, Fanny!
Come out a-bit to-morrow evenèn, can ye?
