OH! thik Gammony Gaÿ is so droll, that

That if he's at hwome by the he'th, hearth

Or wi’ vo'k out o’ door, he's the soul folk

O’ the meetèn vor antics an’ me'th; mirth

He do cast off the thoughts ov ill luck

As the water's a-shot vrom a duck;

He do zing where his naïghbours would cry—

He do laugh where the rest o's would sigh: of us

Noo other's so merry o’ feäce,

In the pleäce, as Gammony Gaÿ.

An’ o’ workèn days, Oh! he do wear

Such a funny roun’ hat,—you mid know't— may

Wi’ a brim all a-strout roun’ his heäir, sticking out

An’ his glissenèn eyes down below't;

An’ a cwoat wi’ broad skirts that do vlee fly

In the wind ov his walk, round his knee;

An’ a peäir o’ girt pockets lik’ bags, great

That do swing an’ do bob at his lags:

While me'th do walk out drough the pleäce, through

In the feäce o’ Gammony Gaÿ.

An’ if he do goo over groun’

Wi’ noo soul vor to greet wi’ his words,

The feäce o'n do look up an’ down, his face

An’ round en so quick as a bird's; him

An’ if he do vall in wi’ vo'k,

Why, tidden vor want ov a joke, ’tisn't

If he don't zend em on vrom the pleäce

Wi’ a smile or a grin on their feäce:

An’ the young wi’ the wold have a-heärd old

A kind word vrom Gammony Gaÿ.

An’ when he do whissel or hum,

'Ithout thinkèn o’ what he's a-doèn,

He'll beät his own lags vor a drum,

An’ bob his gaÿ head to the tuèn; tune

An’ then you mid zee, 'etween whiles, may

His feäce all alive wi’ his smiles,

An’ his gaÿ-breathèn bozom do rise,

An’ his me'th do sheen out ov his eyes: mirth, shine

An’ at last to have praïse or have bleäme,

Is the seäme to Gammony Gaÿ.