But now when winter’s raïn do vall,
An’ wind do beat ageän the hall,
The while upon the wat’ry wall
In spots o’ grey the moss do grow;
The ruf noo mwore shall overspread
The pillor ov our weary head,
Nor shall the rwose’s mossy ball
Behang vor you the house’s wall.
Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu!
The wall is wold, my grief is new.
EÄKE’S HOUSE IN BLACKMWORE
John Bleäke he had a bit o’ ground
Come to en by his mother’s zide;
An’ after that, two hunderd pound
His uncle left en when he died;
“Well now,” cried John, “my mind’s a-bent
To build a house, an’ paÿ noo rent.”
An’ Meäry gi’ed en her consent.
“Do, do,”—the maïdens cried.
“True, true,”—his wife replied.
“Done, done,—a house o’ brick or stwone,”
Cried merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
Then John he call’d vor men o’ skill,
An’ builders answer’d to his call;
An’ met to reckon, each his bill;
Vor vloor an’ window, ruf an’ wall.
An’ woone did mark it on the groun’.
An’ woone did think, an’ scratch his crown,
An’ reckon work, an’ write it down:
“Zoo, zoo,”—woone treädesman cried,
“True, true,”—woone mwore replied.
“Aye, aye,—good work, an’ have good paÿ,”
Cried merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
