How he do rant and roar, An' stump an' stamp about the vloor, An' swing, an' slap, an' slam the door! He don't put down a thing, But he do dab, an' dash, an' ding It down, till all the house do ring.
Athirt the bank, Look! how the dog an' he do pank.
Staÿ out, an' heed her now an' then, To zee she don't come in ageän.
When I led by zummer streams The pride o' Lea, as naïghbours thought her, While the zun, wi' evenèn beams, Did cast our sheädes athirt the water; Winds a-blowèn, Streams a-flowèn, Skies a-glowèn, Tokens ov my jaÿ zoo fleetèn, Heighten'd it, that happy meetèn.
Then, when maïd an' man took pleäces, Gaÿ in winter's Chris'mas dances, Showèn in their merry feäces Kindly smiles an' glisnèn glances; Stars a-winkèn, Day a-shrinkèn, Sheädes a-zinkèn, Brought anew the happy meetèn, That did meake the night too fleetèn.
At night, as drough the meäd I took my waÿ, In aïr a-sweeten'd by the new-meäde haÿ, A stream a-vallèn down a rock did sound, Though out o' zight wer foam an' stwone to me.
Behind the knap, above the gloomy copse, The wind did russle in the trees' high tops, Though evenèn darkness, an' the risèn hill, Kept all the quiv'rèn leaves unshown to me,
Within the copse, below the zunless sky, I heärd a nightèngeäle, a-warblèn high Her lwoansome zong, a-hidden vrom my zight, An' showèn nothèn but her mwoan to me.
An' by a house, where rwoses hung avore The thatch-brow'd window, an' the oben door, I heärd the merry words, an' hearty laugh O' zome feäir maid, as eet unknown to me.
High over head the white-rimm'd clouds went on, Wi' woone a-comèn up, vor woone a-gone; An' feäir they floated in their sky-back'd flight, But still they never meäde a sound to me.
An' there the miller, down the stream did float Wi' all his childern, in his white-saïl'd bwoat, Vur off, beyond the stragglèn cows in meäd, But zent noo vaïce, athirt the ground, to me.
An' then a buttervlee, in zultry light, A-wheelèn on about me, vier-bright, Did show the gaÿest colors to my eye, But still did bring noo vaïce around to me.
I met the merry laugher on the down, Bezide her mother, on the path to town, An' oh! her sheäpe wer comely to the zight, But wordless then wer she a-vound to me.
Zoo, sweet ov unzeen things mid be sound, An' feäir to zight mid soundless things be vound, But I've the laugh to hear, an' feäce to zee, Vor they be now my own, a-bound to me.