  Dolly Pentreath is dead an' gone, her stone stands up to Paul; But Dolly Pentreath her still lives on in the hearts of One and All. Her smoked an' snuffed, an' the cusses her knowed was mortal hard to bate, But her carried her creel like a Mousehole maid, an' allays selled out her cate. Her wern't afeerd at livin' alone, an' many a tale is told, As shows as how her face was brass, but her heart was true as gold. One day a sailor had tooked his leave afore his leave was given, An' knowed if they catched him the yard arm rope would show him the way to Heaven, So he scatted to Dolly, an' jest in time her thought of the chimley wide, An' her collared him hold by the slack of his breeks an' shoved him up inside. Cussin' an' fussin' they searchers came, but awnly Dolly they sees, Washin' her feet in her old oak keeve, with her petticoat up to her knees. An' didn' her give them a tang o' tongue, an' didn' her cuss them sweet, For thinkin' her'd let a man bide there an' see her washin' her feet? But her called the loudest cusses of all, an' scraiched like a rat at a stoat, When the sailor gave a chokely cough for the fuzzen smoke in his throat. The storm her raised drove the buffleheads out a grumpling into the street, An' the sailor washed hisself in the keeve where Dolly had washed her feet. * * * * Dolly Pentreath is dead an' gone, her stone stands up to Paul; But Dolly Pentreath her still lives on in the hearts of One and All. |
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