UNCLE OUT O' DEBT AN' OUT O' DANGER.
Ees; uncle had thik small hwomestead,
The leäzes an' the bits o' mead,
Besides the orcha'd in his prime,
An' copse-wood vor the winter time.
His wold black meäre, that draw'd his cart,
An' he, wer seldom long apeärt;
Vor he work'd hard an' païd his woy,
An' zung so litsom as a bwoy,