T’ squeeze frae thy smo’ fing-ers, Bella!
Trimlin’ here i’ my rough hand;
It’s queer a touch sa leet can tell a
Teàl sa plain to understand;
It’s queerer thoo sūd be sa freeten’t,—
Flay’t when nowte at o’ ’s amiss.
Loavin! How thy feàce has breeten’t,
Reedenin’ up at t’ furst fair kiss.