No eyes these rocks or cliffs discover,
That lurks beneath the raging deep;
To mark the spot where lies the lover,
That leaves the maiden to sigh and weep.
The miser robb’d of his golden pleasure,
Views tempests great in his wild despair;
But what is all his loss of treasure,
To losing thee, my drechen dear?
O cease, O cease, thou cruel ocean!
And give my lover a peaceful rest;
For what thy storming and all thy motion,
Compared with that within my breast.
O could I now over the wild waves stooping,
The floating corpse of thee could spy;
Just like a lily in autumn drooping,
I’d bow my head, kiss thee, and die.
Address t’t First Wesherwuman.
E sooth sho wor a reeal god-send,
To’t human race the greatest frend,
An’ lived no daht at t’other end
O’ history.
Hur name is nah, yah may depend,
A mistery.
But sprang sho up fra royal blood,
Or sum poor slave beyond the flud?
Me blessing on the sooap an’ sud
Sho did invent;
Hur name sall renk among the good,
If aw get sent.
If nobbut in a rainy dub,
Sho did at furst begin ta skrub,
Or hed a proper weshin tub,
Its all the same;
Aw’d give a craan, if aw’d to sub,
To get hur name.
In this wide wurld aw’m let afloat,
Th’ poor possessor of wun koat;
Yet linnen clean aw on thee dote,
An’ thus assert,
Tha’rt wurthy o’ grate Shakespere’s note;
A clean lin’ shirt.
Low iz mi lot an’ hard mi ways,
While paddlin’ thro’ life’s stormy days;
Yet aw will sing t’owd lasse’s prase,
Wi’ famous glee.
Tho’ rude an’ ruff sud be mi lays,
Sho’st lass for me.