He screàp’t off his beùrd—he gev ow’r wid his squeel,
An’ was gittin’ as pūbble an’ roond as a bo’.
But jūst when he thowte o’ his trūbble was geàn,
A pain com’ ageàn, wār nor iver he’d fund,
An’ theear it keept burnin’ an’ bworin’ i’ t’ beàn
O’ t’ thumb ’at was buriet an’ coald under t’ grūnd.[20]
Jwosep’ went back to t’ doctor, an’t’ oald wicket teul
H’ard his teàl, an’ says he, wid a snūrt an’ a gūrn,
“If thy thumb’s i’ t’ churchyard, thoo pooar priest-bodder’t feùl,
Thoo ma’ mak’ thysel’ suer while it bides it ’ill būrn.”