“I certainly did mak a flaw,
Fer which I’ve rued, alas!
’Twor them ’at troubled t’parish, John,
Sud hev no Feffee Brass.
“An’ nah, if tha will be so kind,
Go let mi trustees knaw
’At I sall be oblidg’d to them
To null that little flaw.
“An’ will ta meushun this an’ all,
Wal tha’s an interview?—
Tell ’em to share t’moast brass to t’poor,
Whativver else they do.
“Then I sall rest an’ be at peace,
Both here an’ when i’ Heaven;
When them ’at need it will rejoice
Fer t’bit o’ brass I’ve given;
“An’ tell ’em to remember thee
Upon t’next Feffee Day!”
I says—“I sallant get a meg,
I’m gettin’ parish pay.”
So when shoo’d spokken what shoo thowt,
An’ tell’d me what to do,
I ax’d her if shoo’d harken me,
Wal I just said a word or two.
“I’ll nut tell you one word o’ lie,
As sure as my name’s John;
I think at you are quite i’ t’mist
Abaht things going on.
“Folks gether in fra far an’ near,
When it is Feffee Day,
An’ think they hev another lowse,
Wi’ t’little bit o’ pay.
“Asteead o’ givin’ t’brass to t’poor,
It’s shocking fer to tell,
They’ll hardly let ’em into t’door—
I knaw it bi misell.
“Asteead o’ bein’ a peck o’ malt
Fer t’wimmen liggin’ in,
It’s geen to rascals ower-grown,
To drink i’ rum an’ gin.