POLLY BE-EN UPZIDES WI’ TOM.
Ah! yesterday, d’ye know, I voun’
Tom Dumpy’s cwoat an’ smock-frock, down
Below the pollard out in groun’;
An’ zoo I slyly stole
An’ took the smock-frock up, an’ tack’d
The sleeves an’ collar up, an’ pack’d
Zome nice sharp stwones, all fresh a-crack’d
’Ithin each pocket-hole.
An’ in the evenèn, when he shut
Off work, an’ come an’ donn’d his cwoat,
Their edges gi’ed en sich a cut,
How we did stan’ an’ laugh!
An’ when the smock-frock I’d a-zow’d
Kept back his head an’ hands, he drow’d
Hizzelf about, an’ teäv’d, an’ blow’d,
Lik’ any up-tied calf.
Then in a veag away he flung
His frock, an’ after me he sprung,
An’ mutter’d out sich dreats, an’ wrung
His vist up sich a size!
But I, a-runnèn, turn’d an’ drow’d
Some doust, a-pick’d up vrom the road,
Back at en wi’ the wind, that blow’d
It right into his eyes.
An’ he did blink, an’ vow he’d catch
Me zomehow yet, an’ be my match.
But I wer nearly down to hatch
Avore he got vur on;
An’ up in chammer, nearly dead
Wi’ runnèn, lik’ a cat I vled,
An’ out o’ window put my head
To zee if he wer gone.
