nope I reckons as the smacker on her face wore they hauntins out see never throwed nowt out all my born days see nope smack every one o’ my old coats an britches my missus have a-patched into ourn peg-rug boy aye better nor haaf my born days be aneath my heels afront hearth in peg-rug boy well firsest shirt as Buzly Tuck teared off of I one harvest too much booze wantin a picky-back or summat daft that big shirt be cobbled in somewhere there boy Gumbledons aye in Gumbledons old Buzly Tuck as couldn’t get a well aye us jus wantin our brencheese see dead beat aye yea up look master rabbin redbreast checkin up on us as we ben’t be doin no evil tic-tic nosy little chit look aye well hup brashy piece o’ sponge old Gumbledons yit that drat wheat were thick as ever agin the strike well thee’d have to skin thy shirt like a rabbet’s fleck off anights them reaper gingins have took that away howsomever them old timers ud maunder on about it aye look look buntin boy aye buntin hup aye them newfangled clackettin dos have took haaf o’ the muck an toil away though thee can’t sing no filthy chunes no more an so as the hart doth pant hard in the hunt for the brazen elf queen I do dream on her whoa see aye boy you wi’ all they stiff-arsed angels I’d better minds me now boy who comes here then hmm hmm TIME O’ DAY MISS hmmmmm hm Parkes’ daughter aye they gals don’t ride side-saddle now see gallopy gallopy gallop pleasurin for a gal see pommel knockin her thatch aneath hill jiggetty jiggetty jig aye Littler my cus Littler Moses acause his old Dad were Moses aready see jus there aneath that beech yonder laas o’ the bluebells yonder clanged by a spring-gun in ’25 aye bloody cobweb in here with they trippy wires trip bang worser to hang aye off acornin then scat for two day till one o’ they keepers brung a waggon out o’ Plum Farm Littler in the back aneath a rag sterk dead boy aye sterk bloody dead I remimbers thee’d shiver a bit at that Master Dannul an he were only a nip catched a pound o’ shot in his stumps well bled to a husk bettermost haaf the night they reckoned gawpin up on they starries jus yonder agin them there bluebells some on us weaved a cross out o’ straw now an agin an leaved it there if we was snarin anyways on’t never want to pass away like that boy wi’out narn else to hold thee aye to hold thee an only a nip