Thou wants my vote, young man wi' t' carpet-bags,
Weel, sit thee down, an' hark what I've to say.
It's noan so varry oft wer kitchen flags
Are mucked by real live lords down Yelland(1) way.
...
Fieldfares, bonny fieldfares, feedin' 'mang the bent,
Wheer the sun is shinin' through yon cloud's wide rent,
Welcoom back to t' moorlands,
Frae Norway's fells an' shorelands,
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.