“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.

Wayvin Mewsic

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.