RICHARD.
Aye, that’s the thing; an’ when the pig do die,
We got a lot ov offal for to fry.
An’ netlèns for to bwoil; or put the blood in,
An’ meäke a meal or two o’ good black-pudden.
JOHN.
I’d keep myzelf from parish, I’d be bound,
If I could get a little patch o’ ground.
Eclogue.
A BIT O’ SLY COORTEN.
John and Fanny.
JOHN.
Now, Fanny, ’tis too bad, you teazèn maïd!
How leäte you be a’ come! Where have ye staÿ’d?
How long you have a-meäde me waït about!
I thought you werden gwaïn to come ageän:
I had a mind to goo back hwome ageän.
This idden when you promis’d to come out.
FANNY.
Now ’tidden any good to meäke a row,
Upon my word, I cooden come till now.
Vor I’ve a-been kept in all day by mother,
At work about woone little job an’ t’other.
If you do want to goo, though, don’t ye staÿ
