There lovely Jenny past,
While the blast did blow
On over Ashknowle Hill
To the mill below;
A-blinken quick, wi' lashes long,
Above her cheaeks o' red,
Ageaen the wind, a-beaeten strong,
Upon her droopen head.
Oh! let dry win' blow bleaek,
On her cheaek so heaele,
But let noo rain-shot chill
Meaeke her ill an' peaele;
Vor healthy is the breath the blast
Upon the hill do yield,
An' healthy is the light a cast
Vrom lofty sky to vield.
An' mid noo sorrow-pang
Ever hang a tear
Upon the dark lash-heaeir
Ov my feaeirest dear;
An' mid noo unkind deed o' mine
Spweil what my love mid gain,
Nor meaeke my merry Jenny pine
At last wi' dim-ey'd pain.