An' that nobbut partly, net awl:
For love like one's soul is immortal,
If its love, it wont vanish away—
Its birth wor inside o' th' breet portal
Ov Eden, it knows noa decay.
Sin' then it has lived on, while th' ages
Has rowled on wi' uniform flow,
As young, an as fresh, as when sages
Towd ther sweethearts it cent'ries ago—
An' chaps 'll be tellin th' story,