Then he snarl’d at the tea in his cup,
Vor ’twer all a-got cwold in the pot,
But ’twer woo’se when his wife vill’d it up
Vrom the vier, vor ’twer then scaldèn hot;
Then he growl’d that the bread wer sich stuff
As noo hammer in parish could crack,
An’ flung down the knife in a huff;
Vor the edge o’n wer thicker’n the back.
Vor beäkers an’ meäkers o’ tools
Be all fools wi’ Gruffmoody Grim.
Oone day as he vish’d at the brook,
He flung up, wi’ a quick-handed knack,
His long line, an’ his high-vleèn hook
Wer a-hitch’d in zome briars at his back.
Then he zwore at the brembles, an’ prick’d
His beäre hand, as he pull’d the hook free;
An’ ageän, in a rage, as he kick’d
At the briars, wer a-scratch’d on the knee.
An’ he wish’d ev’ry bremble an’ briar
Wer o’ vier, did Gruffmoody Grim.
Oh! he’s welcome, vor me, to breed dread
Wherever his sheäde mid alight,
An’ to live wi’ noo me’th round his head,
An’ noo feäce wi’ a smile in his zight;
But let vo’k be all merry an’ zing
At the he’th where my own logs do burn,
An’ let anger’s wild vist never swing
In where I have a door on his durn;
Vor I’ll be a happier man,
While I can, than Gruffmoody Grim.
To zit down by the vier at night,
Is my jaÿ—vor I woon’t call it pride,—
Wi’ a brand on the bricks, all alight,
An’ a pile o’ zome mwore at the zide.
X
