I certainly did mack a flaw,
Fer which I’ve rued, alas!
’Twor them at troubled t’parish, John,
Sud hev no Feoffee Brass.
An nah, if tha will be so kind,
Go let mi t’trustees knaw
At I sall be obleged to them
To null that little flaw.
An will ta mention this anall,
Wal tha’s an intervue?—
Tell em to share t’moast brass to t’poor,
Whativver else they due.
Then I sall rest an be at peace,
Boath here an when e Heav’n;
Wal them at need it will rejoice
Fer t’bit o’ brass I’ve giv’n.
An tell em to remember thee
Upon t’next Feoffee Day!”
I says—I sallant get a meg,
I’m getting parish pay.
So when sho’d spocken what sho thowt,
An tell’d me what to doo,
I ax’d her if sho’d harken me,
Wal I just said a word or two.
I’ll nut tell yo one word a lie,
As sure as my name’s ‘John;’
I think at yo are quite e t’mist
Abaht things going on.
Folks gether in fra far an near,
When it is Feoffee-Day;
An think they hev another lowse
Wi t’little bit o’ pay.
Asteead o’ geeing t’brass t’ poor,
It’s shocking fer to tell,
They’ll hardly let em into t’door—
I knaw it be mesel.
Asteead a being a peck o’ malt
Fer t’wimmen lying in,
It’s geen to rascals ower-grown,
To drink e rum an gin.