Then drink about, whe minds a jot—
Let's drown wor cares i' barleycorn—
Here, lass, come bring another pot,
The cawler dissent call to morn."
"Nay, hinny Ned, ne langer stay—
We mun be hyem to little Neddy—
He's just a twel'munth awd to-day,
And will be crying for his deddy.
Aw'll tyek thee hyem a pot o' beer,
A nice clean pipe and backy te—
Thou knaws aw like to hae thee near—
Come, hinny, come, gan hyem wi' me."
Like music's soft and soothing powers
These honey'd sounds drop on his ear:
Or like the warm and fertile showers
That leave the face of nature dear.
Here was the power of woman shown,
When women use it properly—
He threw his pipe and reck'ning down—
"Aw will—aw will gan hyem wi' thee."
At home arriv'd, right cheerfully
She set him in his easy chair—
Clapt little Neddy on his knee,
And bid him see his image there.
The mother pleas'd—the father glad,
Swore Neddy had twee bonny een—
"There ne'er was, Ned, a finer lad;
And, then, he's like thee as a bean.
Aw've luck'd for Wilson a' this day,
To cut th' pig down 'fore it's dark;
But he'll be guzzling at the pay,
And winden on about his wark.
What lengths aw've often heard him gan,
Sweering—and he's not fond of fibbin
'He'll turn his back on ne'er a man
For owther killin pigs or libbin.'
Still Jack's an honest, canty cock,
As ever drain'd the juice of barley;
Aw've knawn him sit myest roun' the clock
Swatt'ling and clatt'ring on wi' Charley.