Girt stocky Jim, an’ lanky John,
An’ poor wold Betty dead an’ gone;
An’ cleän-grown Tom so spry an’ strong,
An’ Liz the best to pitch a zong,
That now ha’ nearly half a score
O’ childem zwarmèn at her door;
An’ whindlen Ann, that cried wi’ fear
To hear the thunder when ’twer near,—
A zickly maïd, so peäle’s the moon,
That voun’ her zun goo down at noon;
An’ blushèn Jeäne so shy an’ meek,
That seldom let us hear her speak,
That wer a-coorted an’ undone
By Farmer Woodley’s woldest son;
An’ after she’d a-been vorzook,
Wer voun’ a-drown’d in Longmeäd brook.
An’ zoo, when he’d a-been all roun’,
An’ paid em all their wages down,
She us’d to bring vor all, by teäle
A cup o’ cider or ov eäle,
An’ then a tutty meäde o’ lots
O’ blossoms vrom her flower-nots,
To wear in bands an’ button-holes
At church, an’ in their evenèn strolls.
The pea that rangled to the oves,
An’ columbines an’ pinks an’ cloves,
Sweet rwosen vrom the prickly tree,
An’ jilliflow’rs, an’ jessamy;
An’ short-liv’d pinies, that do shed
Their leaves upon a early bed
She didden put in honeyzuck:
She’d nwone, she zaid, that she could pluck
Avore wild honeyzucks, a-vound
