Let other vo’k meäke money vaster
In the aïr o’ dark-room’d towns,
I don’t dread a peevish meäster;
Though noo man do heed my frowns,
I be free to goo abrode,
Or teäke ageän my hwomeward road
To where, vor me, the apple tree
Do leän down low in Linden Lea.
BISHOP’S CAUNDLE.
At peace day, who but we should goo
To Caundle vor an’ hour or two:
As gaÿ a day as ever broke
Above the heads o’ Caundle vo’k,
Vor peace, a-come vor all, did come
To them wi’ two new friends at hwome.
Zoo while we kept, wi’ nimble peäce,
The wold dun tow’r avore our feäce,
The aïr, at last, begun to come
Wi’ drubbèns ov a beäten drum;
An’ then we heärd the horns’ loud droats
Plaÿ off a tuen’s upper notes;
An’ then ageän a-risèn cheärm
Vrom tongues o’ people in a zwarm
An’ zoo, at last, we stood among
The merry feäces o’ the drong.
An’ there, wi’ garlands all a-tied
In wreaths an’ bows on every zide,
An’ color’d flags, a fluttrèn high
An’ bright avore the sheenèn sky,
The very guide-post wer a-drest
Wi’ posies on his eärms an’ breast.
