An Glassenberry's Torr, an Thorn
The hawly blowth of which
A hired from one and tother too;
Tha like war never jitch!
Bit moor o' this I need not zâ,
Vor off went Jerry Nutty,
In hiz right hon a wâkin stick,
An in hiz qut a tutty.
Now, lock-y-zee! in whimly dress
Trudg'd chearful Jerry on;
Bit on tha moor not vur a went—
A made a zudden ston.
Which wâ ta goo a cood not thenk,
Vor there war many a wâ;
A put upright iz walking stick;
A vâll'd ta tha zon o' dâ.
Ta tha suthard than iz wâ a took
Athert tha turfy moors,
An zoon o' blissom Cuzziton,
[Footnote: Cossington.]
A pass'd tha cottage doors.
Tha maidens o' tha cottages,
Not us'd strange vawk to zee,
Com'd vooäth and stood avaur tha door;
Jer wonder'd what cood be.
Zum smil'd, zum whecker'd, zum o'm blish'd.
"Od dang it!" Jerry zed,
"What do tha think that I be like?"
An nodded to 'm iz head.
"Which is tha wâ to Glassenberry?
I've hired tha hawly thorn
War zet there by zum hawly hons
Zoon âter Christ war born;
An I've a mine ta zee it too,
An o' tha blowth ta take."
"An how can you, a seely man,
Jitch seely journey make?