An' while I zot, wi' thoughtvul mind,
Up where the lwonesome Coombs do wind,
An' watch'd the little gully slide
So crookèd to the river-zide;
I thought how wrong the Stour did zeem
To roll along his ramblèn stream,
A-runnèn wide the left o' south,
To vind his mouth, the right-hand zide.
But though his stream do teäke, at mill.
An' eastward bend by Newton Hill,
An' goo to lay his welcome boon
O' daïly water round Hammoon,
An' then wind off ageän, to run
By Blanvord, to the noonday zun,
'Tis only bound by woone rule all,
An' that's to vall down steepest ground.
An' zoo, I thought, as we do bend
Our waÿ drough life, to reach our end,
Our God ha' gi'ed us, vrom our youth,
Woone rule to be our guide--His truth.
An' zoo wi' that, though we mid teäke
Wide rambles vor our callèns' seäke,
What is, is best, we needen fear,
An' we shall steer to happy rest.