An' still he kept tellin' her th' story,
Which mooar an' mooar wonderful grew,
(Soa oft its been tell'd its grown hoary,)
But shoo could hav sworn it wor new.

Shoo thowt of th' angels above 'em,
Wor jealous o' her, an' him, then--
For angels has noa chaps to love 'em,
Love's nobbut for wimmin an' men.
But th' love i' her heart ovvercame her,
An' shoo pitied th' whole angel thrang,
Aw know what love is, an' dooant blame her,
An' aw dooant think her pity wor wrang.

Th' story wor towd, an' for ever
It wor noa gurt shakes what might befall;
Nowt but deeath, these two hearts could sever,
An' that nobbut partly, net awl:
For love like one's soul is immortal,
If its love, it wont vanish away--
Its birth wor inside o' th' breet portal
Ov Eden, it knows noa decay.

Sin' then it has lived on, while th' ages
Has rowled on wi' uniform flow,
As young, an as fresh, as when sages
Towd ther sweethearts it cent'ries ago--
An' chaps 'll be tellin th' story,
Th' breet, owd, owd story ov love,
When time, an' love, fade inter th' glory