The bells, ding, ding, O,
Upon our knee by the welshnut tree.
An' zome do goo out, an' hide in orcha't,
An' tothers, slily a-stealèn by,
Where there's a dark cunnèn pleäce, do sarch it,
Till they do zee em an' cry, "I spy,"
An' thik a-vound, O,
Do gi'e a bound, O,
To get off free to the welshnut tree.
Poll went woone night, that we midden vind her,