Читать книгу Revised Edition of Poems - Bill o'th' Hoylus End - Страница 7

“Come, nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,”

   Are words but rudely said;

Though they may cheer some stricken heart,

   Or raise some wretched head;

For they are words I love mysel,

   They’re music to my ear;

They muster up fresh energy

   An’ chase each doubt an’ fear.

Nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,

   Though tha be poor indeed;

Ner lippen ta long i’ th’ turnin’ up

   Sa mich ov a friend in need;

Fur few ther are, an’ far between,

   That help a poor man thru;

An’ God helps them at help therseln,

   An’ they hev friends enew.

Nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,

   Whativver thi creditors say;

Tell um at least tha’rt foarst ta owe,

   If tha artant able ta pay;

An’ if they nail thi bits o’ traps,

   An’ sell tha dish an’ spooin;

Remember fickle forten lad,

   Shoo changes like the mooin.

Nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,

   Though some may laugh an’ scorn;

There wor nivver a neet afore ta neet,

   Bud what ther’ com a morn;

An’ if blind forten used tha bad,

   Sho’s happen noan so meean;

Ta morn al come, an’ then fer some

   The sun will shine ageean.

Nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,

   Bud let thi motto be, —

“Onward!” an’ “Excelsior;”

   An’ try for t’ top o’t’ tree:

An’ if thi enemies still pursue,

   Which ten-ta-one they will,

Show um owd lad, tha’rt doin’ weel,

   An’ climin’ up the hill.