A Zong
O
Jenny,
don't
sobby!
vor
I
shall
be
true;
Noo
might
under
heaven
shall
peärt
me
vrom
you.
My
heart
will
be
cwold,
Jenny,
when
I
do
slight
The
zwell
o'
thy
bosom,
thy
eyes'
sparklèn
light.
My
kinsvo'k
would
faïn
zee
me
teäke
vor
my
meäte
A
maïd
that
ha'
wealth,
but
a
maïd
I
should
heäte;
But
I'd
sooner
leäbour
wi'
thee
vor
my
bride,
Than
live
lik'
a
squier
wi'
any
bezide.
Vor
all
busy
kinsvo'k,
my
love
will
be
still
A-zet
upon
thee
lik'
the
vir
in
the
hill;
An'
though
they
mid
worry,
an'
dreaten,
an'
mock,
My
head's
in
the
storm,
but
my
root's
in
the
rock.
Zoo,
Jenny,
don't
sobby!
vor
I
shall
be
true;
Noo
might
under
heaven
shall
peärt
me
vrom
you.
My
heart
will
be
cwold,
Jenny,
when
I
do
slight
The
zwell
o'
thy
bosom,
thy
eyes'
sparklèn
light.
