But awl ne'er turn mi back on a friend,
Tho' old fashioned an' grey like thisel;
But awl try to cling to thi to th' end,
Tho' tha'rt nobbut an old umberel.
Whear wod th' young ens'at laff be to-day,
But for th' old ens they turn into fun?
Who wor wearin' thersen bent an' grey,
When theirdays had hardly begun?
Ther own youth will quickly glide past;
If they live they'll all grow old thersel;