Ah! sad wer we as we did peaece
The wold church road, wi' downcast feaece,
The while the bells, that mwoan'd so deep
Above our child a-left asleep,
Wer now a-zingen all alive
Wi' tother bells to meaeke the vive.
But up at woone pleaece we come by,
'Twer hard to keep woone's two eyes dry:
On Steaen-cliff road, 'ithin the drong,
Up where, as vo'k do pass along,
The turnen stile, a-painted white,
Do sheen by day an' show by night.
Vor always there, as we did goo
To church, thik stile did let us drough,
Wi' spreaden eaerms that wheel'd to guide
Us each in turn to tother zide.
An' vu'st ov all the train he took
My wife, wi' winsome gait an' look;
An' then zent on my little maid,
A-skippen onward, overjay'd
To reach ageaen the pleaece o' pride,
Her comely mother's left han' zide.
An' then, a-wheelen roun', he took
On me, 'ithin his third white nook.
An' in the fourth, a-sheaeken wild,
He zent us on our giddy child.
But eesterday he guided slow
My downcast Jenny, vull o' woe,
An' then my little maid in black,
A-walken softly on her track;
An' after he'd a-turn'd ageaen,
To let me goo along the leaene,
He had noo little bwoy to vill
His last white eaerms, an' they stood still.