.
Out in the orcha'd where we had a-play'd,
There wer zome things a-seemen the seaeme,
But Meaery's a-married away.

There wer two little childern a-zent,
Wi' a message to me, oh! so feair
As the mother that they did zoo ment,
When in childhood she play'd wi' me there.
Zoo they twold me that if I would come
Down to Coomb, I should zee a wold friend,
Vor a playmeaete o' mine wer at hwome,
An' would stay till another week's end.
At the dear pworched door, could I dare
To zee Meaery a-married away!

On the flower-not, now all a-trod
Stwony hard, the green grass wer a-spread,
An' the long-slighted woodbine did nod
Vrom the wall, wi' a loose-hangen head.
An' the martin's clay nest wer a-hung
Up below the brown oves, in the dry,
An' the rooks had a-rock'd broods o' young
On the elems below the May sky;
But the bud on the bed, coulden bide,
Wi' young Meaery a-married away.

There the copse-wood, a-grow'd to a height,
Wer a-vell'd, an' the primrwose in blooth,
Among chips on the ground a-turn'd white,
Wer a-quiv'ren, all beaere ov his lewth.
The green moss wer a-spread on the thatch,
That I left yollow reed, an' avore
The small green, there did swing a new hatch,
Vor to let me walk into the door.
Oh! the rook did still rock o'er the rick,
But wi' Meaery a-married away.

PICKEN O' SCROFF.

Oh! the wood wer a-vell'd in the copse,
An' the moss-bedded primrwose did blow;
An' vrom tall-stemmed trees' leafless tops,
There did lie but slight sheaedes down below.
An' the sky wer a-showen, in drough
By the tree-stems, the deepest o' blue,
Wi' a light that did vall on an' off
The dry ground, a-strew'd over wi' scroff.

There the hedge that wer leaetely so high,
Wer a-plush'd, an' along by the zide,
Where the waggon 'd a-haul'd the wood by,
There did reach the deep wheelrouts, a-dried.
An' the groun' wi' the sticks wer bespread,
Zome a-cut off alive, an' zome dead.
An' vor burnen, well wo'th reaeken off,
By the childern a-picken o' scroff.

In the tree-studded leaeze, where the woak
Wer a-spreaden his head out around,
There the scrags that the wind had a-broke,
Wer a-lyen about on the ground
Or the childern, wi' little red hands,
Wer a-tyen em up in their bands;
Vor noo squier or farmer turn'd off
Little childern a-picken o' scroff.

There we