AH! good Meäster Gwillet, that you mid ha’ know'd, may

Wer a-bred up at Coomb, an’ went little abroad; away from home

An’ if he got in among strangers, he velt

His poor heart in a twitter, an’ ready to melt;

Or if, by ill luck, in his rambles, he met

Wi’ zome maïdens a’ titt'rèn, he burn'd wi’ a het, heat

That shot all drough the lim's o'n, an’ left a cwold zweat, through

The poor little chap wer so shy, [his limbs

He wer ready to drap, an’ to die.

But at last 'twer the lot o’ the poor little man

To vall deeply in love, as the best ov us can;

An’ 'twer noo easy task vor a shy man to tell

Sich a dazzlèn feäir maïd that he loved her so well;

An’ woone day when he met her, his knees nearly smote one

Woone another, an’ then wi’ a struggle he bro't brought

A vew words to his tongue, wi’ some mwore in his droat. throat

But she, 'ithout doubt, could soon vind

Vrom two words that come out, zix behind.

Zoo at langth, when he vound her so smilèn an’ kind, so

Why he wrote her zome laïns, vor to tell her his mind, lines

Though 'twer then a hard task vor a man that wer shy,

To be married in church, wi’ a crowd stannèn by. standing

But he twold her woone day, ―I have housen an’ lands,

We could marry by licence, if you don't like banns,”

An’ he cover'd his eyes up wi’ woone ov his han's,

Vor his head seem'd to zwim as he spoke,

An’ the aïr look'd so dim as a smoke.

Well! he vound a good naïghbour to goo in his pleäce

Vor to buy the goold ring, vor he hadden the feäce.

An’ when he went up vor to put in the banns,

He did sheäke in his lags, an’ did sheäke in his han's.

Then they ax'd vor her neäme, an’ her parish or town, asked

An’ he gi'ed em a leaf wi’ her neäme a-wrote down; gave

Vor he coulden ha’ twold em outright, vor a poun’,

Vor his tongue wer so weak an’ so loose,

When he wanted to speak 'twer noo use.