Then helter-skelter off they went,
As ower t’fence I lape;
I thowt—well, if it matters owt,
I’ve made a nice escape.
But nah the mooin began to shine
As breet as it cud be;
An dahn the vale ov t’Aire I luk’d,
Where I cud plainly see.
The trees wur deeadly pale wi snaw,
An t’winding Aire wor still,
An all wor quite save t’hullats,
At wor screaming up o’ t’hill.
Oud Rivvock End an all araand
Luk’d like some fiendish heead,
Fer more I stared, an more I thowt
It did resemble t’deead.
The Friendly Oaks wor altered nah,
To what I’d seen afore;
An luk’d as though they’d never be
T’oud friendly Oaks no more.
Fer wun wor like a giant grim,
His nose com to a point,
An wi a voice like thunner sed—
“The times are aaght o’ t’joint!”
An t’other like a whipping-post,
Bud happen not as thin,
Sed “T’times ul alter yet, oud fooil,
So pray, nah, hod thi din?”
I tuke no farther gawm o’ them,
Bud paddled on me way;
Fer when I ivver mack a vow,
I stick to what I say.
I heddant goan so far agean,
Afoar I heeard a voice,
Exclaiming—wi a fearful groan—
“Go mack a hoyle e t’ice!”
I turned ma rhaand where t’saand com fro,
An cautiously I bowed,
Saying thenk yo, Mr. Magic Voice,
I’m flaid o’ gettin coud.