The thissledown by wind's a-roll'd
In Fall along the zunny plain,
Did catch the grass, but lose its hold,
Or cling to bennets, but in vain.
But when it zwept along the grass,
An' zunk below the hollow's edge,
It lay at rest while winds did pass
Above the pit-bescreenen ledge.
The plain ha' brightness wi' his strife,
The pit is only dark at best,
There's pleasure in a worksome life,
An' sloth is tiresome wi' its rest.
Zoo, then, I'd sooner beaer my peaert,
Ov all the trials vo'k do rue,
Than have a deadness o' the heart,
Wi' nothen mwore to veel or do.