Zaid her aunt, "Why the vo'k 'ull talk finely o' you,"
An', cried she, "I don't ceaere if they do."
When the time o' the feaest wer ageaen a-come round,
An' the vo'k wer a-gather'd woonce mwore,
Why she guess'd if she went there, she'd soon be a-vound
An' a-took seaefely hwome to her door.
Zaid her mother, "'Tis sure to be wet."
Zaid her cousin, "'T'ull rain by zunzet."
Zaid her aunt, "Why the clouds there do look black an' blue,"
An' zaid she, "I don't ceaere if they do."

An' at last, when she own'd I mid meaeke her my bride,
Vor to help me, an' sheaere all my lot,
An' wi' faithvulness keep all her life at my zide,
Though my way mid be happy or not.
Zaid her naighbours, "Why wedlock's a clog,
An' a wife's a-tied up lik' a dog."
Zaid her aunt, "You'll vind trials enough vor to rue,"
An', zaid she, "I don't ceaere if I do."

* * * * *

Now she's married, an' still in the midst ov her tweils
She's as happy's the daylight is long,
She do goo out abroad wi' her feaece vull o' smiles,
An' do work in the house wi' a zong.
An', zays woone, "She don't grieve, you can tell."
Zays another, "Why, don't she look well!"
Zays her aunt, "Why the young vo'k do envy you two,"
An', zays she, "I don't ceaere if they do."

Now vor me I can zing in my business abrode,
Though the storm do beaet down on my poll,
There's a wife-brighten'd vier at the end o' my road,
An' her love vor the jay o' my soul.
Out o' door I wi' rogues mid be tried:
Out o' door be brow-beaeten wi' pride;
Men mid scowl out o' door, if my wife is but true--
Let em scowl, "I don't ceaere if they do."

CHANGES.

By time's a-brought the mornen light,
By time the light do weaene;
By time's a-brought the young man's might,
By time his might do weaene;
The Winter snow do whiten grass,
The zummer flow'rs do brighten grass,
Vor zome things we do lose wi' pain,
We've mwore that mid be jay to gain,
An' my dear life do seem the seaeme
While at my zide
There still do bide
Your welcome feaece an' hwomely neaeme.

Wi' ev'ry day that woonce come on
I had to choose a jay,
Wi' many that be since a-gone
I had to lose a jay.
Drough longsome years a-wanderen,
Drough lwonesome rest a-ponderen,
Woone peaceful daytime wer a-bro't
To heal the heart another smote;
But my dear life do s