"
Twar zaw begin'd their zweetortin;
BooA¤th still liv'd in their places;
Zometimes thAc met bezides tha stile;
Wi' pleasant look an tender smile
Gaz'd in each wither's faces.
In spreng-time oten on tha nap
Ood Jan and Fanny linger;
An when war vooA¤s'd to zAc "good bwye,"
Ood meet again, wi' draps in eye,
While haup ood pwint er vinger.
Zo pass'd tha dAcs--tha moons awAc,
An haup still whiver'd nigh;
Nif Fanny's dreams high pleasures vill,
Of her Jan's thawts the lidden still,
An oten too the zigh.
Bit still Jan had not got wherewi'
To venter eet to morry;
Alas-a-dAc! when poor vawk love,
How much restraint how many pruv;
How zick zum an how zorry.
Aw you who live in houzen grate,
An wherewi' much possessin,
You knaw not, mAc-be, care not you,
What pangs jitch tender horts pursue,
How grate nor how distressin.
Jan sar'd a varmer vour long years,
An now iz haups da brighten:
A gennelman of high degree
Choos'd en iz hunsman vor to be;
His Fanny's hort da lighten!
"Now, Fan," zed he, "nif I da live,
Nex zummer thee bist mine;
Sir John ool gee me wauges good,
AmAc-be too zum viA"r ood!"
His Fan's dork eyes did shine.
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