Her skin is so white as a lily, an' each
Ov her cheäks is so downy an' red as a peach;
She's pretty a-zittèn; but oh! how my love
Do watch her to madness when woonce she do move.
An' when she do walk hwome vrom church drough the groun',
Wi' woone eärm in mine, an' wi' woone a-hung down,
I do think, an' do veel mwore o' sheäme than o' pride,
That do meäke me look ugly to walk by her zide.
Zoo don't talk o' maïden's! the woone vor my bride
Is but little lik' too many maïdens bezide,—