Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound,
An’ liked by all the naïghbours round.
There sons did pull the bells that rung
Their mothers’ weddèn peals avore,
The while their fathers led em young
An’ blushèn vrom the churches door,
An’ still did cheem, wi’ happy sound,
As time did bring the Zundays round,
An’ call em to the holy pleäce
Vor heav’nly gifts o’ peace an’ greäce;
An’ vo’k did come, a-streamèn slow
Along below the trees in row,
While they, in merry peals, did sound
The bells vor all the naïghbours round.
An’ when the bells, wi’ changèn peal,
Did smite their own vo’ks window-peänes,
Their sof’en’d sound did often steal
Wi’ west winds drough the Bagber leänes;
Or, as the win’ did shift, mid goo
Where woody Stock do nessle lew,
Or where the risèn moon did light
The walls o‘ Thornhill on the height;
An’ zoo, whatever time mid bring
To meäke their vive clear vaïces zing,
Still Lydlinch bells wer good vor sound,
An’ liked by all the naïghbours round.
THE STAGE COACH.
Ah! when the wold vo’k went abroad
They thought it vast enough,
If vow’r good ho’ses beät the road
Avore the coach’s ruf;
An’ there they zot,
