Don’t Ceäre
At
the
feäst,
I
do
mind
very
well,
all
the
vo'ks
Wer
a-took
in
a
happerèn
storm,
But
we
chaps
took
the
maïdens,
an'
kept
em
wi'
clokes
Under
shelter,
all
dry
an'
all
warm;
An'
to
my
lot
vell
Jeäne,
that's
my
bride,
That
did
titter,
a-hung
at
my
zide;
Zaid
her
aunt,
"Why
the
vo'k
'ull
talk
finely
o'
you,"
An',
cried
she,
"I
don't
ceäre
if
they
do."
When
the
time
o'
the
feäst
wer
ageän
a-come
round,
An'
the
vo'k
wer
a-gather'd
woonce
mwore,
Why
she
guess'd
if
she
went
there,
she'd
soon
be
a-vound
An'
a-took
seäfely
hwome
to
her
door.
Zaid
her
mother,
"'Tis
sure
to
be
wet."
Zaid
her
cousin,
"'T'ull
raïn
by
zunzet."
Zaid
her
aunt,
"Why
the
clouds
there
do
look
black
an'
blue,"
An'
zaid
she,
"I
don't
ceäre
if
they
do."
An'
at
last,
when
she
own'd
I
mid
meäke
her
my
bride,
Vor
to
help
me,
an'
sheäre
all
my
lot,
An'
wi'
faïthvulness
keep
all
her
life
at
my
zide,
Though
my
waÿ
mid
be
happy
or
not.
Zaid
her
naïghbours,
"Why
wedlock's
a
clog,
An'
a
wife's
a-tied
up
lik'
a
dog."
Zaid
her
aunt,
"You'll
vind
trials
enough
vor
to
rue,"
An',
zaid
she,
"I
don't
ceäre
if
I
do."
*
*
*
*
*
Now
she's
married,
an'
still
in
the
midst
ov
her
tweils
She's
as
happy's
the
daylight
is
long,
She
do
goo
out
abroad
wi'
her
feäce
vull
o'
smiles,
An'
do
work
in
the
house
wi'
a
zong.
An',
zays
woone,
"She
don't
grieve,
you
can
tell."
Zays
another,
"Why,
don't
she
look
well!"
Zays
her
aunt,
"Why
the
young
vo'k
do
envy
you
two,"
An',
zays
she,
"I
don't
ceäre
if
they
do."
Now
vor
me
I
can
zing
in
my
business
abrode,
Though
the
storm
do
beät
down
on
my
poll,
There's
a
wife-brighten'd
vier
at
the
end
o'
my
road,
An'
her
love
vor
the
jaÿ
o'
my
soul.
Out
o'
door
I
wi'
rogues
mid
be
tried:
Out
o'
door
be
brow-beäten
wi'
pride;
Men
mid
scowl
out
o'
door,
if
my
wife
is
but
true--
Let
em
scowl,
"I
don't
ceäre
if
they
do."
