Читать книгу Revised Edition of Poems - Bill o'th' Hoylus End - Страница 8

So Mary, lass, tha’rt bahn to wed

It mornin’, we young Blacksmith Ned,

An’ though it maks thi mother sad,

      It’s like to be;

I’ve nowt ageean yond dacent lad,

      No more ner thee.

Bud let me tell tha what ta due,

For my advise might help tha thru;

Be kind, and to thi husband true,

      An’ I’ll be bun

Tha’ll nivver hev a day ta rue

      For owt that’s done.

Nah, try to keep thi former knack,

An’ du thi weshin’ in a crack,

Bud don’t be flaid to bend thi back,

      Tha’ll nobbut sweeat;

So try an’ hev a bit o’ tack,

      An’ du it neeat.

Be sure tha keeps fra bein’ a flirt,

An’ pride thysel i’ bein’ alert, —

An’ mind ta mend thi husband’s shirt,

      An’ keep it cleean;

It wod thi poor owd mother hurt,

      If tha wur meean.

Don’t kal abaht like monny a wun,

Then hev to broil, an’ sweeat, an’ run;

Bud alus hev thi dinner done

      Withaht a mooild;

If it’s nobbut meil, lass, set it on,

      An’ hev it boiled.

Now Mary, I’ve no more ta say —

Tha gets thi choice an’ tak thi way;

An’ if tha leets to rue, I pray,

      Don’t blame thi mother:

I wish yeh monny a happy day

      Wi wun another.