Soa, here's to all th' workers wheariver they be,
I'th' land, or i'th' loom, or i'th' saddle;
And the dule tak all them 'at wod mak us less free,
Or rob us o'th' wages we haddle.
'Them's just my sentiment,' sed one o'th' singers, 'an' aw dooant care who hears me say it, for aw dooant care whether a chap's coit is aght o'th' elbows or his britches knees brussen, noa matter if he's——'
'Thee shut up,' sed Seth, 'it's my call next, an' aw want thee to know, owd fiddle-face, 'at tha can give ovver talking abaat fowks clooas, an' sing as sooin an tha likes.'
'Mr. Cheerman, aw nobbut know one, but as sooin as aw've supt aw'll start, shove th' ale this rooad.'
'Get supt then, it taks more bother to start thee singin nor what it taks to start th' Dyke Engin.'
All kinds of songs I've heard folks sing,
Of things in every nation;