(All true.)

JOHN BLOOM he wer a jolly soul,

A grinder o’ the best o’ meal,

Bezide a river that did roll,

Vrom week to week, to push his wheel.

His flour wer all a-meäde o’ wheat;

An’ fit for bread that vo'k mid eat; folk may

Vor he would starve avore he'd cheat.

“ 'Tis pure,” woone woman cried; one

“Aye, sure,” woone mwore replied;

“ You'll vind it nice. Buy woonce, buy twice,” once

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

Athirt the chest he wer so wide across

As two or dree ov me or you, three

An’ wider still vrom zide to zide,

An’ I do think still thicker drough. through

Vall down, he coulden, he did lie

When he wer up on-zide so high

As up on-end or perty nigh.

“Meäke room,” woone naïghbour cried;

“ 'Tis Bloom,” woone mwore replied;

“Good morn t'ye all, bwoth girt an’ small,” great

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

Noo stings o’ conscience ever broke

His rest, a-twitèn o'n wi’ wrong, reproaching him

Zoo he did sleep till mornèn broke, so

An’ birds did call en wi’ their zong. Him

But he did love a harmless joke,

An’ love his evenèn whiff o’ smoke,

A-zittèn in his cheäir o’ woak. oak

“Your cup,” his daughter cried;

“Vill'd up,” his wife replied;

“Aye, aye; a drap avore my nap,”

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

When Lon'on vok did meäke a show

O’ their girt glassen house woone year, great, one

An’ people went, bwoth high an’ low,

To zee the zight, vrom vur an’ near, far

“O well,” cried Bloom, “why I've a right

So well's the rest to zee the zight;

I'll goo, an’ teäke the raïl outright.” forthwith

“Your feäre,” the booker cried; fare

“There, there,” good Bloom replied;

“Why this June het do meäke woone zweat,” heat

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

Then up the guard did whissle sh'ill, shrilly

An’ then the engine pank'd a-blast, blew out

An’ rottled on so loud's a mill,

Avore the traïn, vrom slow to vast. fast

An’ oh! at last how they did spank

By cuttèn deep, an’ high-cast bank

The while their iron ho'se did pank. pant

“Do whizzy,” woone o'm cried;

“I'm dizzy,” woone replied;

“Aye, here's the road to hawl a lwoad,”

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.