WELL! thanks to you, my faïthful Jeäne,

So worksome wi’ your head an’ hand,

We seäved enough to get ageän

My poor vorefather's plot o’ land.

'Twer folly lost, an’ cunnèn got,

What should ha’ come to me by lot.

But let that goo; 'tis well the land

Is come to hand, by be'th or not. birth

An’ there the brook, a-windèn round

The parrick zide, do run below paddock

The grey-stwon'd bridge wi’ gurglèn sound,

A-sheäded by the arches’ bow; span

Where former days the wold brown meäre, old

Wi’ father on her back, did wear

Wi’ heavy shoes the grav'ly leäne, lane

An’ sheäke her meäne o’ yollor heäir. mane

An’ many zummers there ha’ glow'd,

To shrink the brook in bubblèn shoals,

An’ warm the doust upon the road, dust

Below the trav'ller's burnèn zoles.

An’ zome ha’ zent us to our bed

In grief, an’ zome in jaÿ ha’ vled; joy, flown

But vew ha’ come wi’ happier light few

Than what's now bright, above our head.

The brook did peärt, zome years agoo,

Our Grenley meäds vrom Knapton's Ridge;

But now you know, between the two,

A road's a-meäde by Grenley Bridge.

Zoo why should we shrink back at zight so

Ov hindrances we ought to slight?

A hearty will, wi’ God our friend,

Will gaïn its end, if 'tis but right.