, that zeed Tom woulden catch
En, stood a-smilen at the hatch.
An' zoo he vollow'd en for two
Or dree stwones' drows, an' let en goo.

THE IVY.

Upon theaese knap I'd sooner be
The ivy that do climb the tree,
Than bloom the gayest rwose a-tied
An' trimm'd upon the house's zide.
The rwose mid be the maidens' pride,
But still the ivy's wild an' free;
An' what is all that life can gi'e,
'Ithout a free light heart, John?

The creepen sheaede mid steal too soon
Upon the rwose in afternoon;
But here the zun do drow his het
Vrom when do rise till when do zet,
To dry the leaves the rain do wet.
An' evenen air do bring along
The merry deaeiry-maiden's zong,
The zong of free light hearts, John.

Oh! why do vo'k so often chain
Their pinen minds vor love o' gain,
An' gi'e their innocence to rise
A little in the worold's eyes?
If pride could lift us to the skies,
What man do value God do slight,
An' all is nothen in his zight
'Ithout an honest heart, John.

An ugly feaece can't bribe the brooks
To show it back young han'some looks,
Nor crooked vo'k intice the light
To cast their zummer sheaedes upright:
Noo goold can blind our Meaeker's zight.
An' what's the odds what cloth do hide
The bosom that do hold inside
A free an' honest heart, John?

THE WELSHNUT TREE.

When in the evenen the zun's a-zinken,
A drowen sheaedes vrom the yollow west,
An' mother, weary, 's a-zot a thinken,
Wi' vwolded eaerms by the vire at rest,
Then we do zwarm, O,
Wi' such a charm, O,
So vull o' glee by the welshnut tree.

A-leaeven father in-doors, a-leinen'
In his girt chair in his easy shoes,
Or in the settle so high behine en,
While down bezide en the dog do snooze,
Our tongues do run, O,
Enough to stun, O,
Your head wi' glee by the welshnut tree.

There we do play 'thread the woman's needle.'
An' slap the maidens a-darten drough:
Or try who'll ax em the hardest riddle,
Or soonest tell woone a-put us, true;
Or zit an' ring, O,
The bells, ding, ding, O,
Upon our knee by the welshnut tree.

An' zome do goo out, an' hide in orcha't,
An' tothers, slily a-stealen by,
Where there's a dark cunnen pleaece, do sarch it,
Till they do zee em an' cry, "I spy,"
An' thik a-vound, O,