Third Collection. The Broken Heart

News o’ grief had overteäken
Dark-ey’d Fanny, now vorseäken;
There she zot, wi’ breast a-heavèn,
While vrom zide to zide, wi’ grievèn,
Vell her head, wi’ tears a-creepèn
Down her cheäks, in bitter weepèn.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An’ there wer still the han’s that tied it
Hangèn white,
Or wringèn tight,
In ceäre that drown’d all ceäre bezide it.

When a man, wi’ heartless slightèn,
Mid become a maïden’s blightèn,
He mid ceärlessly vorseäke her,
But must answer to her Meäker;
He mid slight, wi’ selfish blindness,
All her deeds o’ lovèn-kindness,
God wull waïgh em wi’ the slightèn
That mid be her love’s requitèn;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o’ woe
Do breäk the heart ov ev’ry griever.