To âll that sholl theeäze storry read,
The _Truth_ must vor it chiefly plead;
I gee not here a tale o' ort,
Nor snip-snap wit, nor lidden smort.
But ôten, ôten by thie river,
Have I a pass'd; yet niver, niver,
Athout a thought o' _Doctor Cox_--
His dog--his death--his floatin locks!
The mooäst whun Brue war deep and clear,
And Lammas dâ an harras near;--
Whun zummer vleng'd his light abroad,--
The zun in all his glory rawd;
How beautiful mid be the dâ
A zumthin âllès zim'd to zâ,
_"Whar whing! the wâter's deep an' clear,
But death mid be a lurkin near!"_