For t’mair they misco’t him t’mair thowte on was he.
An’t’ upshot of o’ the’r fine hints an’ advices
Was ’at, ya neet, weel happ’t i’ Will’s greet sailor cwoat,
We dreàv, afoor dayleet, to Foster Penrice’s,
An’ slip’t ow’r till Annan i’t’ Skinburneese bwoat.
An’ theer we wer’ weddit, i’ their way o’ weddin’;—
I dudn’t hafe like’t, but they said it wad dee;
An’ I dār-say it may’d—for a lass ’at was bred in
Their ways—but it wasn’t like weddin’ to me.
An’ when Will brong me back, varra shām-feàcet an’ freetent,