e;
Go mind thi awn affairs, owd Nick,
An' nivver thee heed me."

"It is my business, Spinnel Shanks,
Whativver tha may say,
Fer I been rostin' t'human race
Fer monny a weary day."

Just luke what wark, I've hed wi' thee,
This last two yer or so;
Wi' Germany an Italy,
An' even Mexico.

An' then tha knaws that Yankey broil
Browt in some thaasands more;
An' sooin fra Abyssinia,
They'll bring black Theodore.

"So drop that scythe, owd farren deeath,
Let's rest a toathree wick;
Fer what wi' t'seet o't' frying pan,
Tha knows I'm ommost sick."

"I sall do nowt o't' sort," says Deeath,
Who spack it wi' a grin,
I's just do as I like fer thee,
So tha can hod thi din."

This made owd Nick fair raging mad,
An' liftin' up his whip,
He gav owd Spinnel Shanks a lash
Across his upper lip.

Then like a neighin' steed, lean Shanks,
To give owd Nick leg bail,
He started off towards the tahn,
Wi' Nick hard on his trail.

Then helter-skelter off they went,
As ower t'fence I lape;
I thowt--well, if it matters owt,
I've made a nice escape.

But nah the mooin began ta shine
As breet as it could be;
An dahn the vale of t'Aire I luked,
Whear I could plainly see.

The trees wor deeadly pale wi' snaw,
An' t'windin' Aire wor still,
An' all wor quite save t'hullats,
At wor screamin' up o't' hill.

Owd Rivock End an' all arahnd
Luk'd like some fiendish heead,
Fer t'more I star'd an' t'more I thowt
It did resemble t'deead.

The Friendly Oaks wor alter'd nah,
Ta what I'd seen afore;
An' luk'd as though they'd nivver be
T'owd Friendly Oaks no more.

Fer wun wor like a giant grim,
His nooas com to a point,
An' wi' a voice like thunner sed--
"The times are aaght o't'joint!"

An' t'other, like a whippin'-post,
Bud happen net as thin,
Sed "T' times el alter yet, owd fooil,
So pray nah, hod thi din!"

I tuke no farther gawm o' them,
But paddl'd on mi way;
Fer when I ivver mak a vah,
I stick ta what I say.

I heddant goan so far agean,
Afoar I heeard a voice,
Exclaiming--wi' a fearful groan--
"Go mak a hoil i' t'ice!"

I turned ma rahnd wheer t'sahnd com fro,
An' cautiously I bowed,
Sayin' "Thenk ye, Mr. Magic Voice,
I'm flaid o' gettin' cowd."

But nah a sudden shack tuke place,
A sudden change o' scene;
Fer miles wheer all wor white afoar,
Wor nah a bottle-green.

Then com a woman donn'd i' w