But first, afoar tha starts to read,
I’ll tell thee who I iz;
Tha lukes a deacent chap enuff,
I judge it by thi phiz.
Well, I’ve a job fer thee to do,
That is, if tha will do it;
I think tha’rt t’likeliest man I knaw,
Becos tha art a poet.
If I am not mistaken, friend,
I offan hear thi name;
I think they call thi “John o t’Bog;”
Says I—“Oud lass, it’s t’same.”
“It’s just so mony years this day,
I knaw it by me birth,
Sin I departed mortal life,
An left this wicked earth.
But ere I closed these een to go
Into eternity,
I thowt I’d do a noble act,
A deed o’ charity.
I hed a bit o’ brass, tha knaws,
Some land an’ property;
I thowt it might be useful, John,
To folks e poverty.
So then I made a will o t’lot,
Fer that did suit my mind;
I planned it as I thowt wor t’best,
To benefit mankind.
I left a lot to t’Grammar Skooil,
By reading t’will tha’ll see;
That ivvery body’s barn, tha knaws,
May hev ther skooling free.
An if tha be teetotal, John,
Tha may think it a fault,
Bud to ivvery woman ligging in
I gav a peck o’ malt.
Bud t’biggest bulk o’ brass at’s left,
As tha’ll hev heeard afore,
Wor to be dealt hauf-yearly
Among arr Keighley poor.