Читать книгу Random Rhymes and Rambles - Bill o'th' Hoylus End - Страница 3

Come nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,

   Are words but rudely said;

Tho thay may chear some stricken heart,

   Or raise some wretched head;

For thay are words I love mysel,

   They’re music to my ear;

Thay muster up fresh energy

   Ta chase each dout an’ fear.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,

   Tho tha be poor indeed;

Ner lippen ta long it turning up

   Sa mich ov a friend in need;

Fer few ther are, an’ far between,

   That helps a poor man thru;

An God helps them at helps thersel,

   An’ thay hev friends enew.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,

   What ivver thy crediters say;

Tell um at least tha’rt forst ta owe,

   If tha artant able ta pay;

An if thay nail thy bits o’ traps,

   An sell thee dish an’ spooin;

Remember fickle fortun lad,

   Sho changes like the mooin.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,

   Tho some ma laugh an scorn;

There wor nivver a neet ’fore ta neet,

   Bud what there come a morn;

An if blind fortun used thee bad,

   Sho’s happen noan so meean;

Ta morn al come, an then for some

   The sun will shine ageean.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,

   Bud let thy motto be, —

“Onward! an’ excelsior;”

   And try for t’ top o’t tree:

And if thy enemies still pursue,

   Which ten-to-one they will,

Show um oud lad tha’rt doing weel,

   An climbing up the hill.