Gwaïn down the steps vor water.
Though she, 'tis true, is feäir an' kind,
There still be mwore a-left behind;
So cleän 's the light the zun do gi'e,
So sprack 's a bee when zummer's bright;
An' if I've luck, I woont be slow
To teäke off woone that I do know,
A-trippèn gaïly to an' fro,
Upon the steps vor water.
Her father idden poor—but vew