JEÄNE.
He can’t hear you among the crowd.
HER BROTHER.
Why, no, the thunder peals do drown the sound o’ wheels.
His own pipe is a-pitched too loud.
What, you here too?
RACKETÈN JOE.
Yes, Sir, to you.
All o’ me that’s a-left.
JEÄNE.
A body plump’s a goodish lump
Where reämes ha’ such a heft.
JOHN.
Who lost his crown a-racèn?
RACKETÈN JOE.
Who?
Zome silly chap abackèn you.
Well, now, an’ how do vo’k treat Jeäne?
JEÄNE.
Why not wi’ feärèns.
RACKETÈN JOE.
What d’ye mean,
When I’ve a-brought ye such a bunch
O’ theäse nice ginger-nuts to crunch?
An’ here, John, here! you teäke a vew.
JOHN.
No, keep em all vor Jeane an’ you!
RACKETÈN JOE.
Well, Jeäne, an’ when d’ye meän to come
An’ call on me, then, up at hwome.
You han’t a-come athirt, since I’d my voot a-hurt,
A-slippèn vrom the tree I clomb.
