Blackmwore Maidens

The Primrwose in the sheäde do blow, 
The cowslip in the zun, 
The thyme upon the down do grow, 
The clote where streams do run; 
An’ where do pretty maidens grow
An’ blow, but where the tow’r 
Do rise among the bricken tuns, 
In Blackmwore by the Stour. 
 
If you could zee their comely gaït, 
An’ pretty feäces’ smiles, 
A-trippèn on so light o’ waïght, 
An’ steppèn off the stiles; 
A-gwaïn to church, as bells do swing 
An’ ring ’ithin the tow’r, 
You’d own the pretty maïdens’ pleäce
Is Blackmwore by the Stour. 
 
If you vrom Wimborne took your road, 
To Stower or Paladore, 
An’ all the farmers’ housen show’d 
Their daughters at the door; 
You’d cry to bachelors at hwome— 
“Here, come: ’ithin an hour 
You ’ll vind ten maïdens to your mind, 
In Blackmwore by the Stour.” 
 
An’ if you look’d ’ithin their door, 
To zee em in their pleäce, 
A-doèn housework up avore 
Their smilèn mother’s feäce; 
You’d cry—“Why, if a man would wive 
An’ thrive, ’ithout a dow’r, 
Then let en look en out a wife 
In Blackmwore by the Stour.” 
 
As I upon my road did pass 
A school-house back in Maÿ, 
There out upon the beäten grass  
Wer maïdens at their plaÿ 
An’ as the pretty souls did tweil 
An’ smile, I cried, “The flow’r 
O’ beauty, then, is still in bud 
In Blackmore by the Stour.”