William Barnes
When in happy times we met,
   Then by look an’ deed I show’d,
How my love wer all a-zet
   In the smiles that she bestow’d.
She mid have, o’ left an’ right,
Maidens feaeirest to the zight;
I’d a-chose among em still,
Pretty Jeaene o’ Grenley Mill.
 
She wer feaeirer, by her cows
   In her work-day frock a-drest,
Than the rest wi’ scornvul brows
   All a-flanten in their best.
Gay did seem, at feaest or feaeir,
Zights that I had her to sheaere;
Gay would be my own heart still,
But vor Jeaene o’ Grenley Mill.
 
Jeaene—a-checken ov her love—
   Leaen’d to woone that, as she guess’d,
Stood in worldly wealth above
   Me she know’d she lik’d the best.
He wer wild, an’ soon run drough
All that he’d a-come into,
Heartlessly a-treaten ill
Pretty Jeaene o’ Grenley Mill.
 
Oh! poor Jenny! thou’st a tore
   Hopen love vrom my poor heart,
Losen vrom thy own small store,
   All the better, sweeter peaert.
Hearts a-slighted must vorseaeke
Slighters, though a-doom’d to break;
I must scorn, but love thee still,
Pretty Jeaene o’ Grenley Mill.
 
Oh! if ever thy soft eyes
   Could ha’ turn’d vrom outward show,
To a lover born to rise
   When a higher woone wer low;
If thy love, when zoo a-tried,
Could ha’ stood ageaen thy pride,
How should I ha’ lov’d thee still,
Pretty Jeaene o’ Grenley Mill.
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