Winter: The Vrost
Come, run up hwome wi’ us to night,
Athirt the vield a-vroze so white,
Where vrosty sheaedes do lie below
The winter ricks a-tipp’d wi’ snow,
An’ lively birds, wi’ waggen tails,
Do hop upon the icy rails,
An’ rime do whiten all the tops
O’ bush an’ tree in hedge an’ copse,
In wind’s a-cutten keen.
Come, maidens, come: the groun’s a-vroze
Too hard to-night to spweil your clothes.
You got noo pools to waddle drough,
Nor clay a-pullen off your shoe:
An’ we can trig ye at the zide,
To keep ye up if you do slide:
Zoo while there’s neither wet nor mud,
‘S the time to run an’ warm your blood,
In winds a-cutten keen.
Vor young men’s hearts an’ maiden’s eyes
Don’t vreeze below the cwoldest skies,
While they in twice so keen a blast
Can wag their brisk lim’s twice so vast!
Though vier-light, a-flick’ren red
Drough vrosty window-peaenes, do spread
Vrom wall to wall, vrom he’th to door,
Vor us to goo an’ zit avore,
Vrom winds a-cutten keen.
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