Where vrosty sheädes do lie below

The winter ricks a-tipp'd wi' snow,

An' lively birds, wi' waggèn taïls,

Do hop upon the icy raïls,

An' rime do whiten all the tops

O' bush an' tree in hedge an' copse,

In wind's a-cuttèn keen.

Come, maïdens, come: the groun's a-vroze

Too hard to-night to spweil your clothes.

You got noo pools to waddle drough,