Eight-ty yacre, lea and meedow—
Forty, green-crop, seeds an’ cworn.
Cūrsty’ wife, a fewsome body,
Brong him barnes, some nine or ten,
Menseful, meat-heàl, fat an’ ruddy;—
“Whoar’s their like?” said Cūrsty Benn.
Cūrsty hed ya mortal failin’—
Whoa may say they’ve less nor that?—
Rayder fond was he o’ trailin’
Off frae heàm an’ bidin’ leàt.