At the feäst, I do mind very well, all the vo'ks
  Wer a-took in a happeren 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 around
  An' a-took seäfely hwome to her door.
Zaid her mother, "Tis sure to be wet."
  Zaid her cousin, "T'ull rain by zunzet."
Zaid her aunt, "Why the clouds there do look black an' blue."
  An' zaid she, "I don't ceäre if they 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."