Your pick, though, John? His stem's a-sprung.
J. When I an' Simon had a het
O' pookèn, yonder, vor a bet,
The prongs o'n gi'ed a tump a poke,
An' then I vound the stem a-broke,
Bût they do meäke the stems o' picks
O' stuff so brittle as a kicks.
A. There's poor wold Jeäne, wi' wrinkled skin,
A-tellèn, wi' her peakèd chin,
Zome teäle ov her young days, poor soul.