do!
Vor the hands that would lift up his head,
An' sheaeke up his pillor anew.
Ills to come! pills to come! bills to come!
Noo soul to sheaere
The trials the poor wratch must bear.

MARRIED PEAeIR'S LOVE WALK.

Come let's goo down the grove to-night;
The moon is up, 'tis all so light
As day, an' win' do blow enough
To sheaeke the leaves, but tidden rough.
Come, Esther, teaeke, vor wold time's seaeke,
Your hooded cloke, that's on the pin,
An' wrap up warm, an' teaeke my eaerm,
You'll vind it better out than in.
Come, Etty dear; come out o' door,
An' teaeke a sweetheart's walk woonce mwore.

How charmen to our very souls,
Wer woonce your evenen maiden strolls,
The while the zetten zunlight dyed
Wi' red the beeches' western zide,
But back avore your vinger wore
The wedden ring that's now so thin;
An' you did sheaere a mother's ceaere,
To watch an' call ye eaerly in.
Come, Etty dear; come out o' door,
An' teaeke a sweetheart's walk woonce mwore.

An' then ageaen, when you could slight
The clock a-striken leaete at night,
The while the moon, wi' risen rim,
Did light the beeches' eastern lim'.
When I'd a-bound your vinger round
Wi' thik goold ring that's now so thin,
An' you had nwone but me alwone
To teaeke ye leaete or eaerly in.
Come, Etty dear; come out o' door,
An' teaeke a sweetheart's walk woonce mwore.

But often when the western zide
O' trees did glow at evenen-tide,
Or when the leaeter moon did light
The beeches' eastern boughs at night,
An' in the grove, where vo'k did rove
The crumpled leaves did vlee an' spin,
You coulden sheaere the pleasure there:
Your work or childern kept ye in.
Come, Etty dear, come out o' door,
An' teaeke a sweetheart's walk woonce mwore.

But ceaeres that zunk your oval chin
Ageaen your bosom's lily skin,
Vor all they meaede our life so black,
Be now a-lost behind our back.
Zoo never mwope, in midst of hope,
To slight our blessens 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,
We'll teaeke a sweetheart's walk woonce mwore.

A WIFE A-PRAIS'D.

'Twer May, but ev'ry leaf wer dry
All day below a sheenen sky;
The zun did glow wi' yollow gleaere,
An' cowslips blow wi' yollow gleaere,
Wi' graegles' bells a-droopen low,
An' bremble bou