True love’s the ivy that do twine
Unwith’rèn roun’ his mossy rine,
When winter’s zickly zun do sheen
Upon its leaves o’ glossy green,
So patiently a-holdèn vast
Till storms an’ cwold be all a-past,
An’ only livèn vor to be
A-meäted to the woaken tree.
SHRODON FEÄIR.
The vu’st Peärt.
An’ zoo’s the day wer warm an’ bright,
An’ nar a cloud wer up in zight,
We wheedled father vor the meäre
An’ cart, to goo to Shrodon feäir.
An’ Poll an’ Nan run off up stairs,
To shift their things, as wild as heäres;
An’ pull’d out, each o’m vrom her box,
Their snow-white leäce an’ newest frocks,
An’ put their bonnets on, a-lined
Wi’ blue, an’ sashes tied behind;
An’ turn’d avore the glass their feäce
An’ back, to zee their things in pleäce;
While Dick an’ I did brush our hats
An’ cwoats, an’ cleän ourzelves lik’ cats.
At woone or two o’clock, we vound
Ourzelves at Shrodon seäfe an’ sound,
A-struttèn in among the rows
O’ tilted stannèns an’ o’ shows,
An’ girt long booths wi’ little bars
Chock-vull o’ barrels, mugs, an’ jars,
An’ meat a-cookèn out avore
The vier at the upper door;
