When th' coortin neet comes, tho' yor appetite's ragin,
Dooant fill up wi oonions, wi mar'gum an sage in,
Remember, the darlin, where centred yor bliss is,
Likes to fancy, yor livin on love an her kisses.
An yor linen, if plain,
Have all spotless an fresh:
Then shoo connot complain,
When shoo has it to wesh.

When Love's flame's been lit, an burst into a glow,
Th' best thing yo can do,—(that's as far as aw know;)
Is to goa to a parson an pay him his price,
An to join yo together he'll put in a splice,
Then together yo'll face
This world's battle an bother,
An if that isn't th' case,
Yo can feight for each other.

Sweet Mistress Moore.

Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife,
An Johnny is a druffen sot;
He spends th' best portion of his life
Ith' beershop wi a pipe an pot.
At schooil together John an me
Set side by side like trusty chums,
An nivver did we disagree
Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs.
At John shoo smiled,
An aw wor riled;
Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me;
Her bonny e'en
Aw've seldom seen
Sin that sad day shoo slighted me.

Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want,
For Johnny ofttimes gets oth' spree;
He spends his wages in a rant,
An leeaves his wife to pine or dee.
An monny a time awve ligged i' bed,
An cursed my fate for bein poor,
An monny a bitter tear awve shed,
When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore.
For shoo's mi life
Is Johnny's wife,
An tho to love her isn't reet,
What con aw do,
When all th' neet throo
Awm dreamin ov her e'en soa breet.

Aw'll goa away an leeave this spot,
For fear at we should ivver meet,
For if we did, as sure as shot
Awst throw me daan anent her feet.
Aw know shoo'd think aw wor a fooil,
To love a woman when shoo's wed,
But sin aw saw her furst at schooil,
It's been a wretched life aw've led.
But th' time has come
To leeave mi hooam,
An th' sea between us sooin shall roar,
Yet still mi heart
Will nivver part
Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore.

Waivin Mewsic.

Ther's mewsic ith' shuttle, ith' loom, an ith frame,
Ther's melody mingled ith' noise;
For th' active ther's praises, for th' idle ther's blame,
If they'd harken to th' saand of its voice.
An when flaggin a bit, how refreshin to feel
As you pause an look raand on the throng,
At the clank o' the tappet, the hum o' the wheel,
Sing this plain unmistakable song:—
Nick a ting, nock a ting;
Wages keep pocketing;
Workin for little is better nor laikin;
Twist an twine, reel an wind;
Keep a contented mind;
Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.

To see workin fowk wi a smile o' ther face
As they labour thear day after day;
An hear th' women's voices float sweetly throo th' place,
As they join i' some favorite lay;
It saands amang th' din, as the violet seems
At peeps aght th' green dockens among,
Diffusing a charm ovver th' rest by its means,
Thus it blends i' that steady old song;
Nick a ting, nock a ting,
Wages keep pocketing;
Workin for little is better nor laikin;
Twist an twine, reel an wind,
Keep a contented mind,
Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.

An then see what lessons are laid out anent us,
As pick after pick follows time after time,
An warns us tho' silent, to let nowt prevent us
From strivin by little endeavours to climb;
Th' world's made o' trifles, its dust forms a mountain,
Then nivver despair as yor trudgin along,
If troubles will come an yor spirits dishearten,
Yo'll find ther's relief i' that steady owd song;
Nick a ting, nock a ting;
Wages keep pocketin;
Workin for little is better nor laikin;
Twist an twine, reel an wind;
Keep a contented mind;
Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.