An' tell me, though thik spring wer gaÿ,
There still would come a brighter Maÿ,
Wi' blushèn cheäks to bloom vor me!
An' when, at last, the time come roun',
An' brought a lofty zun to sheen
Upon my smilèn Fanny, down
Drough nēsh young leaves o' yollow green;
How charmèn wer the het that glow'd,
How charmèn wer the sheäde a-drow'd,
How charmèn wer the win' that blow'd