THERE lovely Jenny past,

While the blast did blow

On over Ashknowle Hill

To the mill below;

A-blinkèn quick, wi’ lashes long,

Above her cheäks o’ red,

Ageän the wind, a-beätèn strong,

Upon her droopèn head.

Oh! let dry win’ blow bleäk,

On her cheäk so heäle, hale

But let noo raïn-shot chill

Meäke her ill an’ peäle;

Vor healthy is the breath the blast

Upon the hill do yield,

An’ healthy is the light a cast

Vrom lofty sky to vield.

An’ mid noo sorrow-pang may

Ever hang a tear

Upon the dark lash-heäir

Ov my feäirest dear;

An’ mid noo unkind deed o’ mine

Spweil what my love mid gaïn,

Nor meäke my merry Jenny pine

At last wi’ dim-ey'd païn.