The lower builden on the ground,
An' there in woone, a two-leav'd door
Do zwing above the marble vloor:
An' aye, as luck do zoo betide
Our comen, wi' can goo inside.
The door is oben now. An' zoo
The keeper kindly let us drough.
There as we softly trod the vloor
O' marble stwone, 'ithin the door,
The echoes ov our vootsteps vled
Out roun' the wall, and over head;
An' there a-painted, zide by zide,
In memory o' the squier's bride,
In zeven paintens, true to life,
Wer zeven zights o' wedded life."

Then Meaester Collins twold me all
The teaeles a-painted roun' the wall;
An' vu'st the bride did stan' to plight
Her wedden vow, below the light
A-shooten down, so bright's a fleaeme,
In drough a churches window freaeme.
An' near the bride, on either hand,
You'd zee her comely bridemaids stand,
Wi' eyelashes a-bent in streaeks
O' brown above their bloomen cheaeks:
An' sheenen feaeir, in mellow light,
Wi' flowen heaeir, an' frocks o' white.

"An' here," good Meaester Collins cried,
"You'll zee a creaedle at her zide,
An' there's her child, a-lyen deep
'Ithin it, an' a-gone to sleep,
Wi' little eyelashes a-met
In fellow streaeks, as black as jet;
The while her needle, over head,
Do nimbly leaed the snow-white thread,
To zew a robe her love do meaeke
Wi' happy leaebor vor his seaeke.

"An' here a-geaen's another pleaece,
Where she do zit wi' smilen feaece,
An' while her bwoy do leaen, wi' pride,
Ageaen her lap, below her zide,
Her vinger tip do leaed his look
To zome good words o' God's own book.

"An' next you'll zee her in her pleaece,
Avore her happy husband's feaece,
As he do zit, at evenen-tide,
A-resten by the vier-zide.
An' there the childern's heads do rise
Wi' laughen lips, an' beamen eyes,
Above the bwoard, where she do lay
Her sheenen tacklen, wi' the tea.

"An' here another zide do show
Her vinger in her scizzars' bow
Avore two daughters, that do stand,
Wi' leaernsome minds, to watch her hand
A-sheaepen out, wi' skill an' ceaere,
A frock vor them to zew an' wear.

"Then next you'll zee her bend her head
Above her ailen husband's bed,
A-fannen, wi' an inward pray'r,
His burnen brow wi' beaeten air;
The while the clock, by candle light,
Do show that 'tis the dead o' night.

"An' here ageaen upon the wall,
Where we do zee her last ov all,
Her husband's head