MY hwome wer on the timber'd ground

O’ Duncombe, wi’ the hills a-bound:

Where vew from other peärts did come,

An’ vew did travel vur from hwome, far

An’ small the worold I did know;

But then, what had it to bestow

But Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir?

'Twer wide enough if she wer there.

In our deep hollow where the zun

Did eärly leäve the smoky tun, chimney-top

An’ all the meäds a-growèn dim,

Below the hill wi’ zunny rim;

Oh! small the land the hills did bound,

But there did walk upon the ground

Young Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir:

'Twer wide enough if she wer there.

O’ leäte upon the misty plaïn

I staÿ'd vor shelter vrom the raïn,

Where sharp-leav'd ashes’ heads did twist

In hufflèn wind, an’ driftèn mist, gusty

An’ small the worold I could zee;

But then it had below the tree

My Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir:

'Twer wide enough if she wer there.

An’ I've a house wi’ thatchen ridge,

Below the elems by the bridge:

Wi’ small-peän'd windows, that do look

Upon a knap, an’ ramblèn brook; hillock

An’ small's my house, my ruf is low, roof

But then who mid it have to show may

But Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir?

'Tis fine enough if peace is there.