O Jenny, don't sobby! vor I shall be true;
Noo might under heaven shall peärt me vrom you.
My heart will be cwold, Jenny, when I do slight
The zwell o' thy bosom, thy eyes' sparklèn light.
My kinsvo'k would faïn zee me teäke vor my meäte
A maïd that ha' wealth, but a maïd I should heäte;
But I'd sooner leäbour wi' thee vor my bride,
Than live lik' a squier wi' any bezide.
Vor all busy kinsvo'k, my love will be still
A-zet upon thee lik' the vir in the hill;
An' though they mid worry, an' dreaten, an' mock,
My head's in the storm, but my root's in the rock.
Zoo, Jenny, don't sobby! vor I shall be true;
Noo might under heaven shall peärt me vrom you.
My heart will be cwold, Jenny, when I do slight
The zwell o' thy bosom, thy eyes' sparklèn light.
