An’ meäde en bear the maïdens’ slaps,
An’ prickens wi’ a pin.
An’ Jim, a-catchèn Poll, poor chap,
In back-house in the dark, vell slap
Athirt a tub o’ barm,—a trap
She set to catch en in.
An’ then we zot down out o’ breath,
An’ meäde a circle roun’ the he’th,
A-keepèn up our harmless me’th,
Till supper wer a-come.
An’ after we’d a-had zome prog,
All tother chaps begun to jog,
Wi’ sticks to lick a thief or dog,
To zee the maïdens hwome.
FANNY’S BE’TH-DAY.
How merry, wi’ the cider cup,
We kept poor Fanny’s be’th-day up!
An’ how our busy tongues did run
An’ hands did wag, a-meäkèn fun!
What plaÿsome anticks zome ō’s done!
An’ how, a-reelèn roun’ an’ roun’,
We beät the merry tuèn down,
While music wer a-soundèn!
The maïdens’ eyes o’ black an’ blue
Did glisten lik’ the mornèn dew;
An’ while the cider-mug did stand
A-hissèn by the bleäzèn brand,
An’ uncle’s pipe wer in his hand,
How little he or we did think
How peäle the zettèn stars did blink
While music wer a-soundèn.
