Kings an' Queens, an' lords an' ladies,
Once wor nowt noa moor to see;
An' th' warst wretch 'at hung o'th' gallows,
Once wor born as pure as thee.
An' what tha at last may come to,
God aboon us all can tell;
But aw hope 'at tha'll be lucky,
Even tho aw fail mysel.
Do aw ooin thee? its a pity!
Hush! nah prathi dunnot freat!