That her brother traïn'd up roun' her window; an' there
Is the rwose an' the jessamy, where she did pluck
A flow'r vor her bosom or bud vor her heäir.
An' zoo smile, happy maïdens! vor every feäce,
As the zummers do come, an' the years do roll by,
Will soon sadden, or goo vur away vrom the pleäce,
Or else, lik' my Fanny, will wither an' die.
But when you be a-lost vrom the parish, zome mwore
Will come on in your pleäzen to bloom an' to die;
An' the zummer will always have maïdens avore