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That skull 'at's moolded green an' gray,
T'awd saxton dug up t'other day,
Knaws varry neear as mitch as thay
O't' Sunday's sarmon;
Yoo may as weel o't' subject tawk
Te sum awd Jarman.
That poor awd man's noo deead an' geean,
Tis hard te say what way he's teean,
'At used te stand ageean t'funt steean,
Te tack fooaks watches;
Whahl careless lads i't' singin pew
Wur cuttin natches.
An' seea for want o' cultivation.
They shuffle on withoot salvation,
A vast, Ah's flay'd, 's o' this perswasion,
Beeath yoong an' awd;
Te be forgeean they ha' neea nooation.
Till deead an' cawd.
Bud they'll finnd oot afoore't be lang,
'At they've all t' taame beean sadly wrang,
Ther wills may then be ower strang,
Te breeak or bend;
An' noo they say they're ower thrang,
They can't attend.
I' summer taame they'll leeave t'awd nest.
An' driss up i' ther varry best,
An' gallop off alang wi' t'rest,
Te t' fair or reeaces;
A vast gits what they nivver kest
At sike like pleeaces.
