fe, Jenny,
If aw'm able to keep 'em throo thee.
If ther's happiness this side oth' grave, Jenny,
Tha shall sewerly come in for thi share;--
An aw'll tell thi what else tha shall have, Jenny,
When aw've a two-or-three moor minnits to spare.

Nooan so Bad.

This world is net a paradise,
Tho' railly aw dooant see,
What fowk should growl soa mich abaat;--
Its gooid enuff for me.
It's th' only world aw've ivver known,
An them 'at grummel soa,
An praich abaat a better land,
Seem varry looath to goa.

Ther's some things 'at awm apt to think,
If aw'd been th' engineer,
Aw might ha changed,--but its noa use,--
Aw connot interfere.
We're foorced to tak it as it is;
What faults we think we see;
It mayn't be what it owt to be,--
But its gooid enuff for me.

Then if we connot alter things,
Its folly to complain;
To hunt for faults an failins,
Allus gooas agean my grain.
When ther's soa monny pleasant things,
Why should we hunt for pain,
If troubles come, we needn't freeat,
For sunshine follows rain.

If th' world gooas cruckt,--what's that to us?
We connot mak it straight;
But aw've come to this conclusion,
'At its th' fowk 'at isn't reight.
If ivverybody 'ud try to do
Ther best wi' th' means they had,
Aw think 'at they'd agree wi' me,--
This world is nooan soa bad.

Th' Honest Hard Worker.

It's hard what poor fowk mun put up wi'!
What insults an snubs they've to tak!
What bowin an scrapin's expected,
If a chap's a black coit on his back.
As if clooas made a chap ony better,
Or riches improved a man's heart;
As if muck in a carriage smell'd sweeter
Nor th' same muck wod smell in a cart.

Give me one, hard workin, an' honest,
Tho' his clooas may be greasy and coorse;
If it's muck 'at's been getten bi labor,
It doesn't mak th' man onny worse.
Awm sick o' thease simpering dandies,
'At think coss they've getten some brass,
They've a reight to luk daan at th' hard workers,
An' curl up their nooas as they pass.

It's a poor sooart o' life to be leadin,
To be curlin an partin ther hair;
An seekin one's own fun and pleasure,
Nivver thinkin ha others mun fare.
It's all varry weel to be spendin
Ther time at a hunt or a ball,
But if th' workers war huntin an doncin,
Whativer wod come on us all?

Ther's summat beside fun an frolic
To live for, aw think, if we try;
Th' world owes moor to a honest har