An’ big as when you vu’st got in.
An’ I wull meäke, as sure as death,
Thik fellor Aïr to vind me breath,
An’ you shall grind, an’ pull, an’ dreve,
An’ zaw, an’ drash, an’ pump, an’ heave,
An’ get vrom Aïr, in time, I’ll lay
A pound, the drevèn ships at sea.”
An’ zoo ’tis good to zee that might
Wull help a man a-wrong’d, to right.
THE LITTLE WOROLD.
My hwome wer on the timber’d ground
O’ Duncombe, wi’ the hills a-bound:
Where vew from other peärts did come,
An’ vew did travel vur from hwome,
An’ small the worold I did know;
But then, what had it to bestow
But Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir?
’Twer wide enough if she wer there.
In our deep hollow where the zun
Did eärly leäve the smoky tun,
An’ all the meäds a-growèn dim,
Below the hill wi’ zunny rim;
Oh! small the land the hills did bound,
But there did walk upon the ground
Young Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir:
’Twer wide enough if she wer there.
O’ leäte upon the misty plaïn
I stay’d vor shelter vrom the raïn,
Where sharp-leav’d ashès’ heads did twist
In hufflèn wind, an’ driftèn mist,
