An' teäke a sweetheart's walk woonce mwore.
But ceäres that zunk your oval chin
Ageän your bosom's lily skin,
Vor all they meäde our life so black,
Be now a-lost behind our back.
Zoo never mwope, in midst of hope,
To slight our blessèns would be sin.
Ha! ha! well done, now this is fun;
When you do like I'll bring ye in.
Here, Etty dear; here, out o' door,