Bud nah a sudden shack tuke place,
A sudden change o’ scene;
Fer miles where all wor white afore,
Wor nah a bottle-green.
Then com a woman donned e white,
A mantle gert she wore;
A nicer lukin, smarter form,
I nivver saw afore.
Her features did resemble wun
O that kind-hearted lot,
At’s ivver ready to relieve
The poor man in his cot.
Benevolence wor strongly marked
Upon her noble heead;
An on her breast yo might hev read,
“Who dees fer want o’ breead?”
In fact, a kinder-hearted soul
Oud Yorksher cuddant boast;
An who wod feel the least alarmed,
To talk to sitch a goast?
I didant feel at all afraid,
As nearer me she drew;
I sed—Good evening, Mrs. Goast,
Hah ivver do yo dew?
Sho nivver seemed to tack no gawm,
Bud pointed up at t’mooin,
An beckon’d me to follow her
Dahn be t’Wattery Loin.
So on we went, an dahn we turned,
An nawther on us spack;
Bud nah an then sho twined her heead,
To see if I’d runned back.
At t’last sho stopped an turned her rahnd
An luked ma fair e t’een;
’Twor nah I picked it aaght at wunce,
Sho wor no human been.
Sho rave a paper fra her breast,
Like some long theatre bill;
An then sho sed “Weak mortal,
Will ta read to me this will?