She telt o’ sūm stown geese an’ sheep, an’ whoar they hed them hidden;
Of mutton up on t’ sleeping loft, an’ skins anonder t’ midden.
“It wasn’t many wūrds she said,—but wūrds she said anew
To bring t’ oald tinkler and her man tull what was weel ther due;
For lang i’ Cārel jail they laid, an’ when t’ assize com on,
T’ Jūdge let t’ oald waistrel lowce ageàn, but hang’t his whopeful son.
“An’ back frae Cārel t’ tinkler com, to Branthet reeght away,
An’ ’ticet t’ poor lass frae t’ nebber’s hoose whoar she’d beep fain to stay;
He promish’t fair to treat her weel, and dūd while t’ seckint neeght,
An’ than, (reeght pleas’t was Branthet fwok,) he meàd a moonleeght fleeght.