Ther daddy does the best he can
To cheer yo with his sweetest song;
An' thoase 'll sing as weel, ere long,
Soa let 'em stay."
"Tha needn't think aw'd do 'em harm—
Come shelter 'em and keep 'em warm!
For aw've a little nest misel,
An' two young babs, aw'm praad to tell,
'At's precious too;
An' they've a mammy watching thear,
'At howds them little ens as dear,
An' dearer still, if that can be,
Nor what thease youngens are to thee,
Soa come,—nah do!
"A'a well!—tha'rt shy, tha hops away,—
Tha doesn't trust a word aw say;
Tha thinks aw'm here to rob an' plunder,
An' aw confess aw dunnot wonder—
But tha's noa need;
Aw'll leave yo to yorsels,—gooid bye!
For nah aw see yor daddy's nigh;
He's dropt that strain soa sweet and strong;
He loves yo better nor his song—
He does indeed."
Aw walk'd away, and sooin mi ear
Caught up the saand o' warblin clear;
Thinks aw, they're happy once agean;
Aw'm glad aw didn't prove so mean
To rob that nest;
For they're contented wi ther lot,
Nor envied me mi little cot;
An' in this world, as we goa throo,
It is'nt mich gooid we can do,
An' do awr best.
Then let us do as little wrong
To ony as we pass along,
An' never seek a joy to gain
At's purchased wi another's pain,
It isn't reet.
Aw shall goa hooam wi' leeter heart,
To mend awr Johnny's little cart:
(He allus finds me wark enough
To piecen up his brocken stuff,
For every neet.)
An' Sally—a'a! if yo could see her!
When aw sit daan to get mi teah,
Shoo puts her dolly o' mi knee,
An' maks me sing it "Hush a bee,"
I'th' rocking chear;
Then begs some sugar for it too;
What it can't ait shoo tries to do;
An' turnin up her cunnin e'e,
Shoo rubs th' doll maath, an says, "yo see,
It gets its share.",
Sometimes aw'm rayther cross? aw fear!
Then starts a little tremblin tear,
'At, like a drop o' glitt'rin dew
Swimmin within a wild flaar blue,
Falls fro ther e'e;
But as the sun in April shaars
Revives the little droopin flaars,
A kind word brings ther sweet smile back:
Aw raylee think mi brain ud crack
If they'd ta dee.
Then if aw love my bairns soa weel,
May net a skylark's bosom feel
As mich consarn for th' little things
'At snooze i'th' shelter which her wings
Soa weel affoards?
If fowk wod nobbut bear i' mind
How mich is gained by bein' kind,
Ther's fewer breasts wi' grief ud swell,
An' fewer fowk ud thoughtless mell
Even o'th' burds.
Ther's mewsic i'th' shuttle, i'th' loom, an i'th frame,
Ther's melody mingled i'th' noise,
For th' active ther's praises, for th' idle ther's blame,
If they'd hearken to th' saand of its voice;
An' when flaggin a bit, ha refreshin to feel
As yo pause an luk raand on the throng,
At the clank o' the tappet, the hum o' the wheel,
Sing this plain unmistakable song:—
Nick a ting, nock a ting;
Wages keep pocketing;
Workin for little is better nor laiking;
Twist an' twine, reel an' wind;
Keep a contented mind;
Troubles are oft ov a body's own making.
To see workin fowk wi' a smile o' ther face
As they labor thear day after day;
An' hear 'th women's voices float sweetly throo 'th place,
As they join i' some favorite lay;
It saands amang th' din, as the violet seems
'At peeps aght th' green dockens among,
An' spreading a charm over th' rest by its means,
Thus it blends i' that steady old song;
Nick a ting, nock a ting;
Wages keep pocketing;
Workin for little is better nor laiking;
Twist an' twine, reel an' wind;
Keep a contented mind;
Troubles are oft ov a body's own making.
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 niver despair as you're trudgin along;
If troubles will come an' yor spirits dishearten,
Yo'll find ther's relief i' that steady old song;
Nick a ting, nock a ting;
Wages keep pocketing;
Working for little is better nor laiking;
Twist an' twine, reel an' wind;
Keep a contented mind;
Troubles are oft ov a body's own making.
Life's warp comes throo Heaven, th' weft's fun 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—ha then?
Noa wayver i' th' world can produce a gooid clooath;
Then let us endeavour, bi working and striving,
To finish awr piece soa's noa fault can be fun;
An' then i' return for awr pains an contriving,
Th' takker in 'll reward us an' whisper' well done.'
Clink a clank, clink a clank,
Workin withaat a thank,
May be awr fortun—if soa never mind it!
Striving to do awr best,
We shall be reight at last,
If we lack comfort nah, then shall we find it.
A'a Mary aw'm glad 'at that's thee!
Aw need thy advice, lass, aw'm sure;
Aw'm all ov a mooild tha can see,
Aw wor never i' this way afoor,
Aw've net slept a wink all th' neet throo;
Aw've been twirling abaght like a worm,
An' th' blankets gate felter'd, lass, too—
Tha niver saw cloas i' sich form.
Aw'll tell thee what 't all wor abaght—
But promise tha'll keep it reight squat,
For aw wodn't for th' world let it aght;
But aw can't keep it in—tha knows that.
We'd a meetin at the schooil yesterneet,
An' Jimmy wor thear,—tha's seen Jim?
An' he hutch'd cloise to me in a bit,
To ax me for th' number o'th' hymn;
Aw thowt 't wor a gaumless trick,
For he heeard it geen aght th' same as me;
An' he just did th' same thing tother wick,—
It made fowk tak noatice, dos't see.
An' when aw wor gooin towards hooam
Aw heeard som'dy comin behund:
'Twor pitch dark, an' aw thowt if they coom,
Aw should varry near sink into th' graund.
Aw knew it wor Jim bi his traid,
An' aw tried to get aght ov his gate;
But a'a! tha minds, lass, aw wor flaid,
Aw wor niver i' sich en a state.
Then aw felt som'dy's arm raand my shawl,
An' aw said, "nah, leave loise or aw'll screeam!
Can't ta let daycent lasses alooan,
Consarn thi up! what does ta mean?"
But he stuck to mi arm like a leach,
An' he whispered a word i' mi ear;
It took booath my breeath an' my speech,
For aw'm varry sooin thrown aght o' gear.
Then he squeezed me cloise up to his sel,
An' he kussed me, i' spite o' mi teeth:
Aw says, "Jimmy, forshame o' thisel!"
As sooin as aw'd getten mi breeath:
But he wodn't be quiet, for he said
'At he'd loved me soa true an' soa long—
Aw'd ha' geen a ear off my yed
To get loise—but tha knows he's so a strong—
Then he tell'd me he wanted a wife,
An' he begged 'at aw wodn't say nay;—
Aw'd ne'er heeard sich a tale i' mi life,
Aw wor fesen'd whativer to say;
Cos tha knows aw've a likin' for Jim;
But yo can't allus say what yo mean,
For aw tremeld i' ivery limb,
But at last aw began to give way,
For, raylee, he made sich a fuss,
An aw kussed him an' all—for they say,
Ther's nowt costs mich less nor a kuss.
Then he left me at th' end o' awr street,
An' aw've felt like a fooil all th' neet throo;
But if aw should see him to neet,
What wod ta advise me to do?
But dooant spaik a word—tha's noa need,
For aw've made up mi mind ha to act,
For he's th' grandest lad iver aw seed,
An' aw like him th' best too—that's a fact!
Stop at Hooam.
"Tha wodn't goa an leave me, Jim,
All lonely by mysel?
My een at th' varry thowts grow dim—
Aw connot say farewell.
Tha vow'd tha couldn't live unless
Tha saw me every day,
An' said tha knew noa happiness
When aw wor foorced a way.
An th' tales tha towld, I know full weel,
Wor true as gospel then;
What is it, lad, 'at ma's thee feel
Soa strange—unlike thisen?
Ther's raam enuff, aw think tha'll find,
I'th taan whear tha wor born,
To mak a livin, if tha'll mind
To ha' faith i' to-morn.
Aw've mony a time goan to mi wark
Throo claads o' rain and sleet;
All's seem'd soa dull, soa drear, an' dark,
It ommust mud be neet.
But then, when braikfast time's come raand,
Aw've seen th' sun's cheerin ray,
An' th' heavy lukkin claads have slunk
Like skulkin lads away.
An' then bi nooin it's shooan soa breet
Aw've sowt some shade to rest,
An' as aw've paddled hooam at neet,
Glorious it's sunk i'th west.
An' tho' a claad hangs ovver thee,
(An' trouble's hard to bide),
Have patience, lad, an' wait an' see
What's hid o'th' tother side.
If aw wor free to please mi mind,
Aw'st niver mak this stur;
But aw've a mother ommust blind,
What mud become o' her?
Tha knows shoo cared for me, when waik
An' helpless ivery limb,
Aw'm feeard her poor owd heart ud braik
If aw'd to leave her, Jim.
Aw like to hear thee talk o' th' trees
'At tower up to th' sky,
An' th' burds 'at flutterin i'th' breeze,
Lie glitterin' jewels fly.
Woll th' music of a shepherd's reed
May gently float along,
Lendin its tender notes to lead
Some fair maid's simple song;
An' flaars 'at grow o' ivery side,
Such as we niver see;
But here at hooam, at ivery stride,
There's flaars for thee an' me.
Aw care net for ther suns soa breet,
Nor warblin melody;
Th' clink o' thi clogs o' th' flags at neet
Saands sweeter, lad, to me.
An' tho' aw wear a gingham gaan,
A claat is noa disgrace;
Tha'll niver find a heart moor warm
Beat under silk or lace.
Then settle daan, tak my advice,
Give up this wish to rooam!
An' if tha luks, tha'll find lots nice
Worth stoppin' for at hooam."
"God bless thee, Jenny! dry that e'e,