WHILE zuns do roll vrom east to west

To bring us work, or leäve us rest,

There down below the steep hill-zide,

Drough time an’ tide, the spring do flow; through

An’ mothers there, vor years a-gone,

Lik’ daughters now a-comèn on,

To bloom when they be weak an’ wan,

Went down the steps vor water.

An’ what do yonder ringers tell

A-ringèn changes, bell by bell;

Or what's a-show'd by yonder zight

O’ vo'k in white, upon the road, folk

But that by John o’ Woodleys zide,

There 's now a-blushèn vor his bride,

A pretty maïd that vu'st he spied, first

Gwaïn down the steps vor water. going

Though she, 'tis true, is feäir an’ kind,

There still be mwore a-left behind;

So cleän 's the light the zun do gi'e, give

So sprack 's a bee when zummer's bright; lively

An’ if I've luck, I woont be slow

To teäke off woone that I do know, one

A-trippèn gaïly to an’ fro,

Upon the steps vor water.

Her father idden poor—but vew isn't, few

In parish be so well to do;

Vor his own cows do swing their taïls

Behind his païls, below his boughs:

An’ then ageän to win my love,

Why, she's as hwomely as a dove,

An’ don't hold up herzelf above

Gwaïn down the steps vor water.

Gwaïn down the steps vor water! No!

How handsome it do meäke her grow.

If she'd be straïght, or walk abrode, out of doors

To tread her road wi’ comely gaït,

She coulden do a better thing

To zet herzelf upright, than bring

Her pitcher on her head, vrom spring

Upon the steps, wi’ water.

No! don't ye neäme in woone seäme breath one

Wi’ bachelors, the husband's he'th; hearth

The happy pleäce, where vingers thin

Do pull woone's chin, or pat woone's feäce.

But still the bleäme is their's, to slight

Their happiness, wi’ such a zight

O’ maïdens, mornèn, noon, an’ night,

A-gwaïn down steps vor water.