Revised Edition of Poems. Bill o'th' Hoylus End

if blind forten used tha bad,

         Sho’s happen noan so meean;

      Ta morn al come, an’ then fer some

         The sun will shine ageean.

      Nivver dee i’ thi shell, owd lad,

         Bud let thi motto be, —

      “Onward!” an’ “Excelsior;”

         An’ try for t’ top o’t’ tree:

      An’ if thi enemies still pursue,

         Which ten-ta-one they will,

      Show um owd lad, tha’rt doin’ weel,

         An’ climin’ up the hill.

      Owd Betty’s Advice

      So Mary, lass, tha’rt bahn to wed

      It mornin’, we young Blacksmith Ned,

      An’ though it maks thi mother sad,

            It’s like to be;

      I’ve nowt ageean yond dacent lad,

            No more ner thee.

      Bud let me tell tha what ta due,

      For my advise might help tha thru;

      Be kind, and to thi husband true,

            An’ I’ll be bun

      Tha’ll nivver hev a day ta rue

            For owt that’s done.

      Nah, try to keep thi former knack,

      An’ du thi weshin’ in a crack,

      Bud don’t be flaid to bend thi back,

            Tha’ll nobbut sweeat;

      So try an’ hev a bit o’ tack,

            An’ du it neeat.

      Be sure tha keeps fra bein’ a flirt,

      An’ pride thysel i’ bein’ alert, —

      An’ mind ta mend thi husband’s shirt,

            An’ keep it cleean;

      It wod thi poor owd mother hurt,

            If tha wur meean.

      Don’t kal abaht like monny a wun,

      Then hev to broil, an’ sweeat, an’ run;

      Bud alus hev thi dinner done

            Withaht a mooild;

      If it’s nobbut meil, lass, set it on,

            An’ hev it boiled.

      Now Mary, I’ve no more ta say —

      Tha gets thi choice an’ tak thi way;

      An’ if tha leets to rue, I pray,

            Don’t blame thi mother:

      I wish yeh monny a happy day

            Wi wun another.

      T’owd Blacksmith’s Advice ta hiz Son Ned

      So, Ned, awm geen ta understand,

      Tha’rt bahn ta join i’ wedlock band,

      Ta travil thru life’s weeary strand,

               Yond lass an’ thee;

      But if yer joinin’ heart an’ hand,

               It pleases me.

      Nah tha’ll hev trubbles, Ned, ta bear,

      While pushin’ thru this world o’ care,

      An’ wat tha’ll hev it face ta stare,

               It’s hard ta tell;

      Life’s ups and dahns tha’ll get ta share,

               So pleas thisel’.

      Tha’rt weel an’ strong, long may it last;

      But age an’ care creep on us fast;

      Then act az tha can luke at t’past

               An’ feel no shaam;

      Then if tha’rt poor az sum ahtcast,

               Tha’rt noan ta blame.

      Doant sport abaht an’ wagers bet,

      But mind an’ shun that foolish set

      At cannut mak ther awn ta fet,

               Though shaam to say it.

      An’ mind tha keeps fra bein’ i’ debt,

               An’ tha’ll be reight.

      Nah stick fast hod o’ iron will;

      Push boldly on an’ feear no ill;

      Keep Him i’ veiw, whoa’s mercies fill

               The wurld sa wide.

      No daht but His omnishent skill

               Al be thi guide.

      So Ned, mi lad, tak this advice,

      Prove worthy o’ yond lass’s choice,

      I’ years ta cum tha may rejoice

               Tha tuke her hand;

      An’ listened ta thi father’s voice,

               An’ his command.

      Th’ Furst Pair o’ Briches

      Aw remember the days o’ mi bell-button jacket,

         Wi’ its little lappels hangin’ down ower mi waist,

      An’ mi grand bellosed cap, – noan nicer I’ll back it, —

         Fer her at hed bowt it wur noan withaht taste;

      Fer shoo wur mi mother an’ I wur her darling,

         An often shoo vowed it, an’ stroked dahn mi hair,

      An’ shoo tuke ma to see her relashuns i’ Harden

         It furst Pair o’ Briches at ivver aw ware.

      Aw remember the time when Aunt Betty an’ Alice

         Sent fer me up to lewk at mi cloas,

      An aw wauked up as prahd as a Frenchman fra Calais,

         Wi’ mi tassel at t’side – i’ mi jacket a rose.

      Aw sooin saw mi uncles, both Johnny an’ Willy,

         They both gav me pennies, an’ off aw did steer:

      But aw heeard um say this, “He’s a fine lad is Billy,”

         It furst Pair o’ Briches at ivver aw ware.

      Aw remember t’ time at ahr Robin and Johnny

         Wur keeping their hens an’ ducks i’ t’ yard,

      Tha wur gamecocks an’ bantams, wi’ toppins so bonny,

         An’ noan on um mine – aw thowt it wur hard.

      But aw saved up mi pennies aw gat fer mail pickin’,

         An’ sooin gat a shilling by saving it fair,

      Aw then became maister at least o’ wun chicken,

         It furst Pair o’ Briches at ivver aw ware.

      Aw remember wun