Come, Fanny, come! put on thy whi… ’Tis Woodcom’ feaest, good now! t… Come! think noo mwore, you silly m… O’ chicken drown’d, or ducks a-str… Nor mwope to vind thy new frock’s…

Last Easter Jim put on his blue Frock cwoat, the vu’st time—vier n… Wi’ yollow buttons all o’ brass, That glitter’d in the zun lik’ gla… An’ pok’d 'ithin the button-hole

A happy day, a happy year. A zummer Zunday, dazzlen clear, I went athirt vrom Lea to Noke. To goo to church wi’ Fanny’s vo’k… The sky o’ blue did only show

Avore we went a-milken, vive Or six o’s here wer all alive A-teaeken bees that zwarm’d vrom h… An’ we’d sich work to catch The hummen rogues, they led us sic…

I got two vields, an’ I don’t cea… What squire mid have a bigger shea… My little zummer-leaeze do stratch All down the hangen, to a patch O’ meaed between a hedge an’ rank

Aye, Meaester Collins wer a-blest Wi’ greaece, an’ now’s a-gone to r… An’ though his heart did beaet so… ‘S a little child’s, when he did s… The godly wisdom ov his tongue

Now the light o’ the west is a-tur… An’ the men be at hwome vrom groun… An’ the bells be a-zenden all down… From tower, their mwoansome sound. An’ the wind is still,

(Water-lily.) O zummer clote! when the brook’s a… So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy… Upon thy broad leaves so seaefe a-… The water’s top wi’ thy yollow hea…

Ees, last Whit-Monday, I an’ Mea… Got up betimes to mind the deaeiry… An’ gi’ed the milken pails a scrub… An’ dress’d, an’ went to zee the c… Vor up at public-house, by ten

Ah! John! how I do love to look At theaese green hollor, an’ the b… Among the withies that do hide The stream, a-growen at the zide; An’ at the road athirt the wide

Well! thanks to you, my faithful… So worksome wi’ your head an’ hand… We seaeved enough to get ageaen My poor vorefather’s plot o’ land. ‘Twer folly lost, an’ cunnen got,

In leaene the gipsies, as we went A-milken, had a-pitch’d their tent… Between the gravel-pit an’ clump O’ trees, upon the little hump: An’ while upon the grassy groun’

1 Since I noo mwore do zee… Up ste{'a}rs or down below, I’ll zit me in the lwonesome ple{'… Where flat-bough’d beech do grow; Below the beeches’ bough, my love,

Oh! Bob the fiddler is the pride O’ chaps an’ maidens vur an’ wide; They can’t keep up a merry tide, But Bob is in the middle. If merry Bob do come avore ye,

Pentridge!—oh! my heart’s a-zwelle… Vull o’ jay wi’ vo’k a-tellen Any news o’ thik wold pleaece, An’ the boughy hedges round it, An’ the river that do bound it