Mary Mecca

Mary Mecca, Mary Mecca, I'm fain to see thee here, A Devon lass to fill my glass O' home-brewed Yorkshire beer. I awlus said that foreigners Sud niver mel on me; But sike a viewly face as thine I'd travel far to see. Mary Mecca, Mary Mecca, I'm sad to see thee here, Wheer t' wind blaws hask frae Norway I' t' spring-time o' the year. I'd liever finnd thee sittin', Wi' a bowl o' cruds an' cream, Wheer t' foxglove bells ring through the dells, Anent a Dartmoor stream. Mary Mecca, Mary Mecca, The way thou snods thy hair, It maks my heart go dancin' Like winnlestraws i' t' air. One neet I heard thee singin', As I cam home frae toon; 'Twas sweet as curlews makkin' love Agean a risin' moon. Mary Mecca, Mary Mecca, I dream o' thy gray een; I think on all I've wasted, An' what I might hae been. I'm nowt but muck off t' midden, So all I axe is this: Just blaw the froth from off my yal; 'Twill seem most like a kiss.