"Bewty," I 'ears ya carl her?—aye, ya niver spoöke truthfuller wurrëd!
Rammack t' coontry side ovver, an ya weänt see no foiner burrëd!
Passon he axed ma to sell her—but I towld him, "Beänt o' naw use—
She's as mooch of a Chris'en as moäst," I sez, "if she's nobbut a guse!"
Coom, then!
(This coaxingly, to an imaginary bird—be careful not to seem to make any invidious distinctions among your audience.)
... Naäy, but she wunna! she's gotten a wull of her oän!
Looök at the heye of her,—pink an' greëy, loike t'fire in a hopal stoän!
Howsiver she sims sa hinnercent-loike, she's a follerin' arl I saäy: