Zoo luck betide
The upland zide,
Where wheat do wride,
In corn-vields wide,
By crowns o’ Do’set Downs, O.
An’ while the screamèn bird-bwoy shook
Wi’ little zun-burnt hand,
His clacker at the bright-wing’d rook,
About the zeeded land;
His meäster there did come an’ stop
His bridle-champèn meäre,
Wi’ thankvul heart, to zee his crop
A-comèn up so feäir.
As there awhile
By geäte or stile,
He gi’ed the chile
A cheerèn smile,
By crowns o’ Do’set Downs, O.
At last, wi’ ears o’ darksome red,
The yollow stalks did ply,
A-swaÿèn slow, so heavy ’s lead,
In aïr a-blowèn by;
An’ then the busy reapers laid
In row their russlèn grips,
An’ sheäves, a-leänèn head by head,
Did meäke the stitches tips.
Zoo food’s a-vound,
A-comèn round,
Vrom zeed in ground,
To sheäves a-bound,
By crowns o’ Do’set Downs, O.
An’ now the wheat, in lofty lwoads,
Above the meäres’ broad backs,
Do ride along the cracklèn rwoads,
Or dousty waggon-tracks.
