ivver fear thieves, for aw've nowt they can tak,
Unless it's thease tatters at hing o' mi back;
An if they prig them, they'll get suck'd do yo see,
They'll be noa use to them, for they're little to me.
Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Fowk may turn up ther nooas as they pass me ith rooad
An get aght oth gate as if fear'd ov a tooad;
But aw laff i' mi sleeve, like a snail in its shell,
For th' less room they tak up, ther's all th' moor for misel.
Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Tho philosiphers tawk, an church parsons may praich,
An tell us true joy is far aght ov us raich;
Yet aw nivver tak heed o' ther cant o' ther noise,
For he's nowt to be fear'd on at's nowt he can loise.
Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Aw Wodn't for all aw Could See.

Why the dickens do some fowk keep thrustin,
As if th' world hadn't raam for us all?
Wi consarn an consait they're fair brustin,
One ud think th' heavens likely to fall.
They fidge an they fume an they flutter,
Like a burd catched wi lime on a tree,
And they'll fratch wi ther own breead an butter:--
But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

Bless mi life! th' world could get on withaat em!
It ud have to do if they wor deead;
They may be sincere but aw daat em,
If they're honest, they're wrang i' ther heead.
They've all some pet doctrine, an wonder
Why fowk wi ther plans disagree,
They expect yo should all knuckle under,
But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

My old woman may net be perfection,
But we're wed soa we know we've to stick;
An if shoo made another selection,
Aw mightn't be th' chap at shoo'd pick.
But we get on reight gradely together,
An her failins aw try net to see,
Some will bend under th' weight ov a feather,
But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

A chap at aits peaches and cherries,
Mun expect to be bothered wi stooans;
An he's nobbut a fooil if he worries
Coss yearins arnt made withaat booans.
To mak th' best o' things just as aw find em,
Seems th' reight sooart o' wisdom to me;
An when things isn't reight aw neer mind em,
For aw wodn't for all aw could see.

All araand me aw see ther's moor pleasure
Nor aw can enjoy wol aw live;
An contentment is this world's best treasure,
Then why should aw sit daan an grieve?
If they enjoy naggin an growlin,
It maks little difference to me,
But wi th' world full o' pleasure to roll in:--
Why, aw wodn't for all aw could see.

Come thi Ways