i a nooas
Like a chaneller's shop!
Aw may call,
Or may bawl,
But th' young imp willn't stop.
Thear's a cat,
He spies that,
Nah he's having a race!--
That's his way
Ivvery day
If a cat's abaght th' place.
But if aw
Wor near by,
Awd just fotch him a seawse!
Come thee here!
Does ta hear?
Come thi ways into th' haase!
Who's that flat?
What's he at?
If he touches awr Fred,
If aw live
Aw'll goa rive
Ivvery hair off his head!
What's th' lad done?
It's his fun!
Tried to kill yor old cat?
Well suppooas
At he does!
Bless mi life! What bi that?
He's mi own,
Flesh an' booan,
An aw'll net have him lickt;
If he's wild,
He's a child,
Pray what can yo expect!
Did um doy!
Little joy!
Let's ha nooan o' them skrikes
Nowty man!
Why he can
Kill a cat if he likes.
Hush a bee, hush a bye,
Little Freddy munnot cry."

Love an' Labor.

Th' swallows are buildin ther nests, Jenny,
Th' springtime has come with its flowers;
Th' fields in ther greenest are drest, Jenny,
An th' songsters mak music ith' bowers.
Daisies an buttercups smile, Jenny,
Laughingly th' brook flows along;--
An awm havin a smook set oth' stile, Jenny,
But this bacca's uncommonly strong.

Aw wonder if thy heart like mine, Jenny,
Finds its love-burden hard to be borne;
Do thi een wi' breet tears ov joy shine, Jenny,
As they glistened an shone yestermorn?
Ther's noa treasure wi' thee can compare, Jenny,
Aw'd net change thi for wealth or estate;--
But aw'll goa nah some braikfast to share, Jenny,
For aw can't live baght summat to ait.

Like a nightingale if aw could sing, Jenny,
Aw'd pearch near thy winder at neet,
An mi choicest love ditties aw'd bring, Jenny,
An lull thi to rest soft an sweet.
Or if th' wand ov a fairy wor mine, Jenny,
Aw'd grant thi whate'er tha could wish;--
But theas porridge are salty as brine, Jenny,
An they'll mak me as dry as a fish.

A garland ov lillies aw'd twine, Jenny,
An place on thy curls golden bright,
But aw know 'at they quickly wod pine, Jenny,
I' despair at thy brow's purer white.
Them angels 'at fell bi ther pride, Jenny,
Wi' charms like thine nivver wor deckt;--
But yond muck 'at's ith' mistal's to side, Jenny,
Aw mun start on or else aw'st get seckt.

Varry sooin aw shall mak thi mi wife, Jenny,
An awr cot shall a paradise be;
Tha shall nivver know trubble or stri