Did a gleam’o’ sunshine warm thee,
   An deceive thee? 
Niver let appearance charm thee,
   For believe me,
Smiles tha’ll find are oft but snares,
Laid to catch thee unawares.

Still aw think it luks a shame,
   To tawk sich stuff;
Aw’ve lost faith, an tha’ll do th’ same,
   Hi, sooin enuff: 
If tha’rt happy as tha art
Trustin’ must be th’ wisest part.

Come, aw’ll pile some bits o’ stooan,
   Raand thi dwellin’;
They may screen thee when aw’ve gooan
   Ther’s no tellin’;
An’ when gentle spring draws near
Aw’ll release thee, niver fear.

An’ if then thi pratty face,
   Greets me smilin’;
Aw may come an’ sit bith’ place,
   Time beguilin’;
Glad to think aw’d paar to be,
Ov some use, if but to thee.

A Bad Sooart.

Aw’d raythur face a redwut brick,
Sent flyin’ at mi heead;
Aw’d raythur track a madman’s steps,
Whearivei they may leead;
Aw’d raythur ventur in a den,
An’ stail a lion’s cub: 
Aw’d raythur risk the foamin wave
In an old leaky tub;
Aw’d raythur 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’ leave all safe at last;
A thaasand thunders shake the sky,
An’ spare yo when they’ve past;
Yo’ may o’ercome mooast fell disease;
Make poverty yo’r 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’ ith’ end. 
Old Nick, we’re tell’d, gooas prowlin’ aat,
An’ seeks whom to devour;
But he’s a saint, compared to some,
‘At’s th’ luk to be i’ power.

All we Had.

It worn’t for her winnin ways,
   Nor for her bonny face
But shoo wor th’ only lass we had,
   An that quite alters th’ case.

We’d two fine lads as yo need see,
   An’ weel we love ’em still;
But shoo war th’ only lass we had,
   An’ we could spare her ill.

We call’d her bi mi mother’s name,
   It saanded sweet to me;
We little thowt ha varry sooin
   Awr pet wod have to dee.

Aw used to watch her ivery day,
   Just like a oppenin bud;
An’ if aw couldn’t see her change,
   Aw fancied’ at aw could.

Throo morn to neet her little tongue
   Wor allus on a stir;
Awve heeard a deeal o’ childer lisp,
   But nooan at lispt like her.

Sho used to play all sooarts o’ tricks,
   ’At childer shouldn’t play;
But then, they wor soa nicely done,
   We let her have her way.