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An’ it’s growin o’ wark to say Jwohnny, git oot!”

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My fadder said “Nay”—an’ my mudder said “Niver!”

When Willie furst telt them we wantit to wed;

We mud part—they said, beàth—part at yance an’ for iver,

An’ they deavet me to deeth aboot foats ’at he hed.

A sailor was Will, forret, free-tonguet, an’ funny,

An’ gi’en till o’ manner o’ teulment was he;

Rayder lowce i’ religion, an’ careless o’ money,

But dear was my wild, thowtless Willie to me.

His life seemed meàd up of arrivin’s an’ sailin’s—

Rough hardship at sea, an’ fair daftness at heàm.

I cry’t ow’r his danger—I pray’t ow’r his failin’s,

An’ offen forgev what I cudn’t but bleàm.

An’ many a frind, an’ relation, an’ neighbour

Brong hints an’ queer teàls aboot Will to poor me;

But neighbours an’ frinds gat the’r pains for the’r labour,

For t’mair they misco’t him t’mair thowte on was he.

An’t’ upshot of o’ the’r fine hints an’ advices

Was ’at, ya neet, weel happ’t i’ Will’s greet sailor cwoat,

We dreàv, afoor dayleet, to Foster Penrice’s,