An’ no’but slow, for t’ snow was thick, an’ meàd it bad to woke,
Sooa mid-leg deep we striddel’t on, but offen steud to toke.
Jwohn hed a faymish crack in ‘,—his fadder hed afooar ‘,—
At teàls an’ sangs, an’ sec like fun not many cud cum ower ‘;
An’ theàr an’ than, dud Jwohn set on, at t’ furst gud rist we teuk,
To tell me hoo ther com to be a ghost i’ Branthet Neùk.
Sez Jwohn, sez he, “I’ Branthet Neùk, as varra weel thoo knows,
’Tween t’ beck an’ Edward Beeby’ hoose ther stands some brocken wo’s;
Lang sen, when they hed roofs on them, yance, leàtish on i’ t’ year,
Some tinkler fwoke gat leave fray t’ lword, an’ com to winter theear.