the bwoys
But I, be marri'd off all woys,
Or dead an' gone; but I do bide
At hwome, alwone, at mother's zide,
An' often, at the evenen-tide,
I still do saunter out, wi' tears,
Down drough the orcha'd, where my ears
Do miss the vaices gone.

POLL.

When out below the trees, that drow'd
Their scraggy lim's athirt the road,
While evenen zuns, a'most a-zet,
Gi'ed goolden light, but little het,
The merry chaps an' maidens met,
An' look'd to zomebody to neaeme
Their bit o' fun, a dance or geaeme,
'Twer Poll they cluster'd round.

An' after they'd a-had enough
O' snappen tongs, or blind-man's buff,
O' winter nights, an' went an' stood
Avore the vire o' bleaezen wood,
Though there wer maidens kind an' good,
Though there wer maidens feaeir an' tall,
'Twer Poll that wer the queen o'm all,
An' Poll they cluster'd round.

An' when the childern used to catch
A glimpse o' Poll avore the hatch,
The little things did run to meet
Their friend wi' skippen tott'ren veet
An' thought noo other kiss so sweet
As hers; an' nwone could vind em out
Such geaemes to meaeke em jump an' shout,
As Poll they cluster'd round.

An' now, since she've a-left em, all
The pleaece do miss her, girt an' small.
In vain vor them the zun do sheen
Upon the lwonesome rwoad an' green;
Their zwing do hang vorgot between
The leaenen trees, vor they've a-lost
The best o' maidens, to their cost,
The maid they cluster'd round.

LOOKS A-KNOW'D AVORE.

While zome, a-gwain from pleaece to pleaece,
Do daily meet wi' zome new feaece,
When my day's work is at an end,
Let me zit down at hwome, an' spend
A happy hour wi' zome wold friend,
An' by my own vire-zide rejaice
In zome wold naighbour's welcome vaice,
An' looks I know'd avore, John.

Why is it, friends that we've a-met
By zuns that now ha' long a-zet,
Or winter vires that bleaezed for wold
An' young vo'k, now vor ever cwold,
Be met wi' jay that can't be twold?
Why, 'tis because they friends have all
Our youthvul spring ha' left our fall,--
The looks we know'd avore, John.

'Tis lively at a feaeir, among
The chatten, laughen, shiften drong,
When wold an' young, an' high an' low,
Do streamy round, an' to an' fro;
But what new feaece that we don't know,
Can ever meaeke woone's warm heart dance