this hard world into t' gutter 'll shove thee,
Poor little lamb, wi' no daddy to love thee.

Dunnot thee freeat, doy, whol granny hods up,
Niver sal tha want a bite or a sup;
What if I work these owd fingers to t' boan,
Happen tha'll love me long after I'm goan;
T' last bite i' t' cupboard wi' thee I could share't,
Hay! bud tha's stown(4) a rare slice o' my heart.

Spite of all t' sorra, all t' shame at I've seen,
Sunshine comes back to my heart throo thy een;
Cuddle thy gronny, doy,
Bless thee, tha'rt bonny, doy,
Rosy an' sweet fra thy braa to thy feet,
Kingdoms an' craans wodn't buy thee to-neet.

1 Darling. 2. Cower, take shelter. 3. Worse. 4. Stolen.

Owd Moxy

Ben Preston

Owd Moxy wrowt hard for his morsil o' breead,
An' to keep up his courage he'd sing,
Tho' Time wi' his scythe hed mawn t' crop on his heead
An' then puffed it away wi' his wing.

Reight slavish his labour an' little his wage,
His path tuv his grave were bud rough,
Poor livin' an' hardships, a deal more nor age,
Hed swealed(1) daan his can'le to t' snuff.

One cowd winter morn, as he crept aat o' bed,
T' owd waller felt dizzy an' sore:-
"Come, frame(2) us some breykfast, Owd Duckfooit, he said,
"An' I'll finish yond fence up at t' moor;

"I'll tew(3) like a brick wi' my hammer an' mall,(4)
An' I'll bring home my honey to t' hive,
An' I'll pay t' bit o' rent an' wer(5) shop-score an' all,
An' I'll dee aat o' debt if I live."

So Peg made his pobs(6) an' then futtered(7) abaat,
An' temm'd(8) him his tea into 't can,
Then teed up some bacon an' breead in a claat,
For dearly shoo liked her owd man.

Then Moxy set aat on his wearisome way,
Wadin' bravely throo t' snaw-broth i' t' dark;
It's a pity when fellas at's wakely an' grey
Hes to walk for a mile to their wark.

Bud summat that mornin' made Moxy turn back,
Tho' he hardly knew what it could meean,
So, cudlin' Owd Peggy, he gave her a smack,
An' then started for t' common ageean.

All t' day a wild hurricane wuther'd(9) throo t' glen,
An' then rush'd like a fiend up to t' heeath;
An' as Peggy sat knittin' shoo said tuv hersen,
"Aw dear! he'll be starruv'd to t' deeath."

An' shoo fel