pane;
It wor fooilish to throw it, that's true;
Them 'at keep sich like cats are insane,
For aw ne'er see noa gooid 'at they do.

Aw think aw'il walk aght for a while,
But, bless us! mi shooin isn't blackt!
Aw'm net used to be sarved i' this style,
An aw think at ther's somdy gooan crackt.

It doesn't show varry mich thowt,
When aw'm left wi' all th' haasewark to do,
For fowk to set off an do nowt,
Net soa mich as to blacken a shoe.

It'll be dinner time nah varry sooin,--
An ther's beefsteaks i'th' cubbord aw know;
But aw can't leet that foir bi nooin,
An aw can't ait beefsteak when its raw.

Aw tell'd Sal this morn 'at shoo'd find,
A rare appetite up i' that Glen;
An aw think if aw dooant change mi mind,
Aw shall manage to find one misen.

Aw wor fooilish to send 'em away,
But they'll ha to do th' best at they can;
But aw'st feel reight uneasy all th' day,--
Wimmen's net fit to goa baght a man.

They've noa nooation what prices to pay,
An they dooant know th' best places to call;
Aw'il be bun it'll cost 'em to-day,
What wod pay my expences an all.

It luks better, aw fancy, beside,
When a chap taks his family raand;
Nah, suppooas they should goa for a ride,
An be pitched ovver th' brig an be draand.

Aw ne'er should feel happy ageean,
If owt happen'd when aw wor away;
An to leeav 'em i' danger luks meean,
Just for th' sake o' mi own quiet day.

Aw could catch th' train at leeavs abaat nooin;
E'e, gow! that'll be a gooid trick!
An aw'st get a gooid dinner for gooin,
An th' foir can goa to old Nick.

Its a pity to miss mi quiet day,
But its better to do that 'at's reight;
An it matters nowt what fowk may say,
But a chap mun ha summat to ait,

Lass o'th Haley Hill.

O winds 'at blow, an flaars 'at grow,
O sun, an stars an mooin!
Aw've loved yo long, as weel yo know,
An watched yo neet an nooin.
But nah, yor paars to charm all flee,
Altho' yor bonny still,
But th' only beauty i' mi e'e,
Is th' lass o'th Haley Hill.

Her een's my stars,--her smile's my sun,
Her cheeks are rooases bonny;
Her teeth like pearls all even run,
Her brow's as fair as onny.
Her swan-like neck,--her snowy breast,--
Her hands, soa seldom still;
Awm fain to own aw love her best,--
Sweet lass o'th' Haley Hill.

Aw axt her i' mi kindest tone,
To grant mi heart's desire;
A tear upon her eyelid shone,--
It set mi