ere, a-meaeken for the drong.
(2) My goodness! How the dogs do zweep along,
A-poken out their pweinted noses' tips.
(3) He can't allow hizzelf much time vor slips!
(1) They'll hab'en, after all, I'll bet a crown.
(2) Done vor a crown. They woon't! He's gwaein to groun'.
(3) He is! (1) He idden! (3) Ah! 'tis well his tooes
Ha' got noo corns, inside o' hobnail shoes.
(1) He's geaeme a runnen too. Why, he do mwore
Than eaern his life. (3) His life wer his avore.
(1) There, now the dogs wull turn en. (2) No! He's right.
(1) He idden! (2) Ees he is! (3) He's out o' zight.
(1) Aye, aye. His mettle wull be well a-tried
Agwain down Verny Hill, o' tother zide.
They'll have en there. (3) O no! a vew good hops
Wull teaeke en on to Knapton Lower Copse.
(2) An' that's a meesh that he've a-took avore.
(3) Ees, that's his hwome. (1) He'll never reach his door.
(2) He wull. (1) He woon't. (3) Now, hark, d'ye heaer em now?
(2) O! here's a bwoy a-come athirt the brow
O' Knapton Hill. We'll ax en. (1) Here, my bwoy!
Can'st tell us where's the heaere? (4) He's got awoy.
(2) Ees, got awoy, in coo'se, I never zeed
A heaere a-scoten on wi' half his speed.
(1) Why, there, the dogs be wold, an' half a-done.
They can't catch anything wi' lags to run.
(2) Vrom vu'st to last they had but little chance
O' catchen o'n. (3) They had a perty dance.
(1) No, catch en, no! I little thought they would;
He know'd his road too well to Knapton Wood.
(3) No! no! I wish the squier would let me feaere
On rabbits till his hounds do catch thik heaere.

NANNY GILL.

Ah! they wer times, when Nanny Gill
Went so'jeren ageaenst her will,
Back when the King come down to view
His ho'se an' voot, in red an' blue,
An' they did march in rows,
An' wheel in lines an' bows,
Below the King's own nose;
An' guns did pwoint, an' swords did gleaere,
A-fighten foes that werden there.

Poor Nanny Gill did goo to zell
In town her glitt'ren macarel,
A-pack'd wi' ceaere, in even lots,
A-ho'seback in a peaeir o' pots.
An' zoo when she did ride
Between her panniers wide,
Red-cloked in all her pride,
Why, who but she, an' who but broke
The road avore her scarlet cloke!

But Nanny's ho'se that she did ride,
Woonce carr'd a sword ageaen his zide,
An' had, to prick en into rank,
A so'jer's spurs