My hwome wer on the timber'd ground
O' Duncombe, wi' the hills a-bound:
Where vew from other peaerts did come,
An' vew did travel vur from hwome,
An' small the worold I did know;
But then, what had it to bestow
But Fanny Deaene so good an' feaeir?
'Twer wide enough if she wer there.
In our deep hollow where the zun
Did eaerly leaeve the smoky tun,
An' all the meaeds a-growen dim,
Below the hill wi' zunny rim;
Oh! small the land the hills did bound,
But there did walk upon the ground
Young Fanny Deaene so good an' feaeir:
'Twer wide enough if she wer there.
O' leaete upon the misty plain
I stay'd vor shelter vrom the rain,
Where sharp-leav'd ashes' heads did twist
In hufflen wind, an' driften mist,
An' small the worold I could zee;
But then it had below the tree
My Fanny Deaene so good an' feaeir:
'Twer wide enough if she wer there.
An' I've a house wi' thatchen ridge,
Below the elems by the bridge:
Wi' small-peaen'd windows, that do look
Upon a knap, an' ramblen brook;
An' small's my house, my ruf is low,
But then who mid it have to show
But Fanny Deaene so good an' feaeir?
'Tis fine enough if peace is there.