You’ve heerd thic tale afor ? well, I beant zurprized at that, Of the man as stoal tha butter, and put et in hes hat : But mebby you’ll excuse ma, ef I tells tha tale agean, Vor thic varmer wer my ﬁathcr, and thic very man wer Ben. ‘ Ben had been churmin aal tha daay, Churmin, and churmin, and churmin
Churmin, and churmin, and churmin awaay : Vor tha weather wer cowld, and hes vengers wer num, And the butter oncommonly loath to come ; Zlow and shour like a miser’s cash, The churm went round, and the craim went splash ; And tha daay went by, and tay-time past, And tha butter com’d ﬁumpity ﬁump at last. Now Ben, as I zed, wer a hongry oaf, And moor than a match vor a quartern looaf, But whether tha bread wer white or brown, Ben liked zome butter to towl et down, Ben awpend the churm, and luk’d about, And tha eooast wer clear, and tha missus wer out ; Zo a tuk o’ tha butter a beggish pat, And stuﬁ’d et into hos owld velt hat ; But ‘ad skeersly pop’d hes yead into et, When ﬁather com’d in, and zeed un do et. Now tha daay wer past, and work wer done, And ﬁather wer up vor 8. bit of fun.