the wat'ry wall
In spots o' grey the moss do grow;
The ruf noo mwore shall overspread
The pillor ov our weary head,
Nor shall the rwose's mossy ball
Behang vor you the house's wall.
Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu!
The wall is wold, my grief is new.

BLEAeKE'S HOUSE IN BLACKMWORE.

John Bleaeke he had a bit o' ground
Come to en by his mother's zide;
An' after that, two hunderd pound
His uncle left en when he died;
"Well now," cried John, "my mind's a-bent
To build a house, an' pay noo rent."
An' Meaery gi'ed en her consent.
"Do, do,"--the maidens cried
"True, true,"--his wife replied.
"Done, done,--a house o' brick or stwone,"
Cried merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he call'd vor men o' skill,
An' builders answer'd to his call;
An' met to reckon, each his bill;
Vor vloor an' window, ruf an' wall.
An' woone did mark it on the groun',
An' woone did think, an' scratch his crown,
An' reckon work, an' write it down:
"Zoo, zoo,"--woone treaedesman cried,
"True, true,"--woone mwore replied.
"Aye, aye,--good work, an' have good pay,"
Cried merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

The work begun, an' trowels rung,
An' up the bricken wall did rise,
An' up the slanten refters sprung,
Wi' busy blows, an' lusty cries!
An' woone brought planks to meaeke a vloor,
An' woone did come wi' durns or door,
An' woone did zaw, an' woone did bore,
"Brick, brick,--there down below,
Quick, quick,--why b'ye so slow?"
"Lime, lime,--why we do weaeste the time,
Vor merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore."

The house wer up vrom groun' to tun,
An' thatch'd ageaen the rainy sky,
Wi' windows to the noonday zun,
Where rushy Stour do wander by.
In coo'se he had a pworch to screen
The inside door, when win's wer keen,
An' out avore the pworch, a green.
"Here! here!"--the childern cried:
"Dear! dear!"--the wife replied;
"There, there,--the house is perty feaeir,"
Cried merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he ax'd his friends to warm
His house, an' they, a goodish batch,
Did come alwone, or eaerm in eaerm,
All roads, a-meaeken vor his hatch:
An' there below the clavy beam
The kettle-spout did zing an' steam;
An' there wer ceaekes, an' tea wi' cream.
"Lo! lo!"--the women cried;
"Ho! ho!"--the men replied;
"Health, health,--attend ye wi' your wealth,
Good merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore."

Then John, a-prais'd, f