' cats.
At woone or two o'clock, we vound
Ourzelves at Shrodon seaefe an' sound,
A-strutten in among the rows
O' tilted stannens an' o' shows,
An' girt long booths wi' little bars
Chock-vull o' barrels, mugs, an' jars,
An' meat a-cooken out avore
The vier at the upper door;
Where zellers bwold to buyers shy
Did hollow round us, "What d'ye buy?"
An' scores o' merry tongues did speak
At woonce, an' childern's pipes did squeak,
An' horns did blow, an' drums did rumble,
An' bawlen merrymen did tumble;
An' woone did all but want an edge
To peaert the crowd wi', lik' a wedge.

We zaw the dancers in a show
Dance up an' down, an' to an' fro,
Upon a rwope, wi' chalky zoles,
So light as magpies up on poles;
An' tumblers, wi' their streaks an' spots,
That all but tied theirzelves in knots.
An' then a conjurer burn'd off
Poll's han'kerchief so black's a snoff,
An' het en, wi' a single blow,
Right back ageaen so white as snow.
An' after that, he fried a fat
Girt ceaeke inzide o' my new hat;
An' yet, vor all he did en brown,
He didden even zweal the crown.

SHRODON FEAeR.

_The rest o't._

An' after that we met wi' zome
O' Mans'on vo'k, but jist a-come,
An' had a raffle vor a treat
All roun', o' gingerbread to eat;
An' Tom meaede leaest, wi' all his sheaekes,
An' paid the money vor the ceaekes,
But wer so lwoth to put it down
As if a penny wer a poun'.
Then up come zidelen Sammy Heaere,
That's fond o' Poll, an' she can't bear,
A-holden out his girt scram vist,
An' ax'd her, wi' a grin an' twist,
To have zome nuts; an' she, to hide
Her laughen, turn'd her head azide,
An' answer'd that she'd rather not,
But Nancy mid. An' Nan, so hot
As vier, zaid 'twer quite enough
Vor Poll to answer vor herzuf:
She had a tongue, she zaid, an' wit
Enough to use en, when 'twer fit.
An' in the dusk, a-riden round
Drough Okford, who d'ye think we vound
But Sam ageaen, a-gwaein vrom feaeir
Astride his broken-winded meaere.
An' zoo, a-hetten her, he tried
To keep up clwose by ouer zide:
But when we come to Hayward-brudge,
Our Poll gi'ed Dick a meaenen nudge,
An' wi' a little twitch our meaere
Flung out her lags so lights a heaere,
An' left poor Sammy's skin an' bwones
Behind, a-kicken o' the stwones.

MARTIN'S TIDE.

Come, bring a log o' cleft wood, Jack,
An' fling en on ageaen t