Jeäne; her Brother; John, her Sweetheart; and Racketèn Joe

JEÄNE

I'M thankvul I be out o’ that

Thick crowd, an’ not asquot quite flat. squashed

That ever we should plunge in where the vo'k do drunge folk, crowd

So tight's the cheese-wring on the veät! vat

I've sca'ce a thing a-left in pleäce.

‘Tis all a-tore vrom pin an’ leäce.

My bonnet's like a wad, a-beät up to a dod, heap

An’ all my heäir's about my feäce.

HER BROTHER

Here, come an’ zit out here a bit,

An’ put yourzelf to rights.

JOHN

No, Jeäne; no, no! Now you don't show

The very wo'st o’ plights.

HER BROTHER

Come, come, there's little harm adone;

Your hoops be out so roun's the zun.

JOHN

An’ there's your bonnet back in sheäpe.

HER BROTHER

An’ there's your pin, and there's your ceäpe.

JOHN

An’ there your curls do match, an’ there

's the vittiest maïd in all the feäir. properest

JEÄNE

Now look, an’ tell us who's a-spied

Vrom Sturminster, or Manston zide.

HER BROTHER

There's rantèn Joe! How he do stalk,

An’ zwang his whip, an’ laugh, an’ talk! swing violently

JOHN

An’ how his head do wag, avore his steppèn lag.

Jist like a pigeon's in a walk!

HER BROTHER

Heigh! there, then, Joey, ben't we proud!

JEÄNE

He can't hear you among the crowd.

HER BROTHER

Why, no, the thunder peals do drown the sound o’ wheels.

His own pipe is a-pitched too loud.

What, you here too?

RACKETÈN JOE

Yes, Sir, to you.

All o’ me that's a-left.