Ov all the chaps a-burnt so brown
By zunny hills an' hollors,
Ov all the whindlen chaps in town
Wi' backs so weak as rollers,
There's narn that's half so light o' heart,
(I'll bet, if thou't zay "done," min,)
An' narn that's half so strong an' smart,
'S a merry farmer's son, min.
He'll fling a stwone so true's a shot,
He'll jump so light's a cat;
He'll heave a waight up that would squot
A weakly fellow flat.
He wont gi'e up when things don't fay,
But turn em into fun, min;
An' what's hard work to zome, is play
Avore a farmer's son, min.
His bwony eaerm an' knuckly vist
('Tis best to meaeke a friend o't)
Would het a fellow, that's a-miss'd,
Half backward wi' the wind o't.
Wi' such a chap at hand, a maid
Would never goo a nun, min;
She'd have noo call to be afraid
Bezide a farmer's son, min.
He'll turn a vurrow, drough his langth,
So straight as eyes can look,
Or pitch all day, wi' half his strangth,
At ev'ry pitch a pook;
An' then goo vower mile, or vive,
To vind his friends in fun, min,
Vor maiden's be but dead alive
'Ithout a farmer's son, min.
Zoo jay be in his heart so light,
An' manly feaece so brown;
An' health goo wi' en hwome at night,
Vrom meaed, or wood, or down.
O' rich an' poor, o' high an' low,
When all's a-said an' done, min,
The smartest chap that I do know,
'S a worken farmer's son, min.