The thissledown by wind's a-roll'd
In Fall along the zunny plaïn,
Did catch the grass, but lose its hold,
Or cling to bennets, but in vaïn.
But when it zwept along the grass,
An' zunk below the hollow's edge,
It lay at rest while winds did pass
Above the pit-bescreenèn ledge.
The plaïn ha' brightness wi' his strife,
The pit is only dark at best,
There's pleasure in a worksome life,
An' sloth is tiresome wi' its rest.
Zoo, then, I'd sooner beär my peärt,
Ov all the trials vo'k do rue,
Than have a deadness o' the heart,
Wi' nothèn mwore to veel or do.
