Farmer (throwing down newspaper).
Dubbut loook at the waäste! Foine feälds? A' dear! a' dear!
'Tisn't worth nowt a haäcre; 'tis worse than it wur laäst year!
Ceres (entering).
Good evening, Farmer, my friend! I think you will own this time
I have sent you a golden harvest. I never saw wheat more prime!
Farmer.
And who ma' yew beä, Marm? And what dost tha meän, Marm—yew?
I weänt say tha be a loiar, but tha say'st what's nawways true.
Ceres.
Why, I am the farmer's friend, the goddess of farms and fields.
At my look the furrows spring, and my laugh the harvest yields.
Farmer.
Then wheer' asta beän saw long, leäven me a-liggin' aloän?
Friend? Thoort nowt o' a friend, leävin' meä to groomble and groän.