The Blackbird...

Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny show'rs o' spring-
Vor all the lark, a-swingen high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky,
An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough,-
The blackbird, whisslen in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
when nippen win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northeren skies, wi'sleet or snow,
But dreve light doust along between
The leane-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gayest zong.
An'zoo there's noo pleace lik' the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird's zong...

Do you'?
I don't...