In Maÿ, an' cherry boughs do blow,
Wi' bloomèn tutties, snowy white,
Where rollèn round,
Wi' rumblèn sound,
The wheel woonce drown'd the vaïce so dear
To me. I faïn would goo to hear
The clack, clack, clack, vor woone short hour,
Wi' whirlèn stwone, an' streamèn flour,
Bezide the mill on cloty Stour.
But should I vind a-heavèn now