Come Nivver De e Thee Shell.
Come nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Are words but rudely said;
Tho thay may chear some stricken heart,
Or raise some wretched head;
For thay are words I love mysel,
They’re music to my ear;
Thay muster up fresh energy
Ta chase each dout an’ fear.
Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Tho tha be poor indeed;
Ner lippen ta long it turning up
Sa mich ov a friend in need;
Fer few ther are, an’ far between,
That helps a poor man thru;
An God helps them at helps thersel,
An’ thay hev friends enew.
Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
What ivver thy crediters say;
Tell um at least tha’rt forst ta owe,
If tha artant able ta pay;
An if thay nail thy bits o’ traps,
An sell thee dish an’ spooin;
Remember fickle fortun lad,
Sho changes like the mooin.
Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Tho some ma laugh an scorn;
There wor nivver a neet ’fore ta neet,
Bud what there come a morn;
An if blind fortun used thee bad,
Sho’s happen noan so meean;
Ta morn al come, an then for some
The sun will shine ageean.
Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Bud let thy motto be,—
“Onward! an’ excelsior;”
And try for t’ top o’t tree:
And if thy enemies still pursue,
Which ten-to-one they will,
Show um oud lad tha’rt doing weel,
An climbing up the hill.
Oud Betty’s Advice.
So Mary, lass, tha’rt bahn to wed
It morning we young blacksmith Ned,
And tho it makes thy mother sad,
Its like to be;
I’ve nout ageean yond decent lad
No more ner thee.
Bud let me tell thee what ta due,
For my advice might help thee thru;
Be kind, and to thy husband true,
An I’ll be bun
Tha’ll nivver hev a day ta rue,
For out tha’s done.
Nah, try to keep thi former knack,
An due thi weshing in a crack,
Bud don’t be flaid to bend thi back,
Tha’ll nobbut sweeat;
So try an hev a bit o’ tack,
An do it neat.
Be sure tha keeps fra being a flirt,
An pride thysel e being alert,—
An mind to mend thi husband’s shirt,
An keep it clean;
It wod thy poor oud mother hurt,
If tha wor mean.
Don’t kal abaht like monny a wun,
Then hev to broil, an sweeat, an run;
Bud, alus hev thy dinner done,
Withaht a mooild;
If its nobbut meil, lass, set it on,
An hev it boiled.
So Mary, I’ve no more to say—
Tha gets thy choice an’ tak thy way;
An if tha leets to rue, I pray,
Don’t blame thy mother:
I wish you monny a happy day
We wun another.