O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Oh! when thy brook-drinken flow'r's a-blowen,
The burnen zummer's a-zetten in;
The time o' greenness, the time o' mowen,
When in the hay-vield, wi' zunburnt skin,
The vo'k do drink, O,
Upon the brink, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Wi' eaerms a-spreaden, an' cheaeks a-blowen,
How proud wer I when I vu'st could zwim
Athirt the pleaece where thou bist a-growen,
Wi' thy long more vrom the bottom dim;
While cows, knee-high, O,
In brook, wer nigh, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Ov all the brooks drough the meaeds a-winden,
Ov all the meaeds by a river's brim,
There's nwone so feaeir o' my own heart's vinden,
As where the maidens do zee thee swim,
An' stan' to teaeke, O,
Wi' long-stemm'd reaeke, O,
Thy flow'r afloat, goolden zummer clote!

I GOT TWO VIELDS.

I got two vields, an' I don't ceaere
What squire mid have a bigger sheaere.
My little zummer-leaeze do stratch
All down the hangen, to a patch
O' meaed between a hedge an' rank
Ov elems, an' a river bank.
Where yollow clotes, in spreaden beds
O' floaten leaves, do lift their heads
By benden bulrushes an' zedge
A-swayen at the water's edge,
Below the withy that do spread
Athirt the brook his grey-leav'd head.
An' eltrot flowers, milky white,
Do catch the slanten evenen light;
An' in the meaeple boughs, along
The hedge, do ring the blackbird's zong;
Or in the day, a-vleen drough
The leafy trees, the whoa'se gookoo
Do zing to mowers that do zet
Their zives on end, an' stan' to whet.
From my wold house among the trees
A leaene do goo along the leaeze
O' yollow gravel, down between
Two mossy banks vor ever green.
An' trees, a-hangen overhead,
Do hide a trinklen gully-bed,
A-cover'd by a bridge vor hoss
Or man a-voot to come across.
Zoo wi' my hwomestead, I don't ceaere
What squire mid have a bigger sheaere!

POLLY BE-EN UPZIDES WI' TOM.

Ah! yesterday, d'ye know, I voun'
Tom Dumpy's cwoat an' smock-frock, down
Below the pollard out in groun';
An' zoo I slyly stole
An' took the smock-frock up, an' tack'd
The sleeves an' collar up, an' pack'd
Zome nice sharp stwones, all fresh a-crack'd
'Ithin each pocket-hole.

An' in the evenen, when he shut
Off work, an' come an' do