The players’ pockets wer a-strout,
Wi’ wold brown pence, a-rottlèn in,
Their zwangèn bags did soon begin,
Wi’ brocks an’ scraps, to plim well out.
The childern all did run an’ poke
Their heads vrom hatch or door, an’ shout
A-runnèn back to wolder vo’k.
Why, here! the humstrums be about!
As ing-an-ing did ring the string,
As ang-an-ang the wires did clang.
SHAFTESBURY FEÄIR.
When hillborne Paladore did show
So bright to me down miles below,
As woonce the zun, a-rollèn west,
Did brighten up his hill’s high breast.
Wi’ walls a-lookèn dazzlèn white,
Or yollow, on the grey-topp’d height
Of Paladore, as peäle day wore
Awaÿ so feäir.
Oh! how I wish’d that I wer there.
The pleäce wer too vur off to spy
The livèn vo’k a-passèn by;
The vo’k too vur vor aïr to bring
The words that they did speak or zing.
All dum’ to me wer each abode,
An’ empty wer the down-hill road
Vrom Paladore, as peäle day wore
Awaÿ so feäir;
But how I wish’d that I wer there.
But when I clomb the lofty ground
Where livèn veet an’ tongues did sound,
