When welcome rain the weary reapers drove
Beneath the shelter of a neighbouring grove,
Robin, a love-sick swain lagg'd far behind,
Nor seem'd the weight of falling showers to mind;
A distant solitary shade he sought,
And thus disclos'd the troubles of his thought.

Ay, ay, thur drops may cuil my outside heat,
Thur callar blasts may wear the boilen sweat;
But ny het bluid, my heart aw' in a bruil,
Nor callar blasts can wear, nor drops can cuil.