(Tenderly.) "Thee'll mak' a denner, ma pratty," I'd saäy to her, "fit fur a loärd!"
Maäin an' boolky she wur as Michaelmas week coom nigh,
"Her'll niver not bulge naw bigger," I sez, "an she art fur to die!"
I knawed she wur doitlin' soomwheer by the pasture under t' moör,
Sa I fetched the chopper an' fettled 'im oop—an' I went fur to do 'er! (Grimly.)
An' I chillupped to Araminty, an' oop she rins with a clack,
"Seeä what I've gotten to show 'ee," I sez, (wi' the chopper behind ma back)
But I looked sa straänge an callow, she knawed I wur meanin' 'er ill,
An' she kep a sidlin' an' edgin' awaäy, an' a gaäpin' wi' hopen bill!
Then I maäde a grab at her sooden—an' she skirtled off to a feäld,