GOOD Meäster Collins heärd woone day one

A man a-talkèn, that did zay

It woulden answer to be kind,

He thought, to vo'k o’ grov'lèn mind, folk, base

Vor they would only teäke it wrong,

That you be weak an’ they be strong.

“No,” cried the goodman, “never mind,

Let vo'k be thankless,—you be kind;

Don't do your good for e'thly ends earthly

At man's own call vor man's amends.

Though souls befriended should remaïn

As thankless as the sea vor raïn,

On them the good's a-lost 'tis true,

But never can be lost to you.

Look on the cool-feäced moon at night

Wi’ light-vull ring, at utmost height,

A-castèn down, in gleamèn strokes,

His beams upon the dim-bough'd woaks, oaks

To show the cliff a-risèn steep,

To show the stream a-vallèn deep,

To show where windèn roads do leäd,

An’ prickly thorns do ward the meäd.

While sheädes o’ boughs do flutter dark shadows

Upon the woak-trees’ moon-bright bark,

There in the lewth, below the hill, shelter

The nightèngeäle, wi’ ringèn bill,

Do zing among the soft-aïr'd groves,

While up below the house's oves eaves

The maïd, a-lookèn vrom her room

Drough window, in her youthvul bloom, through

Do listen, wi’ white ears among

Her glossy heäirlocks, to the zong.

If, then, the while the moon do light

The lwonesome zinger o’ the night,

His cwold-beam'd light do seem to show

The prowlèn owls the mouse below,

What then? Because an evil will,

Ov his sweet good, mid meäke zome ill, may

Shall all his feäce be kept behind

The dark-brow'd hills to leäve us blind?”