Aw could'nt ax her to be mine,
Wi' poverty at th' door:
Aw nivver thowt breet e'en could shine
Wi' love for one so poor;
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But nah ther's summat i' mi breast,
Tells me aw miss'd mi way:
An lost that lass I loved the best
Throo fear shoo'd say me nay.
Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.
Aw saunter'd raand her cot at morn,
An oft i'th' dark o'th' neet,
Aw've knelt mi daan i'th' loin to find
Prints ov her tiny feet.
An under th' window, like a thief,
Aw've crept to hear her spaik;
An then aw've hurried hooam agean
For fear mi heart wod braik.
Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.
Another bolder nor misen,
Has robb'd me o' mi dear;
An nah aw ne'er may share her joy,
An ne'er may dry her tear.
But tho' aw'm heartsick, lone, an sad,
An tho' hope's star is set;
To know shoo's lov'd as aw'd ha lov'd
Wod mak me happy yet.
Aw long'd to claim her for mi own, &c.
Drink.
When yo see a chap covered wi' rags,
An hardly a shoe to his fooit,
Gooin sleawshin along ovver th' flags,
Wi' a pipe in his maath black as sooit;
An he tells yo he's aght ov a job,
An he feels wellny likely to sink,—
An he hasn't a coin in his fob,
Yo may guess what he's seekin—it's Drink.
If a woman yo meet, poorly dressed,
Untidy, an spoortin black e'en;
Wi' a babby hawf clammed at her breast,
Neglected an shame-to-be-seen;
If yo ax, an shoo'll answer yo true,
What's th' cause of her trouble? Aw think,
Yo'll find her misfortuns are due
To that warst o' all enemies,—Drink.
Ax th' wretches convicted o' crime,
What caused 'em to plunge into sin,
An they'll say ommost ivvery time,
It's been th' love o' rum, whisky or gin.
Even th' gallus, if it could but tell
Ov its victims dropt ovver life's brink;
It wod add a sad lot moor to swell
The list ov those lost throo strong Drink.