An’ dar! ’twas nice to snūg i’ bed,
An’ lissen oot that brave oald lilt,
An’ hear, at ivery stave they played,
Gud wishes shootin’ t’ chorus till ’t.
Ben Wales’s fiddle, many a neet,
Gev weel oiled springs to t’ heaviest heels,
For few cud whyet hod the’r feet
When Ben strack up his heartenin’ reels.
Wid elbow room an’ rozel’t weel,
Swinge! how he’d mak’ fwoke keàv an’ prance;