Bud they nivir can mak ma repine.
That Chartist wur nowt bud a sloap,
Aw wur fooild be his speeches an rhymes,
His promises wattered my hoap,
An aw leng'd fur his sunshiny times;
But aw feel 'at my dearist desire
Is withrin within ma away,
Like an ivy-stem trailin' it mire,
An deein' fur t' want of a stay!