Sall at Bog

Me love is like the pashan dock, That grows it summer fog; And tho’ sho’s but a country lass, I like my Sall at Bog.

I walk’d her aht up Rivock End, And dahn a bonny dale, Whear golden balls an kahslips grow, An butter cups do smell.

We sat us dahn at top o’t grass, Cloyce to a runnin brook, An harkend watter wegtails sing Wi’t sparrow, thrush, an’ rook.

Aw lockt her in my arms, an thout Az t’sun shane in her een, Sho wor the nicest kolleflaar At ivver aw hed seen.

’Twor here we tell’d wer tales o’ love, Beneath t’oud hazel tree; How fondly aw liked Sall at Bog, How dearly sho liked me.

An’ if ivver aw deceive thee, Sall, Aw vow be all aw see, Aw wish that aw mud be a kah, An it belong ta thee.

Bud aw hev plump fergotten nah What awther on us said; At onny rate we parted friends, An boath went home ta bed.