VIII

But, Robby, I thowt o' tha all the while I wur chaängin' my gown,

An' I thowt shall I chaänge my staäte? but, O Lord, upo' coomin' down—

My bran-new carpet es fresh es a midder o' flowers i' Maäy—

Why 'edn't tha wiped thy shoes? it wur clatted all ower wi' claäy.

An' I could 'a cried ammost, fur I seed that it couldn't be,

An' Robby I gied tha a raätin that sattled thy coortin o' me.

An' Molly an' me was agreed, as we was a-cleanin' the floor,

That a man be a durty thing an' a trouble an' plague wi' indoor.

But I rued it arter a bit, fur I stuck to tha moor na the rest,

But I couldn't 'a lived wi' a man an' I knaws it be all fur the best.