THE FARMER’S WOLDEST DĀ’TER.
No, no! I ben’t a-runnèn down
The pretty maïden’s o’ the town,
Nor wishèn o’m noo harm;
But she that I would marry vu’st,
To sheäre my good luck or my crust,
’S a-bred up at a farm.
In town, a maïd do zee mwore life,
An’ I don’t under-reäte her;
But ten to woone the sprackest wife
’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter.
Vor she do veed, wi’ tender ceäre,
The little woones, an’ peärt their heäir,
An’ keep em neat an’ pirty;
An’ keep the saucy little chaps
O’ bwoys in trim wi’ dreats an’ slaps,
When they be wild an’ dirty.
Zoo if you’d have a bus’lèn wife,
An’ childern well look’d after,
The maïd to help ye all drough life
’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter.
An’ she can iorn up an’ vwold
A book o’ clothes wi’ young or wold,
An’ zalt an’ roll the butter;
An’ meäke brown bread, an’ elder wine,
An’ zalt down meat in pans o’ brine,
An’ do what you can put her.
Zoo if you’ve wherewi’, an’ would vind
A wife wo’th lookèn ā’ter,
Goo an’ get a farmer in the mind
To gi’e ye his woldest dā’ter.
