I have a cot o' Cob-wâll
Roun which tha ivy clims;
My Pally at tha night-vâll
Er crappin viër trims.
A comin vrom tha plow-veel
I zee tha blankers rise,
Wi' blue smauk cloudy curlin,
An whivering up tha skies.
When tha winter wines be crousty,
An snaws dreav vast along,
I hurry whim—tha door tine,
An cheer er wi' a zong.
When spreng, adresst in tutties,
Câlls âll tha birds abroad;
An wrans an robin-riddicks,
Tell âll the cares o' God,
I zit bezides my cot-door
After my work is done,
While Pally, bizzy knittin,
Looks at tha zottin zun.
When zummertime is passin,
An narras dâs be vine,
I drenk tha sporklin cider,
An wish naw wither wine.
How zweet tha smill o' clawver,
How zweet tha smill o' hâ;
How zweet is haulsom labour, ^
Bit zweeter Pall than thâ.
An who d'ye thenk I envy?—
Tha nawbles o' tha land?
Thâ can't be moor than happy,
An that is Teddy Band.
Mister Ginnins;
I a red thic ballet o' yourn called Fanny Fear, an, zim ta I, there's naw moril to it. Nif zaw be you da thenk zo well o't, I'll gee one.