Jone. Well, aw happen do; for th' best o' folk need'n bidin' wi' a bit sometimes; an' aw'm noan one o' th' best, yo known.
Mary. Nawe; nor th' warst noathur, Jone.
Jone. Yo dunnut know o', mon.
Mary. Happen not, but, thi'rt to good to brun, as hea't be.
Jone. Well, onybody's so, Mary. But, we're o' God Almighty's childer, mon; an' aw feel fain on't, sometimes; for he's th' best feyther at a chylt con have.
Mary. Ah, but thea'rt nobbut like other childer, Jone; thea doesn't tak as mich notice o' thy feyther, as thea should do.
Sam. Well, well; let's o' on us be as good as we con be, iv we aren't as good as we should be; an' then wi's be better nor we are.
Jone. Hello! that clock begins 'o givin' short 'lowance, as soon as ever aw get agate o' talkin'; aw'm mun be off again!
Sam. Well; thae'll co' a lookin' at us, when tho comes this gate on, winnut to, Jone? Iv tho doesn't, aw'st be a bit mad, thae knows.