Tales of the Norfolk Hero by G.F. Bullard

With a throat ever dry and the wit ever sharp, when the parson wunt a passen-by, but ever did he wet his whistle there inside, with thart rummun crewd.

Those bred and born lost their dockey bag, when the born and bred muscled in; so now it is all a buffle, for the skinker lad, that gets the twilting.

If we are too survive, in Norfolk, in harmony with those outside, we must transgress: ‘Thass zackly ryte’