Monny a good day’s wark wa’ve wrowt tigither,
An’ bodden monny a blast o’ wind an’ weather;
Monny a lang dree mahle, ower moss an’ moor,
An’ monny a hill an’ deeal wa’ve toddled ower.
Bud noo, wae’st[91] me! thoo’ll nivver trot neea mair,
Ti nowther kirk, na market, spoort, na fair;
An’ noo foor t’ futur’, thoff Ah’s au’d an’ leeam,
Ah s’all be forced ti walk, ur stay at heeam.
Neea mair thoo’ll bring ma cooals fra Blakey-Broo,
Ur sticks fra t’ wood—Ah s’ ‘a’e ti drag ’em noo.