To re’p the fruit of all their works
In —— for evermoor-r-r-r.
”A blind owld dame come to the vire,
Zo near as she could get;
Zays, ‘Here’s a luck I warn’t asleep,
To lose this blessed hett.
They robs us of our turfing rights
Our bits of chips and sticks,
Till poor folks now can’t warm their hands,
Except by varmers’ ricks.’