Ther's fewer breasts wi' grief ud swell,
An' fewer fowk ud thoughtless mell
Even o'th' burds.
Wayvin Mewsic.
Ther's mewsic i'th' shuttle, i'th' loom, an i'th frame,
Ther's melody mingled i'th' noise,
For th' active ther's praises, for th' idle ther's blame,
If they'd hearken to th' saand of its voice;
An' when flaggin a bit, ha refreshin to feel
As yo pause an luk raand on the throng,