An’ there he wer, a-prowlèn roun’
Upon the green; an’ I look’d down
An’ told en that I hoped he voun’
He mussen think to peck
Upon a body zoo, nor whip
The meäre to drow me off, nor tip
Me out o’ cart ageän, nor slip
Cut hoss-heäir down my neck.
BE’MI’STER.
Sweet Be’mi’ster, that bist a-bound
By green an’ woody hills all round,
Wi’ hedges, reachèn up between
A thousan’ vields o’ zummer green,
Where elems’ lofty heads do drow
Their sheädes vor haÿ-meakers below,
An’ wild hedge-flow’rs do charm the souls
O’ maïdens in their evenèn strolls.
When I o’ Zunday nights wi’ Jeäne
Do saunter drough a vield or leäne,
Where elder-blossoms be a-spread
Above the eltrot’s milk-white head,
An’ flow’rs o’ blackberries do blow
Upon the brembles, white as snow,
To be outdone avore my zight
By Jeän’s gaÿ frock o’ dazzlèn white;
Oh! then there’s nothèn that’s ’ithout
Thy hills that I do ho about,—
Noo bigger pleäce, noo gaÿer town,
Beyond thy sweet bells’ dyèn soun’.
As they do ring, or strike the hour,
At evenèn vrom thy wold red tow’r.
No: shelter still my head, an’ keep
My bwones when I do vall asleep.
