O winds 'at blow, an flaars 'at grow,
O sun, an stars an mooin!
Aw've loved yo long, as weel yo know,
An watched yo neet an nooin.
But nah, yor paars to charm all flee,
Altho' yor bonny still,
But th' only beauty i' mi e'e,
Is th' lass o'th Haley Hill.
Her een's my stars,—her smile's my sun,
Her cheeks are rooases bonny;
Her teeth like pearls all even run,
Her brow's as fair as onny.
Her swan-like neck,—her snowy breast,—
Her hands, soa seldom still;
Awm fain to own aw love her best,—
Sweet lass o'th' Haley Hill.
Aw axt her i' mi kindest tone,
To grant mi heart's desire;
A tear upon her eyelid shone,—
It set mi heart o' foir.
Wi' whispers low aw told mi love,
Shoo'd raised her droopin heead;
Says shoo, "Awm sooary for thi lad,
But awm already wed;
An if awr Isaac finds thee here,—
As like enuff he will,—
Tha'll wish 'at tha wor onnywhear,
Away throo th' Haley Hill.
Ditherum Dump.
Ditherum dump lived i'th' haase behund th' pump,
An he grummel'd throo mornin to neet,
On his rig he'd a varry respectable hump,
An his nooas end wor ruddy an breet.
His een wor askew an his legs knock-a-kneed,
An his clooas he could don at a jump;
An th' queerest old covey 'at ivver yo seed,
Wor mi naybor old Ditherum Dump.
Ditherum Dump he lived behund th' pump,
An he grummel'd throo mornin to neet;
An he sed fowk neglect one they owt to respect,
An blow me, if aw think 'at its reet!
Yo mun know this old Ditherum lived bi hissen,
For he nivver had met wi' a wife;
An th' lasses all sed they'd have nooan sich like men,
For he'd worrit 'em aght o' ther life.
But he grinned as he caanted his guineas o' gold,
An he called hissen "Jolly old trump!"
An he sed, "tho' awm ugly, an twazzy, an old,
Still ther's lots wod bi Mistress Dump."
Ditherum Dump,—Jolly old trump!
Tho' tha'rt net varry hansum to th' seet,
Yet ther's monny a lass wod be fain o' mi brass,
For mi guineas are bonny an breet.
Soa he gethered his gold till he grew varry old,
Wi' noa woman to sweeten his life;
Till one day a smart lass chonced his winder to pass.
An he cried, "That's the wench for my wife!"
Soa he show'd her his bags runnin ovver wi' gold,
An he axt her this question reight plump;
"Tho' awm ugly an waspish, an getten soa old,
Will ta come an be my Mistress Dump?"
"For Mistress Dump shall have gold in a lump,
If tha'll tak me for better or worse;"
Soa shoo says, "Awm yor lass, if yo'll leeav me yor brass,
An aw'll promise to mak a gooid nurse."