My bwoys, that brought me thatch an’ spars,
Wer down a-taïtèn on the bars,
Or zot a-cuttèn wi’ a knife,
Dry eltrot-roots to meäke a fife;
Or drevèn woone another round
The rick upon the grassy ground.
An’, as the aïer vrom the west
Did fan my burnèn feäce an’ breast,
An’ hoppèn birds, wi’ twitt’rèn beaks,
Did show their sheenèn spots an’ streaks,
Then, wi’ my heart a-vill’d wi’ love
An’ thankvulness to God above,
I didden think ov anything
That I begrudg’d o’ lord or king;
Vor I ha’ round me, vur or near,
The mwost to love an’ nwone to fear,
An’ zoo can walk in any pleäce,
An’ look the best man in the feäce.
What good do come to eächèn heads,
O’ lièn down in silken beds?
Or what’s a coach, if woone do pine
To zee woone’s naïghbour’s twice so fine?
Contentment is a constant feäst,
He’s richest that do want the least
BEES A-ZWARMEN.
Avore we went a-milkèn, vive
Or six o’s here wer all alive
A-teäkèn bees that zwarm’d vrom hive;
An’ we’d sich work to catch
The hummèn rogues, they led us sich
A dance all over hedge an’ ditch;
An’ then at last where should they pitch,
But up in uncle’s thatch?
