wi' Jenny took a stroll
Her youngest sister, Poll, so gay,
Bezide John Hind, ah! merry soul,
An' mid her wedlock fay;
An' at our zides did play an' run
My little maid an' smaller son.

Above the beaeten mwold upsprung
The driven doust, a-spreaden light,
An' on the new-leav'd thorn, a-hung,
Wer wool a-quiv'ren white;
An' corn, a sheenen bright, did bow,
On slopen Meldon's zunny brow.

There, down the rufless wall did glow
The zun upon the grassy vloor,
An' weakly-wandren winds did blow,
Unhinder'd by a door;
An' smokeless now avore the zun
Did stan' the ivy-girded tun.

My bwoy did watch the daws' bright wings
A-flappen vrom their ivy bow'rs;
My wife did watch my maid's light springs,
Out here an' there vor flow'rs;
And John did zee noo tow'rs, the pleaece
Vor him had only Polly's feaece.

An' there, of all that pried about
The walls, I overlook'd em best,
An' what o' that? Why, I meaede out
Noo mwore than all the rest:
That there wer woonce the nest of zome
That wer a-gone avore we come.

When woonce above the tun the smoke
Did wreathy blue among the trees,
An' down below, the liven vo'k,
Did tweil as brisk as bees;
Or zit wi' weary knees, the while
The sky wer lightless to their tweil.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

JOHN, JEALOUS AT SHROTON FEAeIR.

_Jeaene; her Brother; John, her Sweetheart; and Racketen Joe_

JEAeNE.

I'm thankvul I be out o' that
Thick crowd, an' not asquot quite flat.
That ever we should plunge in where the vo'k do drunge
So tight's the cheese-wring on the veaet!
I've sca'ce a thing a-left in pleaece.
'Tis all a-tore vrom pin an' leaece.
My bonnet's like a wad, a-beaet up to a dod,
An' all my heaeir's about my feaece.

HER BROTHER.

Here, come an' zit out here a bit,
An' put yourzelf to rights.

JOHN.

No, Jeaene; no, no! Now you don't show
The very wo'st o' plights.

HER BROTHER.

Come, come, there's little harm adone;
Your hoops be out so roun's the zun.

JOHN.

An' there's your bonnet back in sheaepe.

HER BROTHER.

An' there's your pin, and there's your ceaepe.

JOHN.

An' there your curls do match, an' there
'S the vittiest maid in all the feaeir.

JEAeNE.

Now look, an' tell us who's a-spied
Vrom Sturminster, or Manston zide.

HER BROTHER.

There's ranten Joe! How he do stalk,
An' zw