ghbours round,
An' rain do vall, an' streams do flow,
Vor lands above, an' lands below,
My bit o' meaed is God's own boon,
To me alwone, vrom June to June.

EARLY RISEN.

The air to gi'e your cheaeks a hue
O' rwosy red, so feair to view,
Is what do sheaeke the grass-bleaedes gray
At breaek o' day, in mornen dew;
Vor vo'k that will be rathe abrode,
Will meet wi' health upon their road.

But biden up till dead o' night,
When han's o' clocks do stan' upright,
By candle-light, do soon consume
The feaece's bloom, an' turn it white.
An' light a-cast vrom midnight skies
Do blunt the sparklen ov the eyes.

Vor health do weaeke vrom nightly dreams
Below the mornen's eaerly beams,
An' leaeve the dead-air'd houses' eaves,
Vor quiv'ren leaves, an' bubblen streams,
A-glitt'ren brightly to the view,
Below a sky o' cloudless blue.

ZELLEN WOONE'S HONEY TO BUY ZOME'HAT SWEET.

Why, his heart's lik' a popple, so hard as a stwone,
Vor 'tis money, an' money's his ho,
An' to handle an' reckon it up vor his own,
Is the best o' the jays he do know.
Why, vor money he'd gi'e up his lags an' be leaeme,
Or would peaert wi' his zight an' be blind,
Or would lose vo'k's good will, vor to have a bad neaeme,
Or his peace, an' have trouble o' mind.
But wi' ev'ry good thing that his meaenness mid bring,
He'd pay vor his money,
An' only zell honey to buy zome'hat sweet.

He did whisper to me, "You do know that you stood
By the Squier, wi' the vote that you had,
You could ax en to help ye to zome'hat as good,
Or to vind a good pleaece vor your lad."
"Aye, aye, but if I wer beholden vor bread
To another," I zaid, "I should bind
All my body an' soul to the nod of his head,
An' gi'e up all my freedom o' mind."
An' then, if my pain wer a-zet wi' my gain,
I should pay vor my money,
An' only zell honey to buy zome'hat sweet.

Then, if my bit o' brook that do wind so vur round,
Wer but his, why, he'd straighten his bed,
An' the wold stunpole woak that do stan' in my ground,
Shoudden long sheaede the grass wi' his head.
But if I do vind jay where the leaves be a-shook
On the limbs, wi' their sheaedes on the grass,
Or below, in the bow o' the withy-bound nook,
That the rock-washen water do pass,
Then wi' they jays a-vled an' zome goold in their stead,
I should pay vor my money,