Avore your father's blinkèn eyes,
His evenèn whiff o' smoke did rise,
An' vrom the bedroom window's height
Your little John, a-cloth'd in white,
An' gwaïn to bed, did cry "good night"
Towards the linden on the lawn.
But now, as Dobbin, wi' a nod
Vor ev'ry heavy step he trod,
Did bring me on, to-night, avore
The geäbled house's pworchèd door,