Yerstey w'had a baree, gist ing oor hoane, Aar gentrize ware bibbern, aamzil cou no stoane. Yith Muzleare had ba hole, t'was mee Tommeen, At by mizluck was ee-pit t'drive in.

Joud an moud vrem earchee ete was ee Lough. Zitch vaperreen, an shimmereen, fan ee-daff ee aar scoth! Zitch blakeen, an blayeen, fan ee ball was ee-drowe! Chote well aar aim was t'yie ouz n'eer a blowe.

(Yesterday we had a goal just in our hand. Their gentry were quaking, themselves could not stand. If Good-for-little had been buried, it had been my Tommy, Who by misluck was placed to drive in.

Throngs and crowds from each quarter were at the Lough; Such vapouring and glittering when stript in their shirts! Such bawling and shouting, when the ball was thrown! I saw their intent was to give us ne'er a stroke.)