Tho’ he hed all thooase sorrows booarn,
Compozur in each feeature shooan,
Thof he’d te woark and live alooan,
Fra’ day te day;
Ah wish’d his keease hed been mah awn,
An’ com away.
AWD ISAAC.
(PART SECOND.)
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
HIS DYING ADVICE.
Oft hev Ah lang’d yon hill te clim,
Te hev a bit mare prooase wi’ him,
Wheas coonsel like a pleeasin dreeam,
Is deear te me;
Sin’ roond the warld sike men as he
Seea few ther be.
Corrupted bukes he did detest,
For his wur ov the varry best;
This meead him wiser than the rest
O’ t’ neeaburs roond,
Tho’ poor i’ t’ purse, wi’ senses blest,
An’ judgment soond.
Befoore the silvery neeght ov age,
The precepts ov the sacred page,
His meditation did engage,
That race te run;
Like thooase, who ’spite o’ Satan’s rage,
The praaze hed won.
Bud noo his een’s geean dim i’ deeath,
Neea mare a pilgrim here on eearth,
His sowl flits fra’ her shell beneeath,
Te reealms o’ day,
Whoor carpin care, an’ pain, an’ deeath,
Are deean away.
Wi’oot the author’s neeame or leeave,
They’d put his stoory thruff the sieve,
An’ roond his circuit set the screeve
O’ justice keen,
Fra’ crotchet cramp, or semibreeve,
Te sift him cleean.
The charge ’at they ageenst him bring,—
He harps teea mitch upon yah string,
Or triumphs like a lahtle king,
Ow’r fashions gay;
He’s ower religious!—That’s the thing
They meean te say.