She's comely in her gaït an' lim',
An' sweet's the smile her feäce do wear,
Below her cap's well-rounded brim;
An' while her skirt's a-spreädèn wide,
In vwolds upon the ho'se's zide,
He'll toss his head, an' snort wi' pride,
To trot wi' Ruth a-ridèn.
An' as her ho'se's rottlèn peäce
Do slacken till his veet do beät
A slower trot, an' till her feäce