’Twere nearly noon, i’th month o’ May; We said we’d meet some other day; An’ then th’ owd crayter limped away Deawn th’ green lone. An’ neaw, let’s do the thing that’s reet, An’ then, when death puts eawt e’r leet, We’s haply ston a chance to meet Gentle Jone! [Illustration] [Illustration] NEET-FO’. OLD AIR—“_When Dolly and I get wed_.” Th’ wynt blows keen thro’ th’ shiverin’ thorn, An’ th’ leet looks wild i’th sky; Come, Tet, stir up that fire, an’ draw That keyther gently by; Aw’ve done my weshin’, gronny; an’ Aw’ve tidied every thing; An’ neaw aw’ll sit me deawn to sew, An’ hearken th’ kettle sing. Bring in some coals; an’ shut that dur,— It’s quite a wintry day; Reitch deawn that ham; eawr Robin likes A relish to his tay. Sweep th’ grate, an’ set this table eawt; Put th’ tay-pot upo’ th’ oon; It’s gettin’ on for baggin’ time, An’ he’ll be comin’ soon. Th’ fire bruns clear; an’ th’ heawse begins, A-lookin’ brisk an’ breet, As th’ time draws near when he gets back, Fro’ th’ teawn at th’ edge o’ neet; It makes one hutch wi’ glee to yer A favourite fuut come whoam; An’ it’s very fine to hearken, when One knows its sure to come Th’ cat pricks up her ears at th’ sneck, Wi’ mony a leetsome toot; An’ th’ owd arm-cheer i’th corner seems, As if it yerd his fuut; Th’ window blinks; an’ th’ clock begins A-tickin’ leawd an’ fain; An’ th’ tin things winkin’ upo’ th’ wole,— They groon as breet again. Th’ kettle’s hummin’ o’er wi’ fun— Just look at th’ end o’th speawt; It’s like some little sooty lad At’s set his lips to sheawt. Yon wayter-drops at fo’n fro’ th’ tap, Are gettin’ wick wi’ glee; An yo’re fain, gronny, too, aw know,— But noan as fain as me. Keep th’ rockers gooin’ soft an’ slow, An’ shade that leet away; Aw think this little duck’s o’th mend; Hoo sleeps so weel to-day; Doze on, my darlin’; keep ’em shut,— Those teeny windows blue; Good Lord! iv aught should happen thee, What could thi mother do! Here, gronny, put this cover on, An’ tuck it nicely in; Keep th’ keyther stirrin’ gently; an’ Make very little din. An’ lap thoose dimpled honds away Fro’ th’ frosty winter air; They lie’n a-top o’ th’ bit o’ quilt, Like two clock-hommers theer. But stop; hoo’s laughin’! come, hie up; My bonny little puss! God bless it! Daddy’s noan far off; Let mammy have a buss! He’s here! He’s here! Tet, bring that cheer! Eh, dear; these darlin’s two! Iv it wur not for this chylt an’ him, What could a body do! [Illustration] AW’VE WORN MY BITS O’ SHOON AWAY.