The chatt'rèn birds, a-risèn high,
An' zinkèn low, did swiftly vlee
Vrom shrinkèn moss, a-growèn dry,
Upon the leänèn apple tree.
An' there the dog, a-whippèn wide
His heäiry taïl, an' comèn near,
Did fondly lay ageän your zide
His coal-black nose an' russet ear:
To win what I'd a-won avore,
Vrom your gaÿ feäce, his woone smile mwore.