“Then them at is—I understand—
What you may call trustees;
They hev ther favourites, you knaw,
An’ gives to who they please.
“Some’s nowt to do but shew ther face,
An’ skrew ther maath awry;
An’ t’brass is shuvv’d into ther hand,
As they are passin’ by.
“There’s monny a woman I knaw weel,
Boath middle-aged and owd,
’At’s waited fer ther bit o’ brass,
An’ catch’d ther deeath o’ cowd;
“Wol mony a knave wi’ lots o’ brass
Hes cum i’ all his pride,
An’ t’flunkeys, fer to let him pass,
Hes push’d t’poor folk aside.
“Fra Bradford, Leeds, an’ Halifax,
If they’ve a claim, they come;
But what wi’ t’railway fares an’ drink,
It’s done bi they get hooam.
“Wol mony a poorer family
’At’s nut been named i’ t’list,
Reight weel desarves a share o’ t’spoil,
But, thenk ye, they are miss’d.
“We see a man at hes a haase,
Or happen two or three,
They ‘Mister’ him, an’ hand him aght
Five times as mitch as me.
“’Twor better if yo’d teed yer brass
Tight up i’ sum owd seck,
An’ getten t’Corporation brooms,
To sweep it into t’beck.”
No longer like Capia’s form,
Wi’ a tear i’ both her een,
But like the gallant Camilla,
The Volscian warrior Queen.
Shoo, kneelin’, pointed up aboon,
An’ vah’d, be all so breet,
Sho’d wreak her vengence on ther heeads,
Or watch ’em day an’ neet.