Inzide a woak wi' a hollow moot,
An' drough a hole near the groun' behind her,
I pok'd a stick in, an' catch'd her voot;
An' out she scream'd, O,
An' jump'd, an' seem'd, O,
A-móst to vlee to the welshnut tree.
An' when, at last, at the drashel, mother
Do call us, smilèn, in-door to rest,
Then we do cluster by woone another,
To zee hwome them we do love the best: