An' elbows down upon his thighs.
A-chucklèn low, wi' merry grin.
Though time ha' roughen'd up his chin,
'Tis still the seäme true soul 'ithin,
As woonce I know'd, when year by year,
Thik very chap, thik John o' Weer,
Did plaÿ wi' William Wellburn.
Come, John, come; don't be dead-alive
Here, reach us out your clust'r o' vive.
Oh! you be happy. Ees, but that