An’ Tommy, he’s i’ sike a tackin,
’At cooat ’ll spoil for want o’ mackin,
If t’ tailor’s theer, thoo mun be at him,
Te cum an’ all;
That’s weel contrav’d, an’ then yah thrang,
’Ll deea for all.
Thoo needn’t stop te gang roond t’ farm,
Bud mun be theer i’ reeght gud taame,
Or mebby, if thoo dizzen’t maand,
Thoo’ll loss thy chance;
Ther’s sumtaames three or fower at him,
All at yance.
It’s ower far te gang a-feeat,
An’ if ’t be warm thoo’s seer te sweeat,
Thee Moother, she’ll deea nowght bud freeat,
Seea tak awd Dragon;
An’ tell him he mun cum next week.
An’ mend oor waggon.
Then if ye chance i’t’ coorse o’t’ weeak,
O’t’ Sunday’s subject for te speeak,
You’ll finnd awd memory seea weeak,
It’s all forgitten;
Thus wounded sowls ’at’s beean hawf heeal’d
T’awd sarpent’s bitten.
That skull ’at’s moolded green an’ gray,
T’awd saxton dug up t’other day,
Knaws varry neear as mitch as thay
O’t’ Sunday’s sarmon;
Yoo may as weel o’t’ subject tawk
Te sum awd Jarman.
That poor awd man’s noo deead an’ geean,
Tis hard te say what way he’s teean,
’At used te stand ageean t’funt steean,
Te tack fooaks watches;
Whahl careless lads i’t’ singin pew
Wur cuttin natches.
An’ seea for want o’ cultivation,
They shuffle on withoot salvation,
A vast, Ah’s flay’d, ’s o’ this perswasion,
Beeath yoong an’ awd;
Te be forgeean they ha’ neea nooation,
Till deead an’ cawd.
Bud they’ll finnd oot afoore’t be lang,
’At they’ve all t’ taame beean sadly wrang,
Ther wills may then be ower strang,
Te breeak or bend;
An’ noo they say they’re ower thrang,
They can’t attend.
I’ summer taame they’ll leeave t’awd nest,
An’ driss up i’ ther varry best,
An’ gallop off alang wi’ t’rest,
Te t’ fair or reeaces;
A vast gits what they nivver kest
At sike like pleeaces.
Ther’s sum gets theer wi’ wooden legs on,
An’ monny poor awd men wi’ wigs on,
Just sarvs t’yoong fooaks te run ther rigs on,
A fine example,
Whahl doon i’t’ dust ther poor awd lims
Sumtaames they trample.