HEARKEN to t' wind heaw id whistles past, —
    Drivin' afooar id o t' sleet an' snow;
Fooak's weel off, on a neet like this,
    When they're safely harboured bi t' fireside's glow.
Id meks me shiver to think o' t' storm —
    Rouse thad fire up, — it's nooan so breet;
Lord, look deawn on thoose weary souls
    'At are hooamless, an' friendless i' t' cowd to-neet!

Aw'm sure aw heeard somebry knockin', then,
    Sit tha still, lass, — aw'll gooa to t' dooar;
Whoa con i, be 'at's ventured here?
    Maybe, some wanderer, ragged an' poor.
Bless mi life, it's a little lad, —
    Hutchin' an' tremblin' on t' dooar-step here;
Come inside, luv, tha'rt somebry's child,
    An' tha'st stop no longer i' t' storm eawt theer.

Come to t' fire, here, an' warm thisel',
    For thi limbs are shiverin' an' stiff wi' cowd;
Wheer doesta live?  Wod? — tha hes no hooam?
    An' tha' ses 'at tha'rt only eight year owd?
Heaw con a little thing, like thee,
    Weather throo' t' storms an' cares o' life,
When men — strong men, oft try an' fail,
    To feight ther way throo this world o' strife?

Bless tha lad! — tha's a pretty face,
    An' thi een so blue, shine breet an' clear;
Id seems a pity 'at one so young
    Should be left alone i' this world so drear.
Bring thi cheear up to t' table, here,
    An' heyt as mich, luv, as ever t' con;
Fill thi belly, an' dorn'd be feear'd,
    Ther's plenty mooar when thad gets done.

Once, we'd a child 'ut wur just like thee,
    An' we luv'd him mooar nor o t' world beside;
An' oft, when aw've thowt o' thad happy time,
    Aw've set me deawn i' mi cheear, an' cried.
Winter an' summer, eawr hearts wur leet,
    Wi' him to comfort us every day;
But deeath stooale into eawr cot, one neet,
    An' booare t' fond hooape uv eawr lives away.

Tha gooas mooar like him at every look,
    Tha'rt just his pictur i' form an' limb,
While thi hair so curly, an' soft blue een,
    Are just like thoose uv eawr little Jim.
Aw seem to see him i' life once mooar,
    As aw glance across at thi childish face;
Maybe, th' Almighty, i' t' world aboon,
    Guided thee to us, to fill his place.

Tha'rt friendless no longer i' t' world, mi child,
    For tha'st hev a hooam wi mi wife un' me;
Tho' humble i' station, an' cooarse eawr fare,
    Yet we'll manage to spare a bit for thee.
Tha'll allus be welcome to t' best we hev,
    An' tha'll help to cheer us, an' mek life sweet;
For th' hand o' Providence led thee here,
    To be saved fro' t' storm on this winter's neet.

THAT'S mi gronfeyther's cooat as is hung up i' t' nook,
    An' it's bin theer for mony at year;
It's done some good service sin fost id wur new,
    But it's getten a lot woss for weear.
Id wur worn for t' fest time when mi grondad wur wed,
    An' that's sixty year sin, or mooar;
Yo con see bi id mek as it's one o' th' owd style,
    For t' tails welly reych deawn to t' flooar.

Hey, when aw wur younger, aw've laughed mony a time,
    When he used to gooa eawt wi' id on;
For whenever he wooar id, th' owd chap looked so preawd,
    An' he fancied hissel quite a don.
Aw remember, at times, when he went on his walks
    Mi gronny ud gooa wi' him too;
An' they'd link arms together, an' toddle deawn t' street,
    Just t' same as yo'll see cooarters do.

No matter wheerever mi gronfeyther went,
    Th' owd cooat hed to gooa wi' him too;
For he thowt as mich on't when id geet grey an' petched,
    As he did when he fost hed id new.
Mi gronny an' him lived as snug as could be,
    Till deeath snatched her off fro' his side;
An' he followed hur coffin i' t' cooat as he wooar
    On t' day 'at he med hur his bride.

When mi gronny wur gone he wur left bi hissel,
    Sooa th' owd chap coom a livin' wi' me;
But like as he never wur gradely ageean,
    He wur followin' hur fast, aw could see.
He fretted abeawt hur fro' mornin' to neet,
    Till at last he begun to be ill;
An' one summer's day, when aw'd come fro' mi wark,
    Mi grondad wur laid cowd an' still.

We buried him clooase to th' owd wife as he'd mourned,
    I' t' quate village churchyard up yon;
An' mi heart throbbed wi' sorrow, for th' grave never
            clooased
    O'er a better or kindlier mon.
Aw cried like a child as aw stood o'er his grave,
    For aw knew aw should see him no mooar;
An' just for a keepsake, aw've treasured sin then,
    Thad cooat as mi gronfeyther wooar.

One neet as aw set into th' heawse bi misel,
    Th' owd cooat fell off t' nail, on to t' flooar;
When aw lifted id up, like as t' linin's bulked eawt,
    Ther wur summat inside aw felt sure.
Sooa aw ripped t' linin's oppen to see wed ther wur,
    An' wod do yo think as aw seed?
Ther wur bank nooates to t' vally o' three hundred peawnd,
    As th' owd chap hed left when he deed.

Aw stood theer fair gloppen'd, an' stared like a foo',
    As aw ceawnted t' nooates o'er one bi one;
For they coom like a blessin' for keepin' th' owd cooat.
    'At mi gronfeyther thowt so weel on.
Id shell hang theer i' t' corner as long as aw live,
    An' shall never do service no meoar;
For at keepsake o' t' deead, an' a treasure to me,
    Is t' cooat as mi gronfeyther wooar.

FOR clooase on at year, aw've him cooartin',
    Wi' a lass, hey! so tender an' true;
An' for beauty, yo'd find nooan to match hur,
    If yo hed to seech Blegburn o throo.
We've hed momy a ramble together,
    Throo t' meadows i' t' fresh country air;
But last Suuda neet when aw left hur,
    Aw towd hur aw'd tek her to t' fair.

Hoo look'd some an' suited aw'll tell yo,
    For hoo smiled as aw bid hur "Good-neet!"
An' hoo lingered at t' dooar when we parted
    An' watched till aw geet eawt o' t' seet.
When aw seed heaw aw'd filled hur wi pleasure,
    Wi' joy aw could welly ha' cried;
For aw know 'at hoo's never contented,
    Except when aw'm clooase at hur side.

Aw've long'd for this week to ged o'er wi',
    For like as it's dragged on so slow;
An' when one's impatient an' luv-sick,
    It's nooan so nice waitin' yo know.
But t' time's drawin' near when aw'st see hur,
    An' this heart o' mine then 'll be leet;
For someheaw mi troubles o vanish,
    As soon as hoo comes i' mi seet.

Aw've bin tuthri times to hur mother's,
    An' aw've allus bin welcome aw'm sure;
For aw'm met wi' a warm hearty greetin'
    As soon as aw enter at t' dooar.
Sooa aw'll buy hur some sooart uv a present,
    When aw ramble reawnd t' fair-greawnd to-day;
An' give it th' owd lass for a "fairin',"
    For aw'm gooin' to-morn to mi tay.

It's time 'at aw geet misel ready,
    Or else aw'st be lettin' hur wait;
For i' less nor an heawer aw've to meet hur,
    An' aw wodn'd like bein' too late.
Sooa aw'l wesh me, an' put mi best things on,
    An' put some nice scent on mi heir;
For aw want to look weel, if aw con do,
    When aw meet hur to tek hur to t' fair.

We'st hev o seearts o' fun when we ged theer,
    For we'st gooa into mony a show;
An' then gooa i' t' swingin'-booats after,
    An' hev a dry land sail un' o.
Hoo's for hevin' eawr likenesses teken,
    An' put in a nice little frame;
To hang up on t' wo' uv eawr dwellin',
    For soon hoo'll be changin' hur name.

We've scraped tuthri peawnd up together,
    Tho' we've booath on us done id unknown;
An' aw think id 'll prove varra useful,
    To furnish a hooam uv eawr own.
We'st be axed eawt for t' third time next Sunda',
    An' soon, o life's joys we shall share;
For aw'm gooin' to be wed in a fortnut,
    To yon lass as aw'm tekin' to t' fair.

Speyk kindly to thi mother, Dick,
    For neaw hoo's owd an' grey;
Let's try to cheer hur up a bit,
    An' breeten life's dark way.
A kindly word 'at cost's us nowt,
    To hur's mooar deer than gowd;
Sooa let's booath try to do eawr best,
    For neaw hoo's geddin' owd.

We're full o' youth, an' health, an' strength,
    Hoo's bent wi' age an' care;
An' yet hoo once wur t' same as us,
    As leetsome, an' as fair.
Aw've heeard id sed, when hoo wur young,
    Hoo'rt bonniest lass i' t' fowd;
But neaw hoo's wrinkled, worn, an' thin ―
    Thi mother's geddin' owd.

Tha knows, to keep us eawt o' want,
    Hoo's toiled booath day an' neet;
An' never tried to teych us nowt
    But wod wur good an' reet.
Ther's nobry left but thee an' me;
    They're o i' t' churchyard cowd;
An' we'll nod torn ageean hur, Dick,
    Because hoo's geddin' owd.

It's nowt but reet to keep hur neaw,
    When o but us hev gone;
Sooa we'll booath try to mek hur snug
    Until hur journey's done.
Hoo's struggled hard to bring us up,
    An' id shall ne'er be towd
'At we wur owt but kind to hur
    When hoo wur geddin' owd.

Sooa stop i' th' heawse, an' sit tha deawn
    I' t' cheear as stan's i' t' nook;
An' while tha' sits an' warms thisel
    Just read a bit fro' t' Book.
For th' Holy Word uv Him 'at reigns
    Beyond thoose gates o' gowd
Con allus soothe an' comfort thoose
    'At's geddin' worn an' owd.

Hoo luvs to heanr so mich o' Heaven,
    Because hoo's nearin' th' end;
An' varra soon, aw know, we'st loyse
    Eawr best an' dearest friend.
An' when, at last, hoo lies at rest,
    Below yon graveyard mowd,
We'st know we did eawr duty weel,
    'I t' days when hoo wur owd.

OWD Jerry o' Tum's led a bachelors life,
An' hed never once thowt abeawt tekin' a wife;
But one neet a notion geet into his pate,
'At id welly wur time to be geddin' a mate,
            "Aw mun stir up," he sed,
            "If aw meean to be wed,
Or else id'll soon be too late.

"Aw'm limbersome yet, tho' mi toppin's gone grey,
But ther isn'd mich pleasure i' livin' this way;
It's weary ceawered here bi one's sel every neet,
Wi' ne'er a soul near me to comfort or greet;
            An' a gradely good wife
            Would breeten mi' life,
An' mek this owd heart o' mine leet.

"Neaw, ther's young Nanny Pinder 'at lives up i' t' broo,
Hoo's regular good natured, an' kind-hearted too;
Aw'm nod quite so young as aw hev bin, aw know,
But aw'll pluck up to Nanny next time as aw co'.
            'Faint heart, aw'm aware,
            Never won lady fair';
An' hoo con but say, 'Nowe!' after o."

Owd Jerry wur sittin' as quate as a meawse,
When a naybur o' Nanny' coom poppin' i' t' heawse;
Jerry's face breeten'd up an' his heart went quite leet,
For he thowt uv a plan as ud wark o things reet:
            "Sit tha deawn theer, awhile,"
            Jerry sed, wi' a smile --
"Aw've some good news to tell the to-neet!"

Sooa Jerry begun, in at mild sooart o' way,
To tell 'ut he'd getten at letter thad day,
An' it towd him, he sed, 'at his owd cousin Bill,
Wur deead, an' hed left him some brass in his will;
            For Jerry weel knew
            'At he'd put a lot to,
When he towd t' tale to t' nayburs on th' hill.

Jerry seed he wur brastin' to gooa an' tell t' news,
Sooa he bid him "Good neet!" an' he poo'd off his shoes;
"Aw'll warrant," sed Jerry, " thad tale 'll soon spread,"
An' he muttered wi' glee as he went up to bed,
            "Aw've played mi cards reet
            Wi' yon fella to-neet,
For he's sure to tell o 'at aw've sed."

When t' naybur left Jerry, he hurried up t' broo,
An' towd o he'd heeard, wi' a lot mooar put to;
It wur t' talk uv o t' fooak deawn i' t' village next day,
An' Jerry wur stopped mony a time on his way, —
            Wi' fooak 'at he knew,
            An' axed, wur id true?
But never a word did he say.

He co'd at Nan Pinder's, an' theer, let me tell,
He fun' 'at young Nan wur i' th' heawse bi hursel;
Sooa he towd hur o' th' errand on which he wur bent,
An' sed as he hoped 'at hoo'd say wod hoo meant;
            Hur heart fluttered fast,
            But hoo coom reawnd at last;
An' Jerry soon gained hur consent.

To mek a tale short, — Nan an' Jerry wur wed,
An' hoo chanced to remark as fro' t' church hoo wur led, —
"Aw heeard 'at thi cousin had left tha some brass,
Is it true?" — Jerry answered — "Id is true mi lass!" —
            "It's a greyt big brass pon '
            'At mi cousin Dick won;
Id'll do to mek broth in, — fost class!"

Nan's face crimsoned up, an' hur een sunk to t' flooar,
But hur sweet kindly nature soon raised 'em once mooar;
"Come, Jerry," hoo sed, "tha'rt a kindly owd mon!
An' aw'll comfort an' bless tha till life's journey's done;
            An' aw'll help tha throo t' strife
            Like a good little wife;
An' mek thee as snug as aw con."

WE'RE ramblin' reawnd th' owd spot ageean,
    Th' owd favourite spot uv o';
Wheer oft we've towd eawr saycrets, lass,
    I' whispers soft an' low.
It's twenty year or varra near,
    Sin we wur here afooar;
It's like a bit o' th' owden time
    To walk th' owd greawnd wonst mooar.

Bi' t' luvers' ooak i' t' meadow yon,
    We've rambled mony a neet;
An' t' darkness seemed to matter nowt,
    Tha med id seem so breet.
We're just as true as e'er we wur,
    Tho' age creeps on us fast;
Sooa let's be cooarters once ageean,
    An' talk a bit o'er t' past.

I's strange heaw bygone days rise up,
    I' t' links o' memory's cheean;
For walkin' here wi thee to-neet,
    Aw feel quite young ageean.
Aw see thee as tha used to be;
    I' o' thi beauty rare;
For nod a lass i' t' village then,
    Wur ever hawf as fair.

Aw'st ne'er forget thoose happy days,
    Altho' they've long bin gone;
We pictured t' joys o' t' future then,
    As nowt but luvers con.
Mi heart beat wild wi' joy an' pride,
    When tha wur i' mi seet;
Bud, oh! heaw sad id used to feel,
    When t' partin' coom at neet,

Th' owd windmill's o' i' ruins neaw,
    As stan's on t' top o' th' hill;
Hey, lots o' times we've gone thad way,
    When o's bin quate an' still.
An' strollin' theer one summer morn,
    O'er t' meadows weet wi' dew;
Tha promised as tha'd share mi joys,
    An' share mi sorrows too.

Sooa t' weddin' day coom on, at last,
    An' we wur mon an' wife;
An' t' solemn vows tha med thad day,
    Tha's allus kept throo life.
Throo' thick an' thin tha's played thi part,
    An' bin a helpmate true;
An' smiled to cheer mi heavy heart
    When thine's bin heavy too.

We're ramblin' reawnd th' owd spot ageean, —
    Th' owd favourite spot uv o';
Wheer oft we've towd eawr seycrets, lass,
    I' whispers soft an' low.
We're just as true as e'er we wur,
    Tho' age creeps on us fast;
Sooa let's be cooarters once ageean,
    An' tawk a bit o'er t' past.

IF ony o' yo' lives tort Griffin,
    Yo'll hev sin th' owd neetwatchmon, aw
            know;
For ther's hardly a mon but wod knows him,
    Fro' Witten Stocks up to Cob Wo'.
At times he's a queer an' cranky,
    But he wodn'd hort nobry, nod he;
An' he meks a greyt hobby o' music,
    No mutter wod sooart id may be.

Th' owd chap's sung at mony a concert,
    At leeast, sooa aw've often bin towd;
But thad 'ud be when he wur younger,
    For neaw he'll hev getten too owd.
Aw know he's not fur short o' seventy,
    Yet he needs noather "specs" nor a stick;
An' among carol singers, an' sich like,
    He's known bi nowt but "Bass Dick."

Ther's mony a trick played on th' owd fella,
    When odd 'uns stop in uv a neet;
An' bi' t' way as they marlock an' caper,
    He' sworn, mony at time, they're nooam reet.
For they'll plague him an' raise up his temper,
    An' then when they've getten him on;
They'll soft-sooap him thick wi' ther praises
    An' leeave him o reet when they've done.

Uv a neet, when he's finished wi' t' boilers,
    He'll oppen his owd music book;
An' read o t' fond airs uv his childhood,
    As he sits snug an' cozy i' t' nook.
An' he'll puff at his dock leeaves an' bacca,
    It's a mixture he meks for hissel;
But heaw he con manage to smook id,
    Is mooar nor aw'm able to tell.

Every Kesmas he gooas eawt a singin',
    An' he fairly creates sich a din;
An at t' finish, he'll play 'em a solo
    On t' dooar wi' a greyt rowlin' pin.
T' fost time 'at he coom to eawr Betty's,
    We o hed to stop short for breeath,
For t' noise coom so leawd, an' so sudden,
    We wur o welly freeten'd to deeath.

Here's health to th' owd neetwatch! — God
            bless him;
    Aw hope he'll live mony at year yet;
For aw know, if we happen to loyse him,
    Id 'll be wi' a pang o' regret.
But if Deeath wi' his cowd grip should nail
            him,
    An' tek him away fro' us soon;
Aw know, at t' last day, he'll be singin',
    Wi' t' choir up i' Heaven aboon.

COME, Sally, put some coyl on t' fire,
    An' leet us t' lamp an' o;
An' mek th' owd heawse look warm
             an' snug,
    For tha con do't, aw know.
Tha'rt th' only one 'at's left for me
    To cling to, while aw'm here;
For wheer thi mother used to sit —
    Thers nowt but th' empty cheear.

It's cowd an' stormy eawt o' dooars,
    An' keen blows t' wintry blast;
Sooa put o' t' window shutters to, —
    An' mind that meks 'em fast.
Then sit tha deawn, an' sing thad song
    Thi mother luv'd to hear; —
Tha's sung id for hur mony a time
    When hoo's bin set i' t' cheear.

An' often, Sal, when tha wur young,
    Hoo's sung thad song for thee;
An' rocked tha, till tha's shut thi een,
    An' slumbered on hur knee.
Whene'er aw think abeawt id, Sal,
    Aw corn'd keep back a tear —
Id meks me feel so lonely, neaw,
    To see thad empty cheear.

This earth wur like a heaven then,
    For trouble wur unknown;
An' nod a hooam seemed hawf as breet
    An' cheerful as eawr own.
At neet, aw'd sit i' t' chimley nook,
    While hoo wur knittin' theer;
An' every neaw an' then, hoo'd look,
    An' smile so sweet i' t' cheear.

An' sooa we lived wi' leetsome hearts,
    An' th' years rowled swiftly past;
But t' joy as filled eawr little cot,
    Wur changed to grief at last.
For one sad neet, thi mother deed,
    An' med life, oh! so dreear;
For nowt wur left to comfort me
    But thee — an' th' empty cheeer.

Sooa put thi sewin' deawn a bit,
    An' let me hear thad song;
An' try to cheer me while tha con,
    For th' end 'll nod be long.
Tha's allus done thi best for me,
    An' will do, while aw'm here;
But, verra soon, aw know ther'll be
    Another empty cheear.

Aye, Sal, aw'st hev to leeave tha soon,
    Aw'm sinkin' every day;
But tha's no cause to cry nor fret,
    Sooa wipe thi tears away.
Aw'm gooin' to join thi mother, lass,
    I' t' th' happy hooam up theer;
An' when aw'm lyin' cowd it' t' grave,
    Sal, keep thi mother's cheear.

HELLO! is thad thee, Jack?  Wod's browt tha deawn here?
    It's months sin aw seed tha afooar, lad;
Sooa just poo thi hat off an' draw up thi cheear,
    For id suits me to see tha, once mooar, lad.
There's some long pipes i' t' rack if tha'rt wantin' a smook,
    An' t' bacca's at side on 'em, sitha;
An' if tha'll just reych me thad pipe eawt o' t' nook,
    Aw'll sit deawn an' hev an smook wi' tha.

Heaw's yer fooak gedden on?  Varra weel? —
            well aw'm glad,
    They'll hev awtered sin last aw wur wi' 'em;
An' when aw've bin thinkin' abeaut 'em, mi lad,
    Aw've wished, mony a time, aw could see 'em.
Aw suppooase tha'll be warkin' at t' place wheer tha wur?
    For tha never took kindly to farmin';
An' heaw's little Mary? — aw morn'd forged hur,
    Is hoo still as good lookin' an charmin'?

An' heaw's poor lame David?  Wod!  Deead does ta say?
    Poor lad! he'd to walk on two crutches;
He'll hev bin sadly missed deawn i' t' village, sin t' day
    As Deeath booare him off in his clutches.
Well, Jack, tho' he's gone, still it's happen for t' best,
    For he's left o his burdens behind him;
An' if one could draw t' curtain, an' peep among t' blest,
    Aw'm sure he'd be able to find him.

Does ta ever see Nancy?  Neaw, come Jack, speyk eawt,
    An' dorn'd pause becose aw'm sad-hearted;
Tha knows varra weel why aw feel sooa, no deawt,
    For aw've never bin reet sin we parted.
Hey, when aw wur wi' hur, mi spirits wur gay,
    For tha knows hoo wur allus mi fancy;
But o mi heart's comforts wur banished away,
    Thad neet as aw quarrell'd wi' Nancy.

Id wur o throo a word, but aw wodn'd poo back,
    For aw felt as mi pride couldn'd do id;
An' then aw spooak hasty an' passionate, Jack,
    An' God knows heaw dearly aw rue id.
Aw mut ha' bin th' happiest an' preawdest o' men,
    For aw'd never no real cause to deawt hur;
But aw've known nowt but anguish an' misery sin then,
    For t' world's like a desert, witheawt hur.

Wod's thad as tha ses?  Tha's a message for me?
    An' it's Nancy an' o as hes sent id?
Come, Jack, here's mi hand, lad, aw'm thankful to thee,
    For tha's browt thad 'at's med me contented.
Hoo ses i' this nooate, as aw'm freely forgi'en,
    For hoo knows id worn'd meant when aw sed id;
An' hoo ses as it's no use o' strife creepin' in
    Wheer luv lies so firmly embedded.

Come, mother, set t' taythings, an' mek us some tay,
    It's some time sin yo seed me so cheery;
Mi sorrows an' troubles hev vanished to-day
    An' neaw, life no longer seems dreeary.
It's thee, Jack, 'at's breeten'd mi face to a smile,
    It's thee, as shall join us together;
Aw've hed t' stormy seeason o' life for awhile,
    But tha's changed id to mid-summer weather.

AT neet, when aw hear th' engine slacken,
    An' aw know 'at aw've finished for t' day;
Aw leeave t' cares o' toil till t' next mornin',
    An' aw mek off tort hooam reet away.
For aw know thers a hearth breet an' tidy,
    An' a smile when aw enter at t' dooar,
Fro' t' wife as is patiently waitin'
    An' longin' to see me once mooar.

An' as soon as they hear me lift t' latch up
    O' t' childer 'll flock reawnd mi knee,
An' they'll howd up ther sweet bonny faces
    Till aw bend deawn an' kiss 'em o three.
God bless 'em! they're like little angels,
    They leeten eawr hearts neet an' day;
An' to me, id seawnds t' sweetest o' music,
    To hear 'em keep prattlin' away.

An' then, after t' tay's getten o'er wi',
    An' t' tay things o' sided away;
Aw sit deawn to smook i' th' owd rocker,
    An' watch t' childer's innocent play.
Id raylee seems strange an' surprisin',
    To see heaw owd fashioned they ged;
For they'll chatter away till they're weary,
    An' ther een begin achein' for bed.

Then t' wife 'll begin to undress 'em,
    An' as soon as hoo's done wi' o' t' three,
They'll kneel deewn together on t' hearth rug,
    An' bless booath ther mother en' me.
Wi' o t' simple nature o' childhood
    So softly they lisp eawt ther prayers,
Then they'll bid me "Good neet!" in a whisper
    As they toddle off slowly upstairs.

Ther mother gooas up clooase behynt 'em
    An' waits till they o' ged asleep;
An' at last, when they've o getten quated,
    So cautious, deawn t' stairs, hoo's to creep.
But someheaw aw miss ther sweet prattle,
    An' mi heart feels as heavy as lead;
For th' heawse seems so lone an' deserted,
    Uv a neet, when o' th' childer's i' bed.

But aw'll toil on i' peace an' contentment,
    An' do wod aw thinks's reet an' best;
An' when, like a child, aw feel weary
    Aw know, as at t' last, ther'll be rest.
For when we lie cowd in eawr coffins,
    An' t' soul's to a better world fled,
To t' grave side eawr kindred 'll beear us
    An', like childer, they'll put us to bed.

YO may talk abeawt Hutchens, or Cummin's, an' George,
    As runners o' fame an' reneawn;
But if Owd Billy Putty mum pick his own track,
    Aw'll bet he could tek 'em o deawn.
To see him, yo'd think him too brossen to walk,
    But fooaks, wod aw'm tellin' yo's true;
He won a big wager a week or two sin,
    An' he's 't champion o' t' Brandy Heawse Broo.

He weighs fourteen scooar, or a peawnd or two mooar,
    An' he's welly as broad as he's long;
But for o as he carries so mich on his booans,
    Owd Putty's booath nimble an' strong.
It's seldom 'at ever yo'll catch him i' t' dumps,
    For he's allus good tempered, an' free;
An' as long as he's plenty o' bacca an' ale,
    He's as happy as mortal con be.

One Setterda neet, he wur up at Owd Kit's
    Among wod they co' t' noisy crew;
They wur talkin' o'er things 'at they knew nowt abeawt,
    An' braggin' o' wod they could do.
Then Young Bob o' Ruchut's jumped up, an' he sheawts,
    "Aw'll run anybody i' t' place
For five or ten peawnd, an' they'st hev t' choice o' greawnd
    Come! which on yo's on for a race?"

"Neaw dorn'd talk so fast theer," Owd Putty chimed in,
    "Aw'll run tha misel for five peawnd
If tha'll give me three yards eawt o' fifty," he sed;
    "But tha knows aw shall want t' choice o' t' greawnd."
Put's offer wur snapp'd up wi' Bob reet away,
    For he reckoned on hevin' him sweet;
An' Putty wur looked on as nowt but a foo'
    When he staked up his wager thad neet.

At t' Monda' they met to decide this greyt race,
    Sooa Putty sheawts "Come on wi' me."
An' Bob an' his mates followed on clooase behynt,
    To t' place wheer this race hed to be.
Put took 'em o'er t' brig, an' he went knockin' on,
    Into one o' them streets just at t' top;
Till at t' finish he coom to a long entry end,
    An' theer Putty med a full stop.

"This here's wheer aw'm runnin'," sed Putty to Bob,
    "Tha knows aw hed t' full choice o' t' greawnd;
An' aw corn'd see misel wheer tha hes ony chance
    O' tekin' away that five peawnd.
Thers nod room for two to ged pass at a time,
    An' as tha hes to start behind me;
Id seems varra plain if aw nobbut wawk deawn,
    'At aw'm teed to reych t' tape befooar thee!"

Bob owned he wur lick'd, an' he give up at once,
    When he seed heaw his case really stood;
An' his heart worn'd as leet as his pocket thad neet,
    But he looked up as weel as he could.
An' mony a time, when ther's nowt goin' on,
    Yo can raise smiles on every face,
If yo'll nobbut drop into Owd Kit's as yo' pass
    An' just mention Owd Putty's Race.

I' t' shed, wheer aw'm toilin' an' slavin'
    Fro' mornin' to neet, like a foo';
An' piecin' mi bad sides an' "mashes,"
    Till aw wonder which way aw ged throo,
There's a lass, hey! so Winsome an' pratty,
    An' angel yo'd tek hur to be;
An' at me hoo throws lots o' sly glances,
    For hoo only just warks t' beeam to me.

Hoo comes to hur wark dressed i' t' fashion,
    For hoo's fondish o' mekin a show;
Hoo weears a silk jacket to weyve in,
    An' a watch, an' a locket an' o.
Hoo struts like a princess throo th' alley,
    Or some lady wi' titles an' gowd;
An' hur hair used to hang o'er hur eye broos,
    But lately hoo's getten id powd.

If ther's ever a ball hoo'll be at id,
    An' bi wod aw've heeard other fooak say,
At dancin' a "polka" or t' "lancers,"
    Ther's few as con lick hur to-day.
An' aw'm towd hoo's a bit uv at singer,
    Wi' a voice 'at's so soft an' so sweet;
But if ther's a thing hoo delights in,
    It's flashin' hursel uv at neet.

Hoo'll nod speyk to t' other young lasses,
    As warks on to t' looms reawnd abeawt;
For because they dorn'd weear lots o' finery
    Hoo thinks they're below hur, no deawt.
Let hur think sooa, for may be id suits hur,
    But this aw con truthfully say:
Aw'd sooner hev one plain an' hooamly,
    Than fifty like hur, ony dey.

Aw know 'at hoo's hed lots o' fellas,
    Aw'll bet as they'd number a scooar;
For them as aw've sin hur misel wi'
    'Ud mek up a dozen, or mooar.
An' id strikes me hoo thinks aw'st swell t' number,
    Bi' t' way as hoo smiles o' t' day throo,
But hoo'll find as hoo's rayther misteken,
    If hoo thinks 'at aw'm nowt but a foo'.

Aw pity thad fella as gets hur,
    For he'll not hev much pleasure i' life;
Hoo's a long way too preawd, an' too giddy,
    To ever mek owt uv a wife.
If hoo heeard hawf 'at fooak ses abeawt hur,
    Hur cheeks 'ud blush t' colour o' t' rooase;
For they say 'at hoo corn'd darn a stockin',
    Nor fasten at patch on hur clooas.

Then let hur keep smilin' an' glancin'
    To wheedle me reawnd if hoo con;
If hoo's fishin' abeawt for a greenhorn,
    Hoo'll hev to try some other mon.
Aw find single life growin' lonesome,
    An' ther'll soon be a weddin', yo'll see,
But aw've picked eawt a far better partner,
    Than yon weyver as warks t' beeam to me.

    This world's full o' trouble 'an pain,
    An' life's nooan too sweet at id best;
But wod's t' good o' mekkin' things woss than they
            are,
    For were towd 'ut life's nowt but a jest.
    Sooa enjoy id as long as yo're here,
    An' bid o' yor trubbles begone;
An' yo'll find life 'll bring yo mooar comfort bi hawf,
    If you'll tek things as mild as yo con.

    If yor cooartin' some fair buxum lass,
    As yo think as mich on as yor life,
An' yo fondly imagine as t' day's verra near,
    When yo'll leead her fro' t' church as yor wife.
    If hoo happens to torn eawt a "sell,"
    An' slopes off wi' some other young mon;
Yo'll let nobry know what hoo's done, if yo're wise,
    But tek things as mild as yo con.

    If yo chance to ged into a row
    Wi' a chap abeawt double yor size;
An' he gives yo a present wi' one uv his kneyves
    I' t' shape o' "two luvly black eyes."
    If yo know 'at he's mooar then yer match,
    An' yo corn'd pay him back wod he's done;
Just sit yo deawn quately or pike eawt o' t' rooad,
    An' tek id as mild as yo con.

    If yor doin' a bit uv a mash,
    Wi' white chooaker, an' gloves, an' silk tile;
An' yor struttin' abeawt like some marquis or lord,
    While t' lasses o' titter an' smile.
    If a strong wind springs up just at t' time,
    An' blows off t' silk hat as yo've on;
An' yo find id i' t' gutter hawf covered wi' mud,
    Just tek id as mild us yo con.

    If yo're plagued wi' a bad tempered wife,
    As torments yo fro' mornin' to neet;
An' ne'er lets hur tongue hev a minute o' rest,
    As long as yo stop in hur seet.
    Tho' yo feel 'at yor henpeeked a bit,
    Remember yor nod th' only one;
An' yo know varra weel it's too late to repent,
    Soon tek things as mild as yo con.

    Tek things as mild as yo con,
    Whenever yor passion rebels;
For a good deal o' t' rough an' smooth sailin' o' life
    Is just as fooak meks id thersels.
    We've lots o' drawbacks to meet,
    As we're strivin' i' t' world to ged on;
But yo'll find eawt as life 'll seem breeter bi far,
    If yo'll tek things as mild as yo con.

I' t' street wheer aw live, ther's a masher;
    An' aw'll bet yo ne'er seed sich a swell;
He's dressed, every neet, up to t' knocker,
    But heaw he con do 't aw corn'd tell.
For he weyves deawn at t' same place as aw do,
    An' he hes but three looms he's theer;
But bi t' way as he tries to do th' "heavy,"
    Yo'd think he'd ten theawsand a year.

Nod long sin, he started a cooartin'
    Wi' a young lass as lived up Duke's Broo;
Hoo worn'd one as warked for hur livin",
    For hur parents wur booath weel to do.
An' judgin' fro' t' tales as he'd towd hur,
    Hoo thowt hoo'd picked up wi' some swell;
As did nowt but hunt after pleasure, —
    An' wur weel up i' t' world like hursel.

But afooar mony weeks hed passed o'er 'em,
    Hoo fun eawt as thinks worn'd o' reet;
An' this is just 't way as id happened —
    He wur walkin' eawt wi' hur one neet;
An' telling hur heaw when he wed hur,
    He'd tek hur away to his ho';
Wheer hoo' be surreawnded wi' splendour,
    An' hev servants to run at hur co'.

Ho kept talkin' on i' this fashion,
    An' spooak o'er o' t' grond things they'd do,
Bud he spluttered an' stopped o' at sudden,
    For he seed one o' t' weavers clooase to.
This young chap looked up as he passed 'em,
    An' sed, "Hello, Jack! is thad thee?
If this nasty east wind keeps on blowin',
    Id'll weyve bad i' t' mornin' tha'll see."

Jack's cheeks fost went pale an' then crimson,
    An' he wondered wodever to say;
He tried hard to smile, but he couldn'd,
    For he worn'd mich inclined to be gay.
But t' lass didn'd seem at bit pottered,
    For hoo walked on un' talked as afooar;
An' hoo towd him to gooa up at t' Sunda',
    When they parted thad neet at th' heawse dooar.

Sooa when Sunda' coom Jack kept his promise,
    An' he went up to t' dooar an' rung t' bell;
Id wur answered bi one uv hur brothers,
    An' nod bi his sweetheart hursel.
An' soon as he geet into t' parlour,
    Hur feyther sed "Oh! sooa tha'rt here;
Aw'll larn thee for comin' a flashin',
    An' aw'll mek tha remember — no fear!"

Wi' thad, Jack wur raced reawnd wi' th' hoss-whip,
    Till he fell deawn unable to ston';
An' then he wur dragged eawt to t' rain-tub,
    Wi' hur brothers, an' ducked in all o'er.
His silk hat wur med in a footbo'
    An' jumped on an' trumpled i' t' mud;
An' then they punched Jack eawt at the finish,
    To join id as fast as he could.

Poor Jack felt booath sick, un' deawn-hearted,
    As he slunk away wet throo an' sooar;
An' for mooar nor at fortnut at th' after,
    He ne'er showed his face eawt o' th' dooar.
Ther wur nobry 'at showed him mich pity,
    For they sed 'at he'd just bin tricked reet;
An' aw hope id may prove at good lesson
    To yon masher as lives i' eawr street.