Читать книгу Yorkshire Lyrics - John Hartley - Страница 3

An then see what lessons are laid out anent us,

As pick after pick follows time after time,

An warns us tho' silent, to let nowt prevent us

From strivin by little endeavours to climb;

Th' world's made o' trifles, its dust forms a mountain,

Then nivver despair as yor trudgin along,

If troubles will come an yor spirits dishearten,

Yo'll find ther's relief i' that steady owd song;

Nick a ting, nock a ting;

Wages keep pocketin;

Workin for little is better nor laikin;

Twist an twine, reel an wind;

Keep a contented mind;

Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.

Life's warp comes throo Heaven, th' weft's faand bi us sen,

To finish a piece we're compell'd to ha booath;

Th' warp's reight, but if th' weft should be faulty, how then?

Noa waiver ith' world can produce a gooid clooath.

Then let us endeavour by workin an strivin,

To finish awr piece so's noa fault can be fun,

An then i' return for awr pains an contrivin,

Th' takker in 'll reward us and whisper "well done."

Clink a clank, clink a clank,

Workin withaat a thank,

May be awr fortun, if soa nivver mind it,

Strivin to do awr best,

We shall be reight at last,

If we lack comfort now, then shall we find it.

Jimmy's Choice.

One limpin Jimmy wed a lass;

An this wor th' way it coom to pass—

He'd saved a little bit o' brass,

An soa he thowt he'd ventur

To tak unto hissen a wife,

To ease his mind ov all its strife,

An be his comfort all throo life—

An, pray, what should prevent her?

"Awve brass enuff," he sed, "for two,

An noa wark at awm foorced to do,

But all th' day long can bill an coo,

Just like a little pigeon.

Aw nivver have a druffen rant;

Aw nivver praich teetotal cant;

Aw nivver booast at awm a saint,

I' matters o' religion.

"Then with a gradely chap like me,

A lass can live mooast happily;

An awl let all awr neighbors see

We'll live withaat a wrangle;

For if two fowk just have a mind

To be to one another kind,

They each may be as easy twined

As th' hannel ov a mangle.

"For love's moor paar nor oaths an blows,

An kind words, ivverybody knows,

Saves monny a hundred thaasand rows;

An soa we'll start wi kindness;

For if a chap thinks he can win

Love or respect wi oaths an din,

He'll surely find he's been let in,

An sarved reight for his blindness."

Soa Jimmy went to tell his tale

To a young lass called Sally Swale,

An just for fear his heart should fail,

He gate a drop o' whiskey.

Net mich, but just enuff, yo see,

To put a spark into his e'e,

An mak his tongue a trifle free,

An mak him strong an frisky.

Young Sally, shoo wor varry shy,

An when he'd done shoo breathed a sigh,

An then began to sob an cry

As if her heart wor brokken.

"Nay, Sally lass—pray what's amiss?"

He sed, an gave a lovin kiss,

"If awd expected owt like this,

Awm sewer awd ne'er ha spokken."

At last shoo dried her bonny een,

An felt as praad as if a queen;

An nivver king has ivver been

One hawf as praad as Jimmy.

An soa they made all matters sweet,

An one day quietly stroll'd up th' street,

Till th' owd church door coom into seet—

Says Jim, "Come, lass, goa wi me."

Then wed they wor an off they went

To start ther life ov sweet content;

An Sally ax'd him whear he meant

Ther honey-mooin to spend at?

Says Jim, "We're best at hooam, aw think,

We've lots o' stuff to ait an drink."

But Sally gave a knowin wink,

An sed, "Nay, awl net stand that.

"Tha needn't think aw meean to be

Shut up like in a nunnery;

Awm fond o' life, an love a spree,

As weel as onny other."

"Tha cannot goa," sed Jim, "that's flat."

"But goa aw shall, awl tell thee that!

What wod ta have a woman at?

Shame on thee for sich bother!"

Jim scrat his heead, "Nah lass," sed he,

"One on us mun a maister be,

Or else we'st allus disagree,

An nivver live contented."

Sed Sal, "Awd ne'er a maister yet,

An if tha thowt a slave to get,

Tha'll find thisen mista'en, awl bet;

Awm sewer aw nivver meant it."

Jim tried his best to change her mind,

But mud as weel ha saved his wind;

An soa to prove he worn't unkind,

He gave in just to pleeas her.

He's allus follow'd th' plan sin then,

To help her just to pleeas hersen;

An nah, he says, "They're fooilish men

At wed a wife to teeas her."

Old Moorcock.

Awm havin a smook bi misel,

Net a soul here to spaik a word to,

Awve noa gossip to hear nor to tell,

An ther's nowt aw feel anxious to do.

Awve noa noashun o' writin a line,

Tho' awve just dipt mi pen into th' ink,

Towards warkin aw dooant mich incline,

An awm ommost too lazy to think.

Awve noa riches to mak me feel vain,

An yet awve as mich as aw need;

Awve noa sickness to cause me a pain,

An noa troubles to mak mi heart bleed.

Awr Dolly's crept off to her bed,

An aw hear shoo's beginnin to snoor;

(That upset me when furst we wor wed,

But nah it disturbs me noa moor.)

Like me, shoo taks things as they come,

Makkin th' best o' what falls to her lot,

Shoo's content wi her own humble hooam,

For her world's i' this snug little cot.

We know at we're booath growin old,

But Time's traces we hardly can see;

An tho' fifty years o'er us have roll'd,

Shoo's still th' same young Dolly to me.

Her face may be wrinkled an grey,

An her een may be losin ther shine,

But her heart's just as leetsome to-day

As it wor when aw furst made her mine.

Awve mi hobbies to keep me i' toit,

Awve noa whistle nor bell to obey,

Awve mi wark when aw like to goa to it,

An mi time's all mi own, neet an day.

An tho' some pass me by wi a sneer,

An some pity mi lowly estate,

Aw think awve a deeal less to fear

Nor them at's soa wealthy an great.

When th' sky stretches aght blue an breet,

An th' heather's i' blossom all round,

Makkin th' mornin's cooil breezes smell sweet,

As they rustle along ovver th' graand.

When aw listen to th' lark as he sings

Far aboon, ommost lost to mi view,

Aw lang for a pair ov his wings,

To fly wi him, an sing like him, too.

When aw sit under th' shade of a tree,

Wi mi book, or mi pipe, or mi pen,

Aw think them at's sooary for me

Had far better pity thersen.

When wintry storms howl ovver th' moor,

An snow covers all, far an wide,

Aw carefully festen mi door,

An creep cloise up to th' fire inside.

A basin o' porridge may be,

To some a despisable dish,

But it allus comes welcome to me,

If awve nobbut as mich as aw wish.

Mi cloas are old-fashioned, they say,

An aw havn't a daat but it's true;

Yet they answer ther purpose to-day

Just as weel as if th' fashion wor new.

Let them at think joys nobbut dwell

Wheear riches are piled up i' stoor,

Try to get a gooid share for thersel'

But leave me mi snug cot up o'th' moor.

Mi bacca's all done, soa aw'll creep

Off to bed, just as quite as a maase,

For if Dolly's disturbed ov her sleep,

Ther'll be a fine racket i'th' haase.

Aw mun keep th' band i'th' nick if aw can,

For if shoo gets her temper once crost,

All comforts an joys aw may plan

Is just soa mich labour at's lost.

Th' Short-Timer.

Some poets sing o' gipsy queens,

An some o' ladies fine;

Aw'll sing a song o' other scenes—

A humbler muse is mine.

Jewels, an' gold, an silken frills,

Are things too heigh for me;

But wol mi harp wi vigour thrills,

Aw'll strike a chord for thee.

Poor lassie wan,

Do th' best tha can,

Although thi fate be hard.

A time ther'll be

When sich as thee

Shall have yor full reward.

At hauf-past five tha leaves thi bed,

An off tha goes to wark;

An gropes thi way to mill or shed,

Six months o'th' year i'th' dark.

Tha gets but little for thi pains,

But that's noa fault o' thine;

Thi maister reckons up his gains, An ligs i bed till nine.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

He's little childer ov his own

'At's quite as old as thee;

They ride i' cushioned carriages

'At's beautiful to see;

They'd fear to spoil ther little hand,

To touch thy greasy brat:

It's wark like thine at makes em grand—

They nivver think o' that.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

I' summer time they romp an' play

Where flowers grow wild and sweet;

Ther bodies strong, ther spirits gay,

They thrive throo morn to neet.

But tha's a cough, aw hear tha has,

An oft aw've known thee sick;

But tha mun work, poor little lass,

Foa hauf-a-craan a wick.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

Aw envy net fowks' better lot—

Aw shouldn't like to swap.

Aw'm quite contented wi mi cot;

Aw'm but a workin chap.

But if aw had a lot o' brass

Aw'd think o' them at's poor;

Aw'd have yo' childer workin less,

An mak yor wages moor.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

"There is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign,

Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain."

Noa fact'ry bell shall greet thi ear,

I' that sweet home ov love;

An' those at scorn thi sufferins here

May envy thee above.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

Sol an' Doll.

Awm a young Yorksher lad as jolly an gay,

As a lark on a sunshiny mornin,

An Dolly's as fair as the flaars i' May,

An trubbles we meean to be scornin.

If we live wol to-morn aw shall make her mi wife,

An we'll donce to a rollickin measure,

For we booath are agreed to begin wedded life,

As we mean to goa throo it, wi pleasure.

Then we'll donce an be gay,

An we'll laff care away,

An we'll nivver sit broodin o'er sorrow,

An mi Dolly an me,

Ax yo all to a spree;

Come an donce at awr weddin to-morrow.

Awst be bashful awm sewer, aw wor ne'er wed befoor,

An aw feel rayther funny abaat it;

But Dolly aw guess can drag me aght o'th' mess,

An if ther's owt short we'll do baat it.

Mi mother says "Sol, if tha'll leave it to Doll,

Tha'll find shoo can taich thee a wrinkle,

Shoo's expectin some fun befoor it's all done

Aw can tell, for aw saw her e'en twinkle."

Then we'll donce &c.

We've a haase to step in, all as smart as a pin,

An we've beddin an furnitur plenty;

We've a pig an a caah, an aw connot tell ha

Monny paands, but aw think abaat twenty.

We've noa family yet, but ther will be aw'll bet,

For true comfort aw think ther's nowt licks it

An if they dooant come, aw'll just let it alooan,

An aw'll leave it for Dolly to fix it.

Then we'll donce &c.

Their Fred.

"He's a nowt!

If ther's owt

At a child shouldn't do,

He mun try,

Or know why,

Befoor th' day's getten throo.

An his dad,

Ov his lad

Taks noa nooatice at all,

Aw declare

It's net fair

For Job's patience he'd stall.

Awm his mam—

That aw am,

But awm ommost worn aght,

A gooid lick

Wi a stick,

He just cares nowt abaght.

Thear he goes,

Wi a nooas

Like a chaneller's shop!

Aw may call,

Or may bawl,

But th' young imp willn't stop.

Thear's a cat,

He spies that,

Nah he's having a race!—

That's his way

Ivvery day

If a cat's abaght th' place.

But if aw

Wor near by,

Awd just fotch him a seawse!

Come thee here!

Does ta hear?

Come thi ways into th' haase!

Who's that flat?

What's he at?

If he touches awr Fred,

If aw live

Aw'll goa rive

Ivvery hair off his head!

What's th' lad done?

It's his fun!

Tried to kill yor old cat?

Well suppooas

At he does!

Bless mi life! What bi that?

He's mi own,

Flesh an' booan,

An aw'll net have him lickt;

If he's wild,

He's a child,

Pray what can yo expect!

Did um doy!

Little joy!

Let's ha nooan o' them skrikes

Nowty man!

Why he can

Kill a cat if he likes.

Hush a bee, hush a bye,

Little Freddy munnot cry."

Love an' Labor.

Th' swallows are buildin ther nests, Jenny,

Th' springtime has come with its flowers;

Th' fields in ther greenest are drest, Jenny,

An th' songsters mak music ith' bowers.

Daisies an buttercups smile, Jenny,

Laughingly th' brook flows along;—

An awm havin a smook set oth' stile, Jenny,

But this bacca's uncommonly strong.

Aw wonder if thy heart like mine, Jenny,

Finds its love-burden hard to be borne;

Do thi een wi' breet tears ov joy shine, Jenny,

As they glistened an shone yestermorn?

Ther's noa treasure wi' thee can compare, Jenny,

Aw'd net change thi for wealth or estate;—

But aw'll goa nah some braikfast to share, Jenny,

For aw can't live baght summat to ait.

Like a nightingale if aw could sing, Jenny,

Aw'd pearch near thy winder at neet,

An mi choicest love ditties aw'd bring, Jenny,

An lull thi to rest soft an sweet.

Or if th' wand ov a fairy wor mine, Jenny,

Aw'd grant thi whate'er tha could wish;—

But theas porridge are salty as brine, Jenny,

An they'll mak me as dry as a fish.

A garland ov lillies aw'd twine, Jenny,

An place on thy curls golden bright,

But aw know 'at they quickly wod pine, Jenny,

I' despair at thy brow's purer white.

Them angels 'at fell bi ther pride, Jenny,

Wi' charms like thine nivver wor deckt;—

But yond muck 'at's ith' mistal's to side, Jenny,

Aw mun start on or else aw'st get seckt.

Varry sooin aw shall mak thi mi wife, Jenny,

An awr cot shall a paradise be;

Tha shall nivver know trubble or strife, Jenny,

If aw'm able to keep 'em throo thee.

If ther's happiness this side oth' grave, Jenny,

Tha shall sewerly come in for thi share;—

An aw'll tell thi what else tha shall have, Jenny,

When aw've a two-or-three moor minnits to spare.

Nooan so Bad.

This world is net a paradise,

Tho' railly aw dooant see,

What fowk should growl soa mich abaat;—

Its gooid enuff for me.

It's th' only world aw've ivver known,

An them 'at grummel soa,

An praich abaat a better land,

Seem varry looath to goa.

Ther's some things 'at awm apt to think,

If aw'd been th' engineer,

Aw might ha changed—but its noa use—

Aw connot interfere.

We're foorced to tak it as it is;

What faults we think we see;

It mayn't be what it owt to be—

But its gooid enuff for me.

Then if we connot alter things,

Its folly to complain;

To hunt for faults an failins,

Allus gooas agean my grain.

When ther's soa monny pleasant things,

Why should we hunt for pain,

If troubles come, we needn't freeat,

For sunshine follows rain.

If th' world gooas cruckt—what's that to us?

We connot mak it straight;

But aw've come to this conclusion,

'At its th' fowk 'at isn't reight.

If ivverybody 'ud try to do

Ther best wi' th' means they had,

Aw think 'at they'd agree wi' me—

This world is nooan soa bad.

Th' Honest Hard Worker.

It's hard what poor fowk mun put up wi'!

What insults an snubs they've to tak!

What bowin an scrapin's expected,

If a chap's a black coit on his back.

As if clooas made a chap ony better,

Or riches improved a man's heart;

As if muck in a carriage smell'd sweeter

Nor th' same muck wod smell in a cart.

Give me one, hard workin, an' honest,

Tho' his clooas may be greasy and coorse;

If it's muck 'at's been getten bi labor,

It doesn't mak th' man onny worse.

Awm sick o' thease simpering dandies,

'At think coss they've getten some brass,

They've a reight to luk daan at th' hard workers,

An' curl up their nooas as they pass.

It's a poor sooart o' life to be leadin,

To be curlin an partin ther hair;

An seekin one's own fun and pleasure,

Nivver thinkin ha others mun fare.

It's all varry weel to be spendin

Ther time at a hunt or a ball,

But if th' workers war huntin an doncin,

Whativer wod come on us all?

Ther's summat beside fun an frolic

To live for, aw think, if we try;

Th' world owes moor to a honest hard worker

Nor it does to a rich fly-bi-sky.

Tho' wealth aw acknowledge is useful,

An' awve oft felt a want on't misen,

Yet th' world withaat brass could keep movin,

But it wodn't do long withaat men.

One truth they may put i' ther meersham,

An smoke it—that is if they can;

A man may mak hooshuns o' riches,

But riches can ne'er mak a man.

Then give me that honest hard worker,

'At labors throo mornin to neet,

Tho' his rest may be little an seldom,

Yet th' little he gets he finds sweet.

He may rank wi' his wealthier brother,

An rank heigher, aw fancy, nor some;

For a hand 'at's weel hoofed wi' hard labor

Is a passport to th' world 'at's to come.

For we know it's a sin to be idle,

As man's days i' this world are but few;

Then let's all wi' awr lot be contented,

An continue to toil an to tew.

For ther's one thing we all may be sure on,

If we each do awr best wol we're here;

'At when th' time comes for reckonin, we're called on,

We shall have varry little to fear.

An at last, when we throw daan awr tackle,

An are biddin farewell to life's stage,

May we hear a voice whisper at partin,

"Come on, lad! Tha's haddled thi wage."

Peevish Poll.

Aw've heeard ov Mary Mischief,

An aw've read ov Natterin Nan;

An aw've known a Grumlin Judy,

An a cross-grained Sarah Ann;

But wi' all ther faults an failins,

They still seem varry tame,

Compared to one aw'll tell yo on,

But aw dursn't tell her name.

Aw'll simply call her Peevish Poll,

That name suits to a dot;

But if shoo thowt 'twor meant for her,

Yo bet, aw'st get it hot.

Shoo's fat an fair an forty,

An her smile's as sweet as spice,

An her voice is low an tender

When shoo's tryin to act nice.

Shoo's lots ov little winnin ways,

'At fit her like a glove;

An fowk say shoo's allus pleasant—

Just a woman they could love.

But if they nobbut had her,

They'd find aght for a start,

It isn't her wi' th' sweetest smile

At's getten th' kindest heart.

Haivver her poor husband lives

An stands it—that licks doll!

Aw'st ha been hung if aw'd been cursed

Wi' sich a wife as Poll!

Her children three, sneak in an aght

As if they wor hawf deead

They seem expectin, hawf ther time,

A claat o'th' side o'th' heead.

If they goa aght to laik, shoo storms

Abaat her looanly state;

If they stop in, then shoo declares

They're allus in her gate.

If they should start to sing or tawk

Shoo tells 'em, "hold yor din!"

An if they all sit mum, shoo says,

"It railly is a sin

To think ha shoo's to sit an mope,

All th' time at they're away,

An when they're hooam they sit like stoops

Withaat a word to say."

If feelin cold they creep near th' fire,

They'll varry sooin get floored;

Then shoo'll oppen th' door an winder

Declarin shoo's fair smoored.

When its soa swelterin an hot

They can hardly get ther breeath,

Shoo'll pile on coils an shut all cloise,

An sware shoo's starved to deeath.

Whativver's wrang when they're abaat,

Is their fault for bein thear;

An if owt's wrang when they're away,

It's coss they wornt near.

To keep 'em all i' misery,

Is th' only joy shoo knows;

An then shoo blames her husband,

For bein allus makkin rows.

Poor chap he's wearin fast away—

He'll leeav us before long;

A castiron man wod have noa chonce

Wi' sich a woman's tongue.

An then shoo'll freeat and sigh, an try

His virtues to extol;

But th' mourner, mooast sincere will be

That chap 'at next weds Poll.

The Old Bachelor's Story.

It was an humble cottage,

Snug in a rustic lane,

Geraniums and fuschias peep'd

From every window-pane;

The dark-leaved ivy dressed its walls,

Houseleek adorned the thatch;

The door was standing open wide—

They had no need of latch.

And close besides the corner

There stood an old stone well,

Which caught a mimic waterfall,

That warbled as it fell.

The cat, crouched on the well-worn steps,

Was blinking in the sun;

The birds sang out a welcome

To the morning just begun.

An air of peace and happiness

Pervaded all the scene;

The tall trees formed a back ground

Of rich and varied green;

And all was steeped in quietness,

Save nature's music wild,

When all at once, methought I heard

The sobbing of a child.

I listened, and the sound again

Smote clearly on my ear:

"Can there,"—I wondering asked myself—

"Can there be sorrow here?"—

I looked within, and on the floor

Was sat a little boy,

Striving to soothe his sister's grief

By giving her a toy.

"Why weeps your sister thus?" I asked;

"What is her cause of grief?

Come tell me, little man," I said,

"Come tell me, and be brief."

Clasping his sister closer still,

He kissed her tear-stained face,

And thus, in homely Yorkshire phrase,

He told their mournful case.

———

"Mi mammy, sir, shoos liggin thear,

I' th' shut-up bed i'th' nook;

An' tho aw've tried to wakken her,

Shoo'll nawther spaik nor look.

Mi sissy wants her porridge,

An its time shoo had 'em too;

But th' foir's gooan aght an th' mail's all done—

Aw dooant know what to do.

An O, my mammy's varry cold—

Just come an touch her arm:

Aw've done mi best to hap her up,

But connot mak her warm.

Mi daddy he once fell asleep,

An nivver wakken'd moor:

Aw saw 'em put him in a box,

An tak him aght o'th' door.

He nivver comes to see us nah,

As once he used to do,

An let mi ride upon his back—

Me, an mi sissy too.

An if they know mi mammy sleeps,

Soa cold, an white, an still,

Aw'm feeard they'll come an fotch her, sir;

O, sir, aw'm feeard they will!

Aw happen could get on misen,

For aw con work a bit,

But little sissy, sir, yo see,

Shoo's varry young as yet.

Oh! dunnot let fowk tak mi mam!

Help me to rouse her up!

An if shoo wants her physic,

See—it's in this little cup.

Aw know her heead wor bad last neet,

When putting us to bed;

Shoo said, 'God bless yo, little things!'

An that wor all shoo sed.

Aw saw a tear wor in her e'e—

In fact, it's seldom dry:

Sin daddy went shoo allus cries,

But nivver tells us why.

Aw think it's coss he isn't here,

'At maks her e'en soa dim;

Shoo says, he'll nivver come to us,

But we may goa to him.

But if shoo's gooan an left us here,

What mun we do or say?—

We connot follow her unless,

Somebody 'll show us th' way."

——

My heart was full to bursting,

When I heard the woeful tale;

I gazed a moment on the face

Which death had left so pale;

Then clasping to my heaving breast

The little orphan pair,

I sank upon my bended knees,

And offered up a prayer,

That God would give me power to aid

Those children in distress,

That I might as a father be

Unto the fatherless.

Then coaxingly I led them forth;

And as the road was long,

I bore them in my arms by turns—

Their tears had made me strong.

I took them to my humble home,

Where now they may be seen,

The lad—a noble-minded youth—

His "sissy,"—beauty's queen.

And now if you should chance to see,

Far from the bustling throng,

An old man, whom a youth and maid

Lead tenderly along;—

And if you, wondering, long to know

The history of the three—

They are the little orphan pair—

The poor old man is me:

And oft upon the grassy mound

'Neath which their parents sleep,

They bend the knee, and pray for me;

I pray for them and weep.

Did yo Ivver!

"Gooid gracious!" cried Susy, one fine summer's morn,

"Here's a bonny to do! aw declare!

Aw wor nivver soa capt sin th' day aw wor born!

Aw neer saw sich a seet at a fair.

Here, Sally! come luk! There's a maase made its nest

Reight i'th' craan o' mi new Sundy bonnet!

Haivver its fun its way into this chist,

That caps me! Aw'm fast what to mak on it!

It's cut! Sithee thear! It's run reight under th' bed!

An luk here! What's these little things stirrin?

If they arn't some young uns 'at th' gooid-for-nowt's bred,

May aw be as deead as a herrin!

But what does ta say? 'Aw mun draand 'em?' nooan soa!

Just luk ha they're seekin ther mother;

Shoo must be a poor little softheead to goa;

For awm nooan baan to cause her noa bother.

But its rayther to bad, just to mak her hooam thear;

For mi old en's net fit to be seen in;

An this new en, awm thinkin, 'll luk rayther queer

After sich a rum lot as that's been in.

But shut up awr pussy, an heed what aw say;

Yo mun keep a sharp eye or shoo'll chait us;

Ah if shoo sees th' mother shoo'll kill it! An pray

What mun become o' these poor helpless crayturs?

A'a dear! fowk have mich to be thankful for, yet,

'At's a roof o' ther own to cawer under,

For if we'd to seek ony nook we could get,

Whativver'd come on us aw wonder?

We should nooan on us like to be turned aght o' door,

Wi' a lot o' young bairns to take care on;

An altho' awm baght bonnet, an think misen poor,

What little aw have yo'st have't share on.

That poor little maase aw dooant think meant me harm,

Shoo ne'er knew what that bonnet had cost me;

All shoo wanted wor some little nook snug an warm

An a gooid two-o'-three shillin its lost me.

Aw should think as they've come into th' world born i' silk,

They'll be aristocratical varmin;

But awm wasting mi time! awl goa get 'em some milk,

An na daat but th' owd lass likes it warmin.

Bless mi life! a few drops 'll sarve them! If we try

Awm weel sure we can easily spare 'em,

But as sooin as they're able, awl mak 'em all fly!

Nivver mind if aw dooant! harum scarum!"

A Quiet Tawk.

"Nah, lass, caar thi daan, an let's have a chat—

It's long sin we'd th' haase to ussen;

Just give me thi nooations o' this thing an that,

What tha thinks abaat measures an men.

We've lived a long time i' this world an we've seen,

A share of its joys an its cares;

Tha wor nooan born baght wit, an tha'rt net varry green,

Soa let's hear what tha thinks of affairs."

"Well, Jooany, aw've thowt a gooid deal i' mi time,

An aw think wi' one thing tha'll agree—

If tha'd listened sometimes to advice sich as mine,

It mud ha been better for thee.

This smookin an drinkin—tha knows tha does booath,

It's a sad waste o' brass tha'll admit;

But awm net findin fault—noa indeed! awd be looath!

But aw want thi to reason a bit."

"Then tha'rt lawse i' thi tawk, tho' tha doesn't mean wrang,

An tha says stuff aw darnt repeat;

An tha grumels at hooam if we chonce to be thrang,

When tha comes throo thi wark of a neet.

An if th' childer are noisy, tha kicks up a shine,

Tha mud want 'em as dummy as wax;

An if they should want owt to laik wi' 'at's thine,

They're ommost too freetened to ax."

"An they all want new clooas, they're ashamed to be seen,

An aw've net had a new cap this year;

An awm sewer it's fair cappin ha careful we've been,

There's nooan like us for that onnywhear."

"Come, lass, that's enuff—when aw ax'd thi to talk,

It worn't a sarmon aw meant,

Soa aw'll don on mi hat, an aw'll goa for a walk,

For dang it! tha'rt nivver content!"

Lines, on Startling a Rabbit.

Whew!—Tha'rt in a famous hurry!

Awm nooan baan to try to catch thi!

Aw've noa dogs wi' me to worry

Thee poor thing—aw like to watch thi.

Tha'rt a runner! aw dar back thi,

Why, tha ommost seems to fly!

Did ta think aw meant to tak thi?

Well, awm fond o' rabbit pie.

Aw dooan't want th' world to misen, mun,

Awm nooan like a dog i'th' manger;

Yet still 'twor happen best to run,

For tha'rt th' safest aght o' danger.

An sometimes fowks' inclination

Leads 'em to do what they shouldn't;—

But tha's saved me a temptation—

Aw've net harmed thi, 'coss aw couldn't.

Aw wish all temptations fled me,

As tha's fled throo me to-day;

For they've oft to trouble led me,

For which aw've had dear to pay.

An a taicher wise aw've faand thi,

An this lesson gained throo thee;

'At when dangers gether raand me,

Th' wisest tactics is to flee.

They may call thi coward, Bunny,

But if mine had been thy lot,

Aw should fail to see owt funny,

To be stewin in a pot.

Life to thee, awm sewer is sweeter,

Nor thi flesh to me could prove;

May thy lot an mine grow breeter,

Blest wi' liberty an love.

Nivver Heed.

Let others boast ther bit o' brass,

That's moor nor aw can do;

Aw'm nobbut one o'th' workin class,

'At's strugglin to pool throo;

An if it's little 'at aw get,

It's little 'at aw need;

An if sometimes aw'm pinched a bit,

Aw try to nivver heed.

Some fowk they tawk o' brokken hearts,

An mourn ther sorry fate,

Becoss they can't keep sarvent men,

An dine off silver plate;

Aw think they'd show more gradely wit

To listen to my creed,

An things they find they connot get,

Why, try to nivver heed.

Ther's some 'at lang for parks an halls,

An letters to ther name;

But happiness despises walls,

It's nooan a child o' fame.

A robe may lap a woeful chap,

Whose heart wi' grief may bleed,

Wol rags may rest on joyful breast,

Soa hang it! nivver heed!

Th' sun shines as breet for me as them,

An' th' meadows smell as sweet,

Th' larks sing as sweetly o'er mi heead,

An th' flaars smile at mi feet.

An when a hard day's wark is done,

Aw ait mi humble feed;

Mi appetite's a relish fun,

Soa hang it, nivver heed.

Gronfayther's Days.

'A, Johnny! A'a, Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee!

But come thi ways to me, an sit o' mi knee;

For it's shockin to hearken to th' words 'at tha says;—

Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronfayther's days.

When aw wor a lad, lads wor lads, tha knows, then;

But nahdays they owt to be 'shamed o' thersen;

For they smook, an they drink, an get other bad ways;

Things wor different once i' thi gronfayther's days.

Aw remember th' furst day aw went cooartin a bit—

An walked aght thi gronny;—aw'st nivver forget;

For we blushed wol us faces wor all in a blaze;—

It wor noa sin to blush i' thi gronfayther's days,

Ther's noa lasses nah, John, 'at's fit to be wed;

They've false teeth i' ther maath, an false hair o' ther heead;

They're a mak-up o' buckram, an waddin, an stays—

But a lass wor a lass i' thi gronfayther's days.

At that time a tradesman dealt fairly wi' th' poor,

But nah a fair dealer can't keep oppen th' door;

He's a fooil if he fails, he's a scamp if he pays;

Ther wor honest men lived i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's chimleys an factrys i' ivvery nook nah,

But ther's varry few left 'at con fodder a caah;

An ther's telegraff poles all o'th' edge o'th' highways,

Whear grew bonny green trees i' thi gronfayther's days.

We're tell'd to be thankful for blessin's 'at's sent,

An aw hooap 'at tha'll alius be blessed wi' content;

Tha mun mak th' best tha con o' this world wol tha stays,

But aw wish tha'd been born i' thi gronfayther's days.

Awr Dooad.

Her ladyship's getten a babby—

An they're makkin a famous to do—

They say—Providence treated her shabby—

Shoo wor fairly entitled to two.

But judgin bi th' fuss an rejoicin,

It's happen as weel as it is;

For they could'nt mak moor ov a hoilful,

Nor what they are makkin o' this.

He's heir to ther titles an riches,

Far moor nor he ivver can spend;

Wi' hard times an cold poverty's twitches,

He'll nivver be called to contend.

Life's rooad will be booarded wi' flaars,

An pleasur will wait on his train,

He can suck at life's sweets, an its saars

Will nivver need cause him a pain.

Aw cannot help thinkin ha diff'rent

It wor when awr Dooady wor born;

Aw'd to tramp fifteen mile throo a snow storm,

One bitterly, cold early morn.

Aw'd to goa ax old Mally-o'th'-Hippins,

If shoo'd act as booath doctor an nurse;—

An God bless her! shoo sed, "Aye, an welcome,"

Tho' aw had'nt a meg i' mi purse.

'Twor hard scrattin to get what wor needed,

But we managed someha, to pool throo';

An what we wor short we ne'er heeded,

For that child fun us plenty to do.

But we'd health, an we loved one another,

Soa things breetened up after a while;

An nah, that young lad an his mother,

Cheer mi on wi' ther prattle an smile.

Them at th' Hall, may mak feeastin an bluster,

An ther table may grooan wi' its looad;

But ther's one thing aw know they can't muster—

That's a lad hawf as grand as awr Dooad.

For his face is like lillies an rooases,

An his limbs sich as seldom are seen;

An just like his father's his nooas is,

An he's getten his mother's blue een.

Soa th' lord an his lady are welcome,

To mak all they like o' ther brat;

They may hap him i' silk an i' velvet—

He's net a bit better for that.

I' life's race they'll meet all sooarts o' weather,

But if they start fair on th' same rooad,

They may run pratty nearly together, But aw'll bet two to one on awr Dooad.

Whear Natur Missed it.

As Rueben wor smookin his pipe tother neet,

Bi th' corner o'th' little "Slip Inn;"

He spied some fowk marchin, an fancied he heeard

A varry queer sooart ov a din.

As nearer they coom he sed, "Bless mi life!

What means all this hullaballoo?

If they dooant stop that din they'll sewer get run in,

An just sarve 'em reight if they do."

But as they approached, he saw wi' surprise,

They seemed a respectable lot;

An th' hymn at they sung he'd net heeard for soa long,

Wol he felt fairly rooited to th' spot.

I'th' front wor a woman who walked backards rooad,

Beatin time wi' a big umberel,

An he sed, "Well, aw'll bet, that licks all aw've seen yet,

What they'll do next noa mortal can tell."

On they coom like a flood, an shoo saw Rueben stood—

An her een seemed fair blazin wi' leet;

"Halt!" shoo cried, an shoo went an varry sooin sent

Rueben's pipe flyin off into th' street.

"Young man," shoo began, "if yo had been born

To smoke that old pipe, then insteead,

Ov a nice crop o' hair Natur wod a put thear

A chimly at top o' thi heead."

Rueben felt rather mad, for 'twor all th' pipe he had,

An he sed, "Well, that happen mud be;

But aw'm nobbut human, an thee bein a woman

Has proved a salvation to thee.

If a chap had done that aw'd ha knocked him daan flat,

But wi' yo its a different thing;

But aw'm thinkin someha, th' same law will allaa

Me too smook, at allaas yo to sing."

Shoo gloored in his face an went back to her place,

As shoo gave him a witherin luk;

An swung her umbrel—ovverbalanced, an fell

An ligg'd sprawlin her length amang th' muck.

All her army seemed dumb, an th' chap wi' th' big drum,

Turned a bulnex, an let on her chest;

Wol th' fiddles an flute wor ivvery one mute,

An th' tamborines tuk a short rest.

Then Rueben drew near, an he sed in her ear,

As he lifted her onto her feet;

"Sometimes its as wise when we start to advise,

To be mindful we're net indiscreet.

If yo'd been intended to walk backardsway,

To save yo from gettin that bump,

Dame Natur, in kindness, aw'll ventur to say,

Wod ha planted a e'e i' yor bustle."

That's All.

Mi hair is besprinkled wi' gray,

An mi face has grown wrinkled an wan;—

They say ivvery dog has his day,

An noa daat its th' same way wi a man.

Aw know at mi day is nah passed,

An life's twileet is all at remains;

An neet's drawin near varry fast—

An will end all mi troubles an pains.

Aw can see misen, nah, as a lad,

Full ov mischief an frolic an fun;—

An aw see what fine chonces aw had,

An regret lots o' things at aw've done.

Thowtless deeds—unkind words—selfish gains—

Time wasted, an more things beside,

But th' saddest thowt ivver remains—

What aw could ha done, if aw'd but tried.

Aw've had a fair share ov life's joys,

An aw've nivver known th' want ov a meal;

Aw've ne'er laiked wi' luxuries' toys,

Nor suffered what starvin fowk feel.

But aw'm moor discontented to-day,

When mi memory carries me back,

To know what aw've gethered is clay,

Wol diamonds wor strewed on mi track.

Aw can't begin ovver agean,

(Maybe its as weel as it is,)

Soa aw'm waitin for th' life 'at's to be,

For ther's nowt to be praad on i' this.

When deeath comes, as sewerly it will,

An aw'm foorced to respond to his call;

Fowk'll say, if they think on me still—

"Well, he lived—an that's abaat all."

Mary Hanner's Peanner.

When aw cooarted Mary Hanner,

Aw wor young an varry shy;

An shoo used to play th' peanner

Wol aw sheepishly sat by.

Aw lang'd to tell her summat,

But aw railly hadn't th' pluck,

Tho' monny a time aw started,

Yet, somha aw allus stuck.

Aw'm sewer shoo must ha guess'd it,

But shoo nivver gave a sign;

Shoo drummed at that peanner;—

A'a! aw wish it had been mine!

Aw'd ha chopt it into matchwood—

Aw'd ha punced it into th' street,

It wor awful aggravatin,

For shoo thumpt it ivvery neet.

Aw'd getten ommost sickened,

When one day another chap

Aw saw thear, an he'd getten

Mary Hanner on his lap.

Aw didn't stop to argyfy—

But fell'd him like an ox;

An Mary Hanner tried to fly

On top o'th' music box.

But he wor gam—an sich a job

Aw'd nivver had befor,

We fowt, but aw proved maister,

An aw punced him aght o'th' door.

Then like a Tigercat, at me

Flew ragin Mary Hammer;—

Yo bet! shoo could thump summat else,

Besides her loud peanner!

Aw had to stand an tak her blows,

Until shoo'd geeten winded;

"Tha scamp!" shoo says, "tha little knows

What bargainin tha's hindered!

Awr Jack had nobbut coom to pay,

Becoss he's bowt th' peanner,

An nah tha's driven him away!"

"Forgie me, Mary Hanner."

Aw ran aghtside an sooin fan Jack,

An humbly begged his parden;—

"All reight,"—he sed, "aw'm commin back,"

He didn't care a farden.

He paid her th' brass, then fetched a cart,

An hauled away th' peanner;—

We're wed sin then, an nowt shall part,

Me an mi Mary Hanner.

Grondad's Lullaby.

Sleep bonny babby, thi grondad is near,

Noa harm can touch thee, sleep withaat fear;

Innocent craytur, soa helpless an waik,

Grondad wod give up his life for thy sake,

Sleep little beauty,

Angels thee keep,

Grondad is watchin,

Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Through the thick mist of past years aw luk back,

Vainly aw try to discover the track

Buried, alas! for no trace can aw see,

Ov the way aw once trod when as sinless as thee,

Sleep little beauty,

Angels thee keep,

Grondad is watchin,

Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Smilin in slumber—dreamin ov bliss,

Feelin in fancy a fond mother's kiss;

Richer bi far nor a king on his throne,

Fearlessly facing a future unknown.

Sleep little beauty,

Angels thee keep,

Grondad is watchin,

Sleep, beauty, sleep.

What wod aw give could aw once agean be,

Innocent, spotless an trustin as thee;

May noa grief give thee occasion to weep,

Blessins attend thee!—Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Sleep little beauty,

Angels thee keep,

Grondad is watchin,

Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Sixty, Turned, To-day.

Aw'm turned o' sixty, nah, old lass,

Yet weel aw mind the time,

When like a young horse turned to grass,

Aw gloried i' mi prime.

Aw'st ne'er forget that bonny face

'At stole mi heart away;

Tho' years have hurried on apace:—

Aw'm sixty, turned, to-day.

We had some jolly pranks an gams,

E'en fifty year ago,

When sportive as a pair o' lambs,

We nivver dreeamed ov woe.

When ivvery morn we left us bed,

Wi' spirits leet an gay—

But nah, old lass, those days have fled:—

Aw'm sixty, turned, to-day.

Yet we've noa reason to repine,

Or luk back wi' regret;

Those youthful days ov thine an mine,

Live sweet in mem'ry yet.

Thy winnin smile aw still can see,

An tho' thi hair's turned grey;

Tha'rt still as sweet an dear to me,

Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.

We've troubles had, an sickness too,

But then in spite ov all,

We've somha managed to pool throo,

Whativver might befall.

Awr pleasurs far outweighed the pain

We've met along life's way;

An losses past aw caant as gain—

When sixty, turned, to-day.

Awr childer nah are wed an gooan,

To mak hooams for thersels;

But we shall nivver feel alooan,

Wol love within us dwells.

We're drawin near awr journey's end,

We can't much longer stay;

Yet still awr hearts together blend,

Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.

Then let us humbly bow the knee,

To Him, whose wondrous love,

Has helpt an guided thee an me,

On th' pathway to above.

His mercies we will ne'er forget,

Then let us praise an pray,

To Him whose wings protect us yet;

Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.

That Lad Next Door.

Aw've nowt agean mi naybors,

An aw wod'nt have it sed

'At aw wor cross an twazzy,

For aw'm kind an mild asteead.

But ther's an end to patience,

E'en Job knew that aw'm sewer;—

An he nivver had noa dealins

Wi' that lad 'at lives next door.

It wod'nt do to tell 'em

What aw think abaat that lad,

One thing aw'm sarten sewer on,

Is, he's ivverything 'at's bad.

He's nivver aght o' mischief,

An he nivver stops his din—

He's noa sooiner aght o' one scrape,

Nor he's another in.

If he wor mine aw'd thresh him,

Wol th' skin coom off his back;

Aw'd cure him teein door-snecks,

Then givin th' door a whack.

Aw'd leearn him to draw th' shape o' me

Wi' chalk on th' nessy door,

An mak mud pies o' awr front steps

An leeav 'em thear bi th' scooar.

He's been a trifle quieter

For this last day or two;

He's up to some new devilment—

Aw dooant know what he'll do.

But here's his father comin,

He's lukkin awful sad—

Noa wonder—aw'st be sad enuff

If aw had sich a lad.

Aw nivver thowt 'at aw could feel

Sich sorrow, or should grieve,

But little Dick is varry sick,

They dunnot think he'll live.

Aw'd nivver nowt agean him!

Aw liked that lad aw'm sure!

Pray God, be merciful, an spare

That lad 'at lives next door.

A Summer Shaar.

It nobbut luks like tother day,

Sin Jane an me first met;

Yet fifty years have rolled away,

But still aw dooant forget.

Th' Sundy schooil wor ovver,

An th' rain wor teemin daan

An shoo had nowt to cover

Her Sundy hat an gaan.

Aw had an umberella,

Quite big enuff for two,

Soa aw made bold to tell her,

Shoo'd be sewer to get weet throo,

Unless shoo'd share it wi' me.

Shoo blushed an sed, "Nay, Ben,

If they should see me wi' thi,

What wod yo're fowk say then?"

"Ne'er heed," says aw, "Tha need'nt care

What other fowk may say;

Ther's room for me an some to spare,

Soa let's start on us way."

Shoo tuk mi arm wi' modest grace,

We booath felt rayther shy;

But then aw'm sewer 'twor noa disgrace,

To keep her new clooas dry.

Aw tried to tawk on different things,

But ivvery thowt aw'd had,

Seem'd to ha flown as if they'd wings,

An left me speechless mad.

But when we gate cloise to her door,

Aw stopt an whispered, "Jane,

Aw'd like to walk wi' thee some moor,

When it doesn't chonce to rain."

Shoo smiled an blushed an sed, "For shame!"

But aw tuk courage then.

Aw cared net if all th' world should blame,

Aw meant to pleas misen,

For shoo wor th' grandest lass i'th' schooil

An th' best—noa matter what;—

Aw should ha been a sackless fooil,

To miss a chonce like that.

Soa oft we met to stroll an tawk,

Noa matter, rain or shine;

An one neet as we tuk a walk,

Aw ax't her to be mine.

Shoo gave consent, an sooin we wed:—

Sin' then we've had full share

Ov rough an smooth, yet still we've led

A life ov little care.

An monny a time aw say to Jane,

If things luk dull an bad;—

Cheer up! tha knows we owe to th' rain

All th' joys o' life we've had.

Awr Lad.

Beautiful babby! Beautiful lad!

Pride o' thi mother and joy o' thi dad!

Full ov sly tricks an sweet winnin ways;—

Two cherry lips whear a smile ivver plays;

Two little een ov heavenly blue—

Wonderinly starin at ivverything new,

Two little cheeks like leaves of a rooas—

An planted between em a wee little nooas.

A chin wi' a dimple 'at tempts one to kiss;—

Nivver wor bonnier babby nor this.

Two little hands 'at are seldom at rest—

Except when asleep in thy snug little nest.

Two little feet 'at are kickin all day,

Up an daan, in an aght, like two kittens at play.

Welcome as dewdrops 'at freshen the flaars,

Soa has thy commin cheered this life ov awrs.

What tha may come to noa mortal can tell;—

We hooap an we pray 'at all may be well.

We've other young taistrels, one, two an three,

But net one ith' bunch is moor welcome nor thee.

Sometimes we are tempted to grummel an freeat,

Becoss we goa short ov what other fowk get.

Poverty sometimes we have as a guest,

But tha needn't fear, tha shall share ov the best.

What are fowks' riches to mother an me?

All they have wodn't buy sich a babby as thee.

Aw wor warned i' mi young days 'at weddin browt woe,

'At labor an worry wod keep a chap low—

'At love aght o' th' winder wod varry sooin flee,

When poverty coom in at th' door—but aw see

Old fowk an old sayins sometimes miss ther mark,

For love shines aght breetest when all raand is dark.

Ther's monny a nobleman, wed an hawf wild,

'At wod give hawf his fortun to have sich a child.

Then why should we envy his wealth an his lands,

Tho' sarvents attend to obey his commands?

For we have the treasures noa riches can buy,

An aw think we can keep 'em—at leeast we can try;

An if it should pleeas Him who orders all things,

To call yo away to rest under His wings—

Tho' to part wod be hard, yet this comfort is giv'n,

We shall know 'at awr treasures are safe up i' Heaven,

Whear no moth an noa rust can corrupt or destroy,

Nor thieves can braik in, nor troubles annoy.

Blessins on thi! wee thing—an whativver thi lot,

Tha'rt promised a mansion, tho' born in a cot,

What fate is befoor thi noa mortal can see,

But Christ coom to call just sich childer as thee.

An this thowt oft cheers me, tho' fortun may fraan,

Tha may yet be a jewel to shine in His craan.

Bonny Mary Ann.

When but a little toddlin thing,

I'th' heather sweet shoo'd play,

An like a fay on truant wing,

Shoo'd rammel far away;

An even butterflees wod come

Her lovely face to scan,

An th' burds wod sing ther sweetest song,

For bonny Mary Ann.

Shoo didn't fade as years flew by,

But added day bi day,

Some little touch ov witchery—

Some little winnin way.

Her lovely limbs an angel face,

To paint noa mortal can;

Shoo seemed possessed ov ivvery grace,

Did bonny Mary Ann.

To win her wod be heaven indeed,

Soa off aw went to woo;

Mi tale o' love shoo didn't heed,

Altho' mi heart spake too.

Aw axt, "what wants ta, onnyway?"

Shoo sed, "aw want a man,"

Then laffin gay, shoo tript away—

Mi bonny Mary Ann.

Thinks aw, well, aw'll be man enough

To leeav thi to thisen,

Some day tha'll net be quite as chuff,

Aw'll wait an try thi then.

'Twor hard—it ommost braik mi heart

To carry aght mi plan;

But honestly aw played mi part,

An lost mi Mary Ann.

For nah shoo's wed an lost yo see,

But oh! revenge is sweet;

Her husband's less bi th' hawf nor me,

His face is like a freet;

An what enticed her aw must own,

To guess noa mortal can;

For what it is, is nobbut known—

To him an Mary Ann.

That Christmas Puddin.

Ha weel aw remember that big Christmas puddin,

That puddin mooast famous ov all in a year;

When each lad at th' table mud stuff all he could in,

An ne'er have a word ov refusal to fear.

Ha its raand speckled face, craand wi' sprigs o' green holly

Seem'd sweeatin wi' juices ov currans an plums;

An its fat cheeks made ivvery one laff an feel jolly,

For it seem'd like a meetin ov long parted chums,

That big Christmas pudding—That rich steamin puddin—

That scrumptious plum puddin, mi mother had made.

Ther wor father an mother—awr Hannah an Mary,

Uncle Tom an ont Nancy, an smart cussin Jim;

An Jim's sister Kitty, as sweet as a fairy—

An Sam wi' his fiddle—we couldn't spare him.

We'd rooast beef an mutton, a gooise full o' stuffin,

Boil'd turnips an taties, an moor o' sich kind;

An fooamin hooam brewed—why—aw think we'd enuff in,

To sail a big ship if we'd been soa inclined.

An then we'd that puddin—That thumpin big puddin—

That rich Christmas puddin, mi mother had made.

Sam sat next to Mary an Jim tuk awr Hannah,

An Kitty ov coorse had to sit next to me—

An th' stuff wor sooin meltin away in a manner,

'At mi mother declared 't wor a pleasur to see.

They wor nowt could be mended, we sed when it ended,

An all seem'd as happy as happy could be;

An aw've nivver repented, for Kitty consented,

An shoo's still breet an bonny an a gooid wife to me.

An aw think o' that puddin—That fateful plum puddin—

That match makkin puddin mi mother had made.

A Bad Sooart.

Aw'd rayther face a redwut brick,

Sent flyin at mi heead;

Aw'd rayther track a madman's steps,

Whearivver they may leead;

Aw'd rayther ventur in a den,

An stail a lion's cub;

Aw'd rayther risk the foamin wave

In an old leaky tub.

Aw'd rayther stand i'th' midst o'th' fray,

Whear bullets thickest shower;

Nor trust a mean, black hearted man,

At's th' luck to be i' power.

A redwut brick may miss its mark,

A madman change his whim;

A lion may forgive a theft;

A leaky tub may swim.

Bullets may pass yo harmless by,

An leeav all safe at last;

A thaasand thunders shake the sky,

An spare yo when they've past.

Yo may o'ercome mooast fell disease;

Mak poverty yo're friend;

But wi' a mean, blackhearted man,

Noa mortal can contend.

Ther's malice in his kindest smile,

His proffered hand's a snare;

He's plannin deepest villany,

When seemingly mooast fair.

He leads yo on wi' oily tongue,

Swears he's yo're fastest friend;

He get's yo once within his coils,

An crushes yo i'th' end.

Old Nick, we're tell'd, gooas prowlin aght,

An seeks whom to devour;

But he's a saint, compared to some,

'At's th' luk to be i' power.

Fairly Weel-off.

Ov whooalsum food aw get mi fill—

Ov drink aw seldom want a gill;

Aw've clooas to shield me free throo harm,

Should winds be cold or th' sun be warm.