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Many a bra draught, by Tommeen was ee mate, 

 Th' cowlee-man faufteen ; zey well 'twas a nate 

 Yith w'had any lluck our name wou'd b' zung 

 Vreem ee Choure here aloghe up to Cargun, 



Th' heiftem o' pley, veil all ing to lug. 

 An there w' had Treblere an fturdy Cournug. 

 Th'commanes t'rapple, th' ball fkir an vlee, 

 Our eein woud b' mlftern t' dearnt up ee fkee. 



Than carae ee fhullereen 1 teap an corkite, 

 Hi kinket an keilt i vewe ame t'wode fnite ; 

 Zim delien harnothes, w'are nize i reed cley 

 More trollen, an yalpen an movilten away. 



Na nowe or neveir w' cry't t' Tommeen, 

 Fan Cournug yate a riflip, an Treblere pit w'eeme. 

 A clugercheen gother, all ing pile an in heep 

 Wourlok'd anan 'oree, lick Uufkes o' fheep. 



T' brek up ee bathes, h' had na pouftee, 

 Tommeen was lous, an zo was ee baree ; 

 Oure hart cam' t' our mouth, an zo w' all i green 

 Th' hap an ee ferde an ee crie was Tommeen. 



Up came ee ball, an a dap or a kewe 

 Wou'd zar, mot all arkagh var ee barnaugh-blowe 

 W vengem too hard, he zunk ee commane 

 An brough et i ftell ing a emothee knaghane. 



Th' 



