To morrow stir so brisk's you can,
An' get your work up under han';
Vor I an' Jim, an' Poll's young man,
Shall goo to feaeir; an' zoo,
If you wull let us gi'e ye a eaerm
Along the road, or in the zwarm
O' vo'k, we'll keep ye out o' harm,
An' gi'e ye a feaeiren too.
We won't stay leaete there, I'll be boun';
We'll bring our sheaedes off out o' town
A mile, avore the zun is down,
If he's a sheenen clear.
Zoo when your work is all a-done,
Your mother can't but let ye run
An' zee a little o' the fun,
There's nothen there to fear.