An' poor wold Betty dead an' gone;
An' cleän-grown Tom so spry an' strong,
An' Liz the best to pitch a zong,
That now ha' nearly half a score
O' childern zwarmèn at her door;
An' whindlen Ann, that cried wi' fear
To hear the thunder when 'twer near,—
A zickly maïd, so peäle's the moon,
That voun' her zun goo down at noon;
An' blushèn Jeäne so shy an' meek,