An' Nan' gi'ed Tom a roguish twitch Upon a bank, an' meäde en pitch Right down, head-voremost, into ditch,-- Tom coulden zee a wink. An' when the zwarm wer seäfe an' sound In mother's bit o' bee-pot ground, She meäde us up a treat all round O' sillibub to drink.
As I wer readèn ov a stwone In Grenley church-yard all alwone, A little maïd ran up, wi' pride To zee me there, an' push'd a-zide A bunch o' bennets that did hide A verse her father, as she zaïd, Put up above her mother's head, To tell how much he loved her:
The verse wer short, but very good, I stood an' larn'd en where I stood:-- "Mid God, dear Meäry, gi'e me greäce To vind, lik' thee, a better pleäce, Where I woonce mwore mid zee thy feäce; An' bring thy childern up to know His word, that they mid come an' show Thy soul how much I lov'd thee."
"Where's father, then," I zaid, "my chile?" "Dead too," she answer'd wi' a smile; "An' I an' brother Jim do bide At Betty White's, o' tother zide O' road." "Mid He, my chile," I cried, "That's father to the fatherless, Become thy father now, an' bless, An' keep, an' leäd, an' love thee."
Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much, Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch Her litsome heart by day or night; An' zoo, if we could teäke it right, Do show He'll meäke his burdens light To weaker souls, an' that his smile Is sweet upon a harmless chile, When they be dead that lov'd it.
Come out to the parrock, come out to the tree, The maïdens an' chaps be a-waïtèn vor thee; There's Jim wi' his fiddle to plaÿ us some reels, Come out along wi' us, an' fling up thy heels.
Come, all the long grass is a-mow'd an' a-carr'd, An' the turf is so smooth as a bwoard an' so hard; There's a bank to zit down, when y'ave danced a reel drough, An' a tree over head vor to keep off the dew.
There be rwoses an' honeyzucks hangèn among The bushes, to put in thy weäst; an' the zong O' the nightingeäle's heärd in the hedges all roun'; An' I'll get thee a glow-worm to stick in thy gown.
There's Meäry so modest, an' Jenny so smart, An' Mag that do love a good rompse to her heart; There's Joe at the mill that do zing funny zongs, An' short-lagged Dick, too, a-waggèn his prongs.
Zoo come to the parrock, come out to the tree, The maïdens an' chaps be a-waïtèn vor thee; There's Jim wi' his fiddle to plaÿ us some reels,-- Come out along wi' us, an' fling up thy heels.