His bridle-champèn meäre,

Wi' thankvul heart, to zee his crop

A-comèn up so feäir.

As there awhile

By geäte or stile,

He gi'ed the chile

A cheerèn smile,

By crowns o' Do'set Downs, O.

At last, wi' eärs o' darksome red,

The yollow stalks did ply,