The goodness o' heaven do breathe in her feäce,
An' a queen, to be steätely, must walk wi' her peäce.
Her frocks be a-meäde all becomèn an' plaïn,
An' cleän as a blossom undimm'd by a staïn;
Her bonnet ha' got but two ribbons, a-tied
Up under her chin, or let down at the zide.
When she do speak to woone, she don't steäre an' grin;
There's sense in her looks, vrom her eyes to her chin,
An' her words be so kind, an' her speech is so meek,
As her eyes do look down a-beginnèn to speak.