d vor meat,
We zet to work, an' zoo begun
Our feaest an' fun at Herrenston.

An' mothers there, bezide the bwoards,
Wi' little childern in their laps,
Did stoop, wi' loven looks an' words,
An' veed em up wi' bits an' draps;
An' smilen husbands went in quest
O' what their wives did like the best;
An' you'd ha' zeed a happy zight,
Thik merry night, at Herrenston.

An' then the band, wi' each his leaf
O' notes, above us at the zide,
Play'd up the praise ov England's beef
An' vill'd our hearts wi' English pride;
An' leafy chains o' garlands hung,
Wi' dazzlen stripes o' flags, that swung
Above us, in a bleaeze o' light,
Thik happy night, at Herrenston.

An' then the clerk, avore the vier,
Begun to lead, wi' smilen feaece,
A carol, wi' the Monkton quire,
That rung drough all the crowded pleaece.
An' dins' o' words an' laughter broke
In merry peals drough clouds o' smoke;
Vor hardly wer there woone that spoke,
But pass'd a joke, at Herrenston.

Then man an' maid stood up by twos,
In rows, drough passage, out to door,
An' gaily beaet, wi' nimble shoes,
A dance upon the stwonen floor.
But who is worthy vor to tell,
If she that then did bear the bell,
Wer woone o' Monkton, or o' Ceaeme,
Or zome sweet neaeme ov Herrenston.

Zoo peace betide the girt vo'k's land,
When they can stoop, wi' kindly smile,
An' teaeke a poor man by the hand,
An' cheer en in his daily tweil.
An' oh! mid He that's vur above
The highest here, reward their love,
An' gi'e their happy souls, drough greaece,
A higher pleaece than Herrenston.

OUT AT PLOUGH.

Though cool avore the sheenen sky
Do vall the sheaedes below the copse,
The timber-trees, a-reachen high,
Ha' zunsheen on their lofty tops,
Where yonder land's a-lyen plow'd,
An' red, below the snow-white cloud,
An' vlocks o' pitchen rooks do vwold
Their wings to walk upon the mwold.
While floods be low,
An' buds do grow,
An' air do blow, a-broad, O.

But though the air is cwold below
The creaken copses' darksome screen,
The truest sheaede do only show
How strong the warmer zun do sheen;
An' even times o' grief an' pain,
Ha' good a-comen in their train,
An' 'tis but happiness do mark
The sheaedes o' sorrow out so dark.
As tweils be sad,
Or smiles be glad,
Or times