Goa an' snoozle to thi titty
Tha'rt too young for trouble yet.
Babby Burds.
Aw wander'd aght one summer's morn,
Across a meadow newly shorn;
Th' sun wor shinin' breet and clear,
An' fragrant scents rose up i'th' air,
An' all wor still.
When, as my steps wor idly rovin,
Aw coom upon a seet soa lovin!