“Where are ta bahn ta neet, grim phiz?”
Sed Nickey, wi’ a grin,
“Tha knaws I am full up below,
An’ cannot tak more in.”
“What is’t ta thee?” said Spinnel Shanks,
“Tha ruffin of a dog,
I’m nobbut bahn mi raands ageean,
Ta see wun John o’t’ Bog.
“I cannot see it fer mi life,
What it’s ta dew wi’ thee;
Go mind thi awn affairs, owd Nick,
An’ nivver thee heed me.”
“It is my business, Spinnel Shanks,
Whativver tha may say,
Fer I been rostin’ t’human race
Fer monny a weary day.”
Just luke what wark, I’ve hed wi’ thee,
This last two yer or so;
Wi’ Germany an Italy,
An’ even Mexico.
An’ then tha knaws that Yankey broil
Browt in some thaasands more;
An’ sooin fra Abyssinia,
They’ll bring black Theodore.
“So drop that scythe, owd farren deeath,
Let’s rest a toathree wick;
Fer what wi’ t’seet o’t’ frying pan,
Tha knows I’m ommost sick.”
“I sall do nowt o’t’ sort,” says Deeath,
Who spack it wi’ a grin,
I’s just do as I like fer thee,
So tha can hod thi din.”
This made owd Nick fair raging mad,
An’ liftin’ up his whip,
He gav owd Spinnel Shanks a lash
Across his upper lip.
Then like a neighin’ steed, lean Shanks,
To give owd Nick leg bail,
He started off towards the tahn,
Wi’ Nick hard on his trail.