Aye, aye, the leäne wi' flow'ry zides
A-kept so lew, by hazzle-wrides,
Wi' beds o' grægles out in bloom,
Below the timber's windless gloon
An' geäte that I've a-swung,
An' rod as he's a-hung,
When I wer young, in Woakley Coomb.
'Twer there at feäst we all did pass
The evenèn on the leänezide grass,
Out where the geäte do let us drough,