An' are biddin farewell to life's stage,
May we hear a voice whisper at partin,
"Come on, lad! Tha's haddled thi wage;"

Niver Heed.

Let others boast ther bit o' brass,
That's moor nor aw can do;
Aw'm nobbut one o'th' working class,
'At's strugglin to pool throo;
An' if it's little 'at aw get,
It's littie 'at aw need;
An' if sometimes aw'm pinched a bit,
Aw try to niver heed.

Some fowk they tawk o' brokken hearts,
An' mourn ther sorry fate,
Becoss they can't keep sarvent men,
An' dine off silver plate;
Aw think they'd show more gradely wit
To listen to my creed,
An' things they find they cannot get,
Why, try to niver heed.

Ther's some 'at lang for parks an' halls,
An' letters to ther name;
But happiness despises walls,
It's nooan a child o' fame.
A robe may lap a woeful chap,
Whose heart wi grief may bleed,
Wol rags may rest on joyful breast,
Soa hang it! niver heed!

Th' sun shines as breet for me as them,
An' th' meadows smell as sweet,
Th' larks sing as sweetly o'er mi heead,
An' th' flaars smile at mi feet,
An' when a hard day's wark is done,
Aw ait mi humble feed,
Mi appetite's a relish fun,
Soa hang it, niver heed.

Sing On.

Sing on, tha bonny burd, sing on, sing on;
Aw cannot sing;
A claad hings ovver me, do what aw con
Fresh troubles spring.
Aw wish aw could, like thee, fly far away,
Aw'd leave mi cares an be a burd to-day.
Mi heart war once as full o' joy as thine,
But nah it's sad;
Aw thowt all th' happiness i'th' world wor mine,
Sich faith aw had;--
But he who promised aw should be his wife
Has robb'd me o' mi ivery joy i' life.
Sing on: tha cannot cheer me wi' thi song;
Yet, when aw hear
Thi warblin' voice, 'at rings soa sweet an' strong,
Aw feel a tear
Roll daan mi cheek, 'at gives mi heart relief,
A gleam o' comfort, but it's varry brief.
This little darlin', cuddled to mi breast,
It little knows,
When snoozlin' soa quietly at rest,
'At all mi woes
Are smothered thear, an' mi poor heart ud braik
But just aw live for mi wee laddie's sake.
Sing on; an' if tha e'er should chonce to see
That faithless swain,
Whose falsehood has caused all mi misery,
Strike up thy strain,
An' if his heart yet answers to thy trill
Fly back to me, an' aw will love him still.
But if he heeds thee not, then shall aw feel
All hope is o'er,
An' he that aw believe