Classic Poem

The stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler's oven,
And they quem from the Bleakeney's Quaar;
And Gaarge he wur a jolly ould mon,
And his yead it graw'd above his yare.

One thing of Gaarge Ridler's I must commend,
And that wur vor a notable theng;
He mead his braags avoore he died,
Wi' any dree brothers his zons zshould zeng.

There's Dick the treble and John the mean
(Let every mon zeng in his auwn pleace)
And Gaarge he wur the elder brother,
And therevoore he should zeng the beass.

Mine hostess's moid (and her neaum 'twur Nell),
A pretty wench, and I lov'd her well;
I lov'd her well—good reauzon why—
Because zshe lov'd my dog and I.

My dog has gotten zitch a trick,
To visit moids when thauy be zick;
When thauy be zick and like to die,
Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I.

My dog is good to catch a hen,
A duck and goose is voor vor men;
And where good company I spy,
Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I.

Droo aal the world ould Gaarge would bwoast,
Commend me to merry ould England mwoast;
While vools gwoes scramblin' vur and nigh,
We bides at whoam, my dog and I.

Ov their furrin tongues let travellers brag,
Wi' their fifteen names vor a puddin' bag;
Two tongues I knows ne'er told a lie,
And their wearers be my dog and I.

My mother told me when I wur young,
If I did vollow the strong beer pwoot,
That drenk would pruv my auverdrow,
And meauk me wear a threadbare cwoat.

When I have dree zixpences under my thumb,
O then I be welcome wherever I quem;
But when I have none, oh then I pass by;
'Tis poverty pearts good company.

When I gwoes dead, as it may hap,
My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap,
In vouled earms there wool us lie,
Cheek by jowl, my dog and I.