"Come, John lad, tell me what's to do,
Tha luks soa glum an sad;
Is it becoss tha'rt short o' brass?
Or are ta poorly, lad?
Has sombdy been findin fault,
Wi' owt tha's sed or done?
Or are ta bothered wi' thi loom,
Wi' th' warp tha's just begun?
Whativver 'tis, lad, let me know, -
Aw'll help thi if aw can;
Sometimes a woman's ready wit
Is useful to a man.
Tha allus let me share thi joys, -
Let's share when grief prevails;
Tha knows tha sed aw should, John,
I'th' front o'th' alter rails.
We've just been wed a year, lad,
Come Sundy next but three;
But if tha sulks an willn't spaik,
Aw'st think tha'rt stawld o' me.
Aw've done mi best aw'm sewer, John,
To be a wife to thee;
Come tell me what's to do, John,
Wol aw caar o' thi knee."
- - - - -
"Aw've brass enuff to pay mi way, -
Aw'm hearty as needs be; -
Ther's noabdy been findin fault,
An aw'm nooan stawl'd o' thee.
But aw'm soa mad aw connot bide, -
For commin hooam to-neet,
Mi pipe slipt throo between mi teeth,
An smashed to bits i'th' street.
Aw cant think what aw could be doin,
To let the blam'd thing drop!
An a'a! it wor a beauty,
An colored reight to th' top."