"Lime, lime,—why we do weäste the time,
Vor merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore."
The house wer up vrom groun' to tun,
An' thatch'd ageän the raïny sky,
Wi' windows to the noonday zun,
Where rushy Stour do wander by.
In coo'se he had a pworch to screen
The inside door, when win's wer keen,
An' out avore the pworch, a green.
"Here! here!"—the childern cried: