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An’ I med tak’ my pick amang o’ there aboot—

Does t’é think I’d ha’e thee, than? Hut, Jwohnny, git oot!

What? Nūt yan amang them ’at likes mé sa weel?

Whey, min—there’s Dick Walker an’ Jonathan Peel

Foorsettin’ mé ola’s i’t’ lonnins aboot,

Beàth wantin’ to sweetheart mé—Jwohnny, git oot!

What?—Thou will hev a kiss?—Ah, but tak’t if thou dar!

I tell the’, I’ll squeel, if thou tries to cŭ’ nār.

Tak’ care o’ my collar—Thou byspel, I’ll shoot.

Nay, thou sha’n’t hev anudder—Noo Jwhonny, git oot!

Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny—Thou’s tew’t me reet sair;

Thou’s brocken my comb, an’ thou’s toozelt my hair.

I willn’t be kiss’t, thou unmannerly loot!

Was t’ere iver sec impidence! Jwohnny, git oot!

Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny—I tell the’, be deùn.

Does t’e think I’ll tak’ up wid Ann Dixon’s oald sheùn?

Thou ma’ gā till Ann Dixon, an’ pu’ hur aboot,

But thou s’alln’t pu’ me, sèa—Jwohnny, git oot!

Well! That’s sent him off, an’ I’s sworry it hes;

He med ken a lass niver means hoaf ’at she says.

He’s a reet canny fellow, howiver I floot,