Good Meaester Collins heaerd woone day
A man a-talken, that did zay
It woulden answer to be kind,
He thought, to vo'k o' grov'len mind,
Vor they would only teaeke it wrong,
That you be weak an' they be strong.
"No," cried the goodman, "never mind,
Let vo'k be thankless,—you be kind;
Don't do your good for e'thly ends
At man's own call vor man's amends.
Though souls befriended should remain
As thankless as the sea vor rain,
On them the good's a-lost 'tis true,
But never can be lost to you.
Look on the cool-feaeced moon at night
Wi' light-vull ring, at utmost height,
A-casten down, in gleamen strokes,
His beams upon the dim-bough'd woaks,
To show the cliff a-risen steep,
To show the stream a-vallen deep,
To show where winden roads do leaed,
An' prickly thorns do ward the meaed.
While sheaedes o' boughs do flutter dark
Upon the woak-trees' moon-bright bark.
There in the lewth, below the hill,
The nightengeaele, wi' ringen bill,
Do zing among the soft-air'd groves,
While up below the house's oves
The maid, a-looken vrom her room
Drough window, in her youthvul bloom,
Do listen, wi' white ears among
Her glossy heaeirlocks, to the zong.
If, then, the while the moon do light
The lwonesome zinger o' the night,
His cwold-beam'd light do seem to show
The prowlen owls the mouse below.
What then? Because an evil will,
Ov his sweet good, mid meaeke zome ill,
Shall all his feaece be kept behind
The dark-brow'd hills to leaeve us blind?"