Do shut thy lyèn chops! What dosten mind
Thy pitchèn to me out in Gully-plot,
A-meäkèn o' me waït (wast zoo behind)
A half an hour vor ev'ry pitch I got?
An' how didst groun' thy pick? an' how didst quirk
To get en up on end? Why hadst hard work
To rise a pitch that wer about so big
'S a goodish crow's nest, or a wold man's wig!
Why bist so weak, dost know, as any roller:
Zome o' the women vo'k will beät thee hollor.