Vor health do weäke vrom nightly dreams
Below the mornèn’s eärly beams,
An’ leäve the dead-aïr’d houses’ eaves,
Vor quiv’rèn leaves, an’ bubblèn streams,
A-glitt’rèn brightly to the view,
Below a sky o’ cloudless blue.
ZELLEN WOONE’S HONEY TO BUY ZOME’HAT SWEET.
Why, his heart’s lik’ a popple, so hard as a stwone,
Vor ’tis money, an’ money’s his ho,
An’ to handle an’ reckon it up vor his own,
Is the best o’ the jaÿs he do know.
Why, vor money he’d gi’e up his lags an’ be leäme,
Or would peärt wi’ his zight an’ be blind,
Or would lose vo’k’s good will, vor to have a bad neäme,
Or his peace, an’ have trouble o’ mind.
But wi’ ev’ry good thing that his meänness mid bring,
He’d paÿ vor his money,
An’ only zell honey to buy zome’hat sweet.
He did whisper to me, “You do know that you stood
By the Squier, wi’ the vote that you had,
You could ax en to help ye to zome’hat as good,
Or to vind a good pleäce vor your lad.”
“Aye, aye, but if I wer beholdèn vor bread
To another,” I zaid, “I should bind
All my body an’ soul to the nod of his head,
An’ gi’e up all my freedom o’ mind.”
An’ then, if my païn wer a-zet wi’ my gaïn,
I should paÿ vor my money,
An’ only zell honey to buy zome’hat sweet.
