They vaur veet would’n a walked again.
Two on ’em—they o’ the larger zize—
I coulden praperly reckernize.
Two wer the purty-printed veet
O’ Molly—zo valse as she be sweet.
I hadn’t no bird-gun: zo it fell
As I maun laugh—ho, ho!—and tell
Here in a pub at the end o’ the street
O’ the winding—ha! ha!—o’ they vaur veet.
But may the zoul o’ him as wore