And from my Chymney needs must take,
And vlitch both pure and good. Oh! ’twould melt a Christians heart to see, That such good Bacon spoil’d should be, ’Twas as red as any blood. But in it would, whether chud or not, Together with Beans into the pot, As sweet as any viggs. And when chave done all that I am able, They’l slat it down all under table,