An' green, be still the seäme;
The squier's house, an' ev'ry ground
That now his son ha' zwold, O,
An' ev'ry wood he hunted round
'S a pleäce a teäle's a-twold o'.
The maïd a-lov'd to our heart's core,
The dearest of our kin,
Do meäke us like the very door
Where they went out an' in.
'Tis zome'hat touchèn that bevel