An’ her kind heart have a-meäde her.
As an angel at my zide;
I’ve her best smiles that mid plaÿ,
I’ve her me’th when she is gaÿ,
When her tear-draps be a-rollèn,
I can now wipe em awaÿ.
THE DO’SET MILITIA.
Hurrah! my lads, vor Do’set men!
A-muster’d here in red ageän;
All welcome to your ranks, a-spread
Up zide to zide, to stand, or wheel,
An’ welcome to your files, to head
The steady march wi’ tooe to heel;
Welcome to marches slow or quick!
Welcome to gath’rèns thin or thick;
God speed the Colonel on the hill,[1]
An’ Mrs Bingham,[2] off o’ drill.
When you’ve a-handled well your lock,
An’ flung about your rifle stock
Vrom han’ to shoulder, up an’ down;
When you’ve a-lwoaded an’ a-vired,
Till you do come back into town,
Wi’ all your loppèn limbs a-tired,
An you be dry an’ burnèn hot,
Why here’s your tea an’ coffee pot
At Mister Greenèn’s penny till,
Wi’ Mrs Bingham off o’ drill.
Last year John Hinley’s mother cried,
