had sich a bit o' fun!
He meaede the maidens squeael an' run,
Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

EASTER MONDAY.

An' zoo o' Monday we got drough
Our work betimes, an ax'd a vew
Young vo'k vrom Stowe an' Coom, an' zome
Vrom uncle's down at Grange, to come.
An' they so spry, wi' merry smiles,
Did beaet the path an' leaep the stiles,
Wi' two or dree young chaps bezide,
To meet an' keep up Easter tide:
Vor we'd a-zaid avore, we'd git
Zome friends to come, an' have a bit
O' fun wi' me, an' Jeaene, an' Kit,
Because 'twer Easter Monday.

An' there we play'd away at quaits,
An' weigh'd ourzelves wi' sceaeles an' waights;
An' jump'd to zee who jump'd the spryest,
An' sprung the vurdest an' the highest;
An' rung the bells vor vull an hour.
An' play'd at vives ageaen the tower.
An' then we went an' had a tait,
An' cousin Sammy, wi' his waight,
Broke off the bar, he wer so fat!
An' toppled off, an' vell down flat
Upon his head, an' squot his hat,
Because 'twer Easter Monday.

DOCK-LEAVES.

The dock-leaves that do spread so wide
Up yonder zunny bank's green zide,
Do bring to mind what we did do
At play wi' dock-leaves years agoo:
How we,--when nettles had a-stung
Our little hands, when we wer young,--
Did rub em wi' a dock, an' zing
"_Out nettl', in dock. In dock, out sting._"
An' when your feaece, in zummer's het,
Did sheen wi' tricklen draps o' zweat,
How you, a-zot bezide the bank,
Didst toss your little head, an' pank,
An' teaeke a dock-leaf in your han',
An' whisk en lik' a leaedy's fan;
While I did hunt, 'ithin your zight,
Vor streaky cockle-shells to fight.

In all our play-geaemes we did bruise
The dock-leaves wi' our nimble shoes;
Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling
You maidens in the orcha'd swing,
An' by the zaw-pit's dousty bank,
Where we did tait upon a plank.
--(D'ye mind how woonce, you cou'den zit
The bwoard, an' vell off into pit?)
An' when we hunted you about
The grassy barken, in an' out
Among the ricks, your vlee-en frocks
An' nimble veet did strik' the docks.
An' zoo they docks, a-spread so wide
Up yonder zunny bank's green zide,
Do bring to mind what we did do,
Among the dock-leaves years agoo.

THE BLACKBIRD.

Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny show'rs o' spring,--
Vor all the lark, a-swingen high,
Mid z