I doan't know what to think of such ways.

It isn't half a year yet since the child died." "I'd think no wrong if I was thee, Lydia Swale.

Thou hesn't any warrant for thinking wrong but what thou gives thysen, and thou be neither judge nor jury," said an old woman, making Devonshire cream.
"In white from top to toe," Lydia continued, "even her belt was of white satin ribbon, and she put a white rose in her hair, too.

It caps me.
It's a queer dooment." "Brush the black frocks over thy arm and then go and smarten thysen up a bit.

It will be dinner-time before thou hes thy work done." "Happen it may.