Had far better pitty thersen.
When wintry storms howl ovver th' moor,
An snow covers all, far an wide,
Aw carefully festen mi door,
An creep claise up to th' fire inside.
A basin o' porridge may be,
To some a despisable dish,
But it allus comes welcome to me,
If aw've nobbut as mich as aw wish
Mi cloas are old-fashioned, they say,