r see owt 'at tha does."

But aw wonder who does all ther mendin',
Weshes th' clooas, an cleans th' winders an' flags?
But for me they'd have noa spot to stand in--
They'd be lost i' ther filth an' ther rags.

But it allus wor soa, an' it will be,
A chap thinks' at a woman does nowt;
But it ne'er bothers me what they tell me,
For men havn't a morsel o' thowt.

But just harken to me wol aw'm tellin'
Ha aw tew to keep ivery thing straight;
An' aw'l have yo for th' judge if yor willin',
For aw want nowt but what aw think's reight.

Ov a Monday aw start o' my weshin',
An' if th' day's fine aw get um all dried;
Ov a Tuesday aw fettle mi kitchen,
An' mangle, an' iron beside.

Ov a Wednesday, then aw've mi bakin';
Ov a Thursday aw reckon to brew;
Ov a Friday all th' carpets want shakin',
An' aw've th' bedrooms to clean an' dust throo.

Then o'th' Setterday, after mi markets,
Stitch on buttons, an' th' stockins' to mend,
Then aw've all th' Sundy clooas to luk ovver,
An' that brings a week's wark to its end.

Then o'th' Sundy ther's cooking 'em th' dinner,
It's ther only warm meal in a wick;
Tho' ther's some say aw must be a sinner,
For it's paving mi way to Old Nick.

But a chap mun be like to ha' summat,
An' aw can't think it's varry far wrang,
Just to cook him an' th' childer a dinner,
Tho' it may mak me rayther too thrang.

But if yor a wife an' a mother,
Yo've yor wark an' yor duties to mind;
Yo mun leearn to tak nowt as a bother,
An' to yor own comforts be blind.

But still, just to seer all ther places,
When they're gethred raand th' harston at neet,
Fill'd wi six roosy-red, smilin' faces;
It's nooan a despisable seet.

An, aw connot help thinkin' an' sayin',
(Tho' yo may wonder what aw can mean),
'At if single, aw sooin should be playin'
Coortin tricks, an' be weddin' agean.

What they say.

They say 'at its a waste o' brass--a nasty habit too,--
A thing 'at noa reight-minded chap wod ivver think to do;
Maybe they're reight;
They say it puts one's brains to sleep, an maks a felly daft,--
Aw've hearken'd to ther doctrins, then aw've lit mi pipe an laft,
At ther consait.

At morn when startin for mi wark, a bit o' bacca's sweet,
An aw raillee should'nt like to be withaat mi pipe at neet,
It comforts me.
An if awm worritted an vext, wi' bothers durin th' day,
Aw tak a wiff, an in a claad, aw puff 'em al