agree 'at owd fiddle face has lost his gallon.
Nah, lad, does ta hear? Tak to payin.'

But he didn't hear, for he'd quietly slipped away an' left 'em wi' a
empty pitcher. 'Well, he's a mean owd stick, onyway; but aw'll pay for
it fillin once moor. An' nah, Miles, it's yor turn to call.'

'Mr. Cheerman, aw'll call o' yor friend for th' next.'

'A'a, lad,' sed Dick, 'tha should pass by me, for aw niver sang a song
i' mi life, an' awm to old to start, but if yo've noa objections aw'll
give yo a recitation.'

'Gooid lad, Dick, goa on! Tha'rt gam, aw know.'

Ov all th' enjoyments' at sweeten man's life,
Ther's nooan can come up to a sweet tempered wife;
An' he must be lonesome, an' have little pleasure,
'At doesn't possess sich a woman to treasure.
But them 'at expect when they tak hooam a bride,
'At nowt nobbut sunshine wi' them will abide,
An' think 'at noa sorrow will iver oppress,
They'll find ther mistak aght, yo'll easily guess.
For th' mooast fascinatin an' lovable elves,
Are all on 'em mortal, just th' same as ussels,
An' show tempers 'at sometimes are net ovver pleasant,
They find fault whear ther's room, an' sometimes whear ther isn't,
An' to get there own way, why they'll kiss, coax, or cavil,
They'll smile like an angel, or storm like the devil.
But aw've monny times sed, an' aw say it ageean,
'At women are ofter i'th' reight nor are th' men,
Just fancy gooin hooam to a bachelor's bed,
All shudderin an' shakkin yo lig daan yor heead.
There's a summat a wantin, 'at fills yo wi' fear,
Yo can turn as yo like, but you find it's not thear,
An' yo freeat an' yo fitter, or weep like a willow;
An' for want o' owt better, mak love to a pillow.
But him 'at's been blessed wi' a wife he can love,
Liggs his heead on her breast pure as snow from above,
An' ther's nubdy could buy it for silver or gold,
An' he wodn't exchange it for Abrahams of old.
An' he falls hard asleep, wi' her arm raand his neck,
An' gets up lik a lark, an' then works like a brick.

'Nah, friends, aw wish to say a few words befoor aw goa. Awm varry sorry
'at aw brack that drum, but yo see it wor an accident, an' aw've done my
best to mak it up, an' as Dick's recitation maks me think awd better be
gettin hooam, or aw shall happen find it varry warm when aw get thear.
Aw'll nobbut call o' one moor befoor sayin gooid neet, an' that's Mose
Hart. If he's hear aw sho