The wActer cold--the zunshine bright,
To zwiminers than what high delight!
'Tis long agwon whun youth and I
Wish'd creepin Time would rise and vly--
A, half a hundred years an moor
Zunz I a trod theA¤ze earthly vloor!
I zed, the face o' Brue war bright;
Time smil'd too in thic zummer light.
Wi' Hope bezide en promising
A wordle o' fancies wild A¶' whing.
I mine too than one lowering cloud
That zim'd to wrop us like a shroud;
The death het war o' Doctor Cox--
To thenk o't now the storry shocks!
Vor Acll the country vur and near
Shod than vor'n many a horty tear.
The _Doctor_ like a duck could zwim;
No fear o' drownin daver'd him!
The pectur now I zim I zee!
I wish I could liet's likeness gee!
His _Son_, my brother _John, myzel_,
Or _Evans_, mid the storry tell;
But thAc be gwon and I, o' Acll
O'm left to zAc what did bevAcll.
Zo, nif zo be you like, why I
To tell the storry now ool try.
Thic _Evans_had a coward core
And fear'd to venter vrom the shore;
While to an vro, an vur an near,
And now an tan did _Cox_ appear
In dalliance with the wActers bland,
Or zwimmin wi' a maA"ster hand.
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