She walk'd alwone, wi' eye-balls wet, To zee the flow'rs that she'd a-zet; The lilies, white's her maïden frocks, The spike, to put 'ithin her box, Wi' columbines an' hollyhocks; The jilliflow'r an' noddèn pink, An' rwose that touch'd her soul to think Ov woone that deck'd her breast.
Vor at her weddèn, just avore Her maïden hand had yet a-wore A wife's goold ring, wi' hangèn head She walk'd along thik flower-bed, Where stocks did grow, a-staïned wi' red, An' meärygoolds did skirt the walk, An' gather'd vrom the rwose's stalk A bud to deck her breast.
An' then her cheäk, wi' youthvul blood Wer bloomèn as the rwoses bud; But now, as she wi' grief do pine, 'Tis peäle's the milk-white jessamine. But Robert have a-left behine A little beäby wi' his feäce, To smile, an' nessle in the pleäce Where the rwose did deck her breast.
Ov all the cows, among the rest Wer woone that Nanny lik'd the best; An' after milkèn us'd to stan' A-veedèn o' her, vrom her han', Wi' grass or haÿ; an' she know'd Ann, An' in the evenèn she did come The vu'st, a-beätèn üp roun' hwome Vor Ann to come an' milk her.
Her back wer hollor as a bow, Her lags wer short, her body low; Her head wer small, her horns turn'd in Avore Her feäce so sharp's a pin: Her eyes wer vull, her ears wer thin, An' she wer red vrom head to taïl, An' didden start nor kick the païl, When Nanny zot to milk her.
But losses zoon begun to vall On Nanny's fàther, that wi' all His tweil he voun', wi' breakèn heart, That he mus' leäve his ground, an' peärt Wi' all his beäst an' hoss an' cart; An', what did touch en mwost, to zell The red cow Nanny lik'd so well, An' lik'd vor her to milk her.
Zalt tears did run vrom Nanny's eyes, To hear her restless father's sighs. But as vor me, she mid be sure I wont vorzeäke her now she's poor, Vor I do love her mwore an' mwore; An' if I can but get a cow An' parrock, I'll vulvil my vow, An' she shall come an' milk her.
When the warm zummer breeze do blow over the hill, An' the vlock's a-spread over the ground; When the vaïce o' the busy wold sheep dog is still, An' the sheep-bells do tinkle all round; Where noo tree vor a sheäde but the thorn is a-vound, There, a zingèn a zong, Or a-whislèn among The sheep, the young shep'erd do bide all day long.