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POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.
JEÄNE.
Well, if so be that you be stout
On voot ageän, you’ll vind me out.
JOHN.
Aye, better chaps woont goo, not many steps vor you,
If you do hawk yourzelf about.
RACKETÈN JOE.
Wull John, come too?
JOHN.
No, thanks to you.
Two’s company, dree’s nwone.
HER BROTHER.
There don’t be stung by his mad tongue,
’Tis nothèn else but fun.
JEÄNE.
There, what d’ye think o’ my new ceäpe?
JOHN.
Why, think that ’tis an ugly sheäpe.
JEÄNE.
Then you should buy me, now theäse feäir,
A mwore becomèn woone to wear.
JOHN.
I buy your ceäpe! No; Joe wull screäpe
Up dibs enough to buy your ceäpe.
As things do look, to meäke you fine
Is long Joe’s business mwore than mine.
JEÄNE.
Lauk, John, the mwore that you do pout
The mwore he’ll glēne.
JOHN.
A yelpèn lout.
