THE thissledown by winds a-roll'd

In Fall along the zunny plaïn,

Did catch the grass, but lose its hold,

Or cling to bennets, but in vaïn. grass-stalks

But when it zwept along the grass,

An’ zunk below the hollow's edge,

It lay at rest while winds did pass

Above the pit-bescreenèn ledge.

The plaïn ha’ brightness wi’ his strife,

The pit is only dark at best,

There's pleasure in a worksome life,

An’ sloth is tiresome wi’ its rest.

Zoo, then, I'd sooner beär my peärt, so

Ov all the trials vo'k do rue, folk

Than have a deadness o’ the heart,

Wi’ nothèn mwore to veel or do.