When thee hast gotten great store of wealth?”
“Oh, my dear mother, how shall I know thee,
When I shall hardly know my own self?”
With that the owld ’oman she flew in a passion,
And dashed her son Jack up agin the wall,
And his head caught the shelf where the buttermilk stood,
So down came the buttermilk, pitcher and all.
Zo aal you as has got an old hen for to sett,
Both by night and by day mind you has her well watched,
Lest you should be like unto Buttermilk Jack,