News o' grief had overteaeken
Dark-ey'd Fanny, now vorseaeken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heaven,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grieven,
Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepen
Down her cheaeks, in bitter weepen.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An' there wer still the han's that tied it
Hangen white,
Or wringen tight,
In ceaere that drown'd all ceaere bezide it.
When a man, wi' heartless slighten,
Mid become a maiden's blighten,
He mid ceaerlessly vorseaeke her,
But must answer to her Meaeker;
He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness,
All her deeds o' loven-kindness,
God wull waigh em wi' the slighten
That mid be her love's requiten;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o' woe
Do breaek the heart ov ev'ry griever.