An shall I drap tha Reed--an shall I,
Athout one nawte about my SALLY?
Althaw we Pawets âll be zingers,
We like, wi' enk, ta dye our vingers;
Bit mooäst we like in vess ta pruv
That we remimber those we love.
Sim-like-it than, that I should iver
Vorgit my SALLY.--Niver, niver!
Vor, while I've wander'd in tha West--
At mornin tide--at evenin rest--
On Quantock's hills--in Mendip's vales--
On Parret's banks--in zight o' Wales--
In thic awld mansion whaur tha bâll
Once vrighten'd Lady Drake an âll;--
When wi' tha Ladies o' thic dell
Whaur witches spird ther 'ticin spell--
[Footnote: COMBE SYDENHAM, the residence of my Friend, GEORGE
NOTLEY, Esq. The history of the _Magic Ball_, as it has been
called, is now pretty generally known, and therefore need not
be here repeated.]
Amangst tha rocks on Watchet shaur
When did tha wine an wâters raur--
In Banwell's cave--on Loxton hill--
At Clifton gâ--at Rickford rill--
In Compton ood--in Hartree coom--
At Crispin's cot wi' little room;--
At Upton--Lansdown's lofty brow--
At Bath, whaur pleasure flânts enow;
At Trowbridge, whaur by Friendship's heed,
I blaw'd again my silent Reed,
An there enjay'd, wi' quiet, rest,
Jitch recollections o' tha West;
Whauriver stapp'd my voot along
I thawt o' HER.--Here ends my zong.