Awm weary o' waitin, aw'll off to mi wark,
Awst be bated a quarter,—that's flat;—
If tha's nobbut been fooilin me just for a lark,
Tha may find thi mistak when to lat.
Aw wanted to mak thi mi wife, for aw thowt,
Tha'd prove thisen just sich a mate as aw sowt;
But it seems tha'rt a false-hearted, young gooid-for-nowt!
But aw see thi, lass, see thi!
God bless thi! forgie me!
For tha'rt truer an fairer an dearer nor owt.
Tother Day.
As awm sittin enjoyin mi pipe,
An tooastin mi shins beside th' hob,
Aw find ther's a harvest quite ripe,
O' thowts stoored away i' mi nob.
An aw see things as plainly to-neet,
'At long years ago vanished away,—
As if they'd but just left mi seet,
Tother day.
Aw remember mi pranks when at schooil,
When mischievous tricks kept me soa thrang;
An mi maister declared me a fooil,—
An maybe, he wor net soa far wrang.
Ha mi lessons awd skip throo, or miss,
To give me mooar chonces for play;
An aw fancy aw went throo all this,
Tother day.
Aw remember mi coortin days too,—
What a felly aw fancied misen;
An aw swore at mi sweetheart wor true,—
For mi faith knew noa falterin then.
Aw remember ha jealous an mad,
Aw felt, when shoo turned me away,
An left a poor heartbrokken lad,
Tother day.
Aw remember when hung o' mi arm,
To th' church went mi blushin' young bride;
Ha aw glooated o'er ivvery charm,
An swell'd like a frog i' mi pride.
An th' world seem'd a fooitball to me,
To kick when inclined for a play;
An life wor a jolly gooid spree,—
Tother day.
Aw remember mi day dreeams o' fame,
An aw reckoned what wealth aw should win
But alas! aw confess to mi shame,—
Aw leeav offwhear aw thowt to begin,
Mi chief joy is to dreeam o' what's pass'd,
For mi future, one hope sheds its ray,
An awm driftin along varry fast,
To that day.
Happy Sam's Song.
Varry monny years ago, when this world wor rather young,
A varry wicked sarpent, wi' a varry oily tongue,
Whispered summat varry nowty into Mistress Adam's ear;
An shoo pluckt a little apple 'at soa temptingly hung near.
Then shoo ait this dainty fruit shoo'd been tell'd shoo mudn't touch,
An shoo gave some to her husband, but it wornt varry much:—
But sin that fatal day, he wor tell'd, soa it wor sed,
'At henceforth wi' a sweeaty broo, he'd have to earn his breead.
An all awr lords an princes, an ladies great an grand,
Have all sprung off that common stock a laborer i' the land;
Soa aw think ther airs an graces are little but a sham,
An aw wodn't change 'em places wi' hardworkin, Happy Sam.
Awm contented wi' mi share,
Rough an ready tho' mi fare,
An aw strive to do mi duty to mi naybor;
If yo wonder who aw am,
Well,—mi name is Happy Sam;
Awm a member ov the multitude who labor.