They'd fear to spoil ther little hand,
To touch thy greasy brat:
It's wark like thine 'as maks 'em grand
They niver think o' that.
Poor lassie wan, &c.
I' summer time they romp an' play
Where flowers grow wild and sweet;
Ther bodies strong, ther spirits gay,
They thrive throo morn to neet.
But tha's a cough, aw hear tha has;