EPITAPHS ON ANGLERS. 239 



An' away vlied my thoughts to th' days when we stroll'd 



Wi' th' rod by our favourite stream 

 An' th' years sim'd but yes' day za zwift had they roll'd 



An' th' whole sim'd as thof 'twas a dream. 



He murmur' d my name, as I took es coold hand, 



An' ee whisper' d (while glaz'd wiz ez eye) 

 " I da leyve thease bad worl' an' da mount ta th' land 

 That's all beauteous an' bright in th' sky." 



No waight 'pon es conscience had he ta tarment 'en, 



Ez life had bin simple an' lone; 

 An' kine furns an' true ee ed left ta lament en, 



An carry an' voller en home. 



Yar away vrem th' city ee'd pass'd all ez hours, 



Conteynt, th' best fortin, injoyin' ; 

 In peyce an' in quiet, 'mongst fiel's an' the'r flowers, 



Th' angle ez lishure imployin.' 



Ee gid me ez rods an' a blessing ee breath' d 



Ta kip ver ez sake an' ta mine en ; 

 But ez " chatties an' goods " in ez will ee'd aleyv'd 



Ta th' widder remaynin behine en. 



Resign' d an' prepar'd for a infinite life, 



In a soft but deep prayer ee lied ; 

 Then kiss'd all ez children, an' hugg'd ez sad wife, 



An' shut vast ez eyes AN' EE DIED ! 



EEADEE, "MAY THY LAST END BE LIKE nis." 3 

 3 Pulman's Rustic Sketches j London, 1853. 



