When I do rest, at evenen-fall,
Bezide the he'th ov Ivy Hall.

There leafy stems do clim' around
The mossy stwonen eaves;
An' there be window-zides a-bound
Wi' quiv'ren ivy-leaves.
But though the sky is dim 'ithout,
An' feaeces mid be grim 'ithout,
Still I ha' smiles when I do call,
At evenen-tide, at Ivy Hall.

FALSE FRIENDS-LIKE.

When I wer still a bwoy, an' mother's pride,
A bigger bwoy spoke up to me so kind-like,
"If you do like, I'll treat ye wi' a ride
In theaese wheel-barrow here." Zoo I wer blind-like
To what he had a-worken in his mind-like,
An' mounted vor a passenger inside;
An' comen to a puddle, perty wide,
He tipp'd me in, a-grinnen back behind-like.
Zoo when a man do come to me so thick-like,
An' sheaeke my hand, where woonce he pass'd me by,
An' tell me he would do me this or that,
I can't help thinken o' the big bwoy's trick-like.
An' then, vor all I can but wag my hat
An' thank en, I do veel a little shy.

THE BACHELOR.

No! I don't begrudge en his life,
Nor his goold, nor his housen, nor lands;
Teaeke all o't, an' gi'e me my wife,
A wife's be the cheapest ov hands.
Lie alwone! sigh alwone! die alwone!
Then be vorgot.
No! I be content wi' my lot.

Ah! where be the vingers so feaeir,
Vor to pat en so soft on the feaece,
To mend ev'ry stitch that do tear,
An' keep ev'ry button in pleaece?
Crack a-tore! brack a-tore! back a-tore!
Buttons a-vled!
Vor want ov a wife wi' her thread.

Ah! where is the sweet-perty head
That do nod till he's gone out o' zight?
An' where be the two eaerms a-spread,
To show en he's welcome at night?
Dine alwone! pine alwone! whine alwone!
Oh! what a life!
I'll have a friend in a wife.

An' when vrom a meeten o' me'th
Each husban' do leaed hwome his bride,
Then he do slink hwome to his he'th,
Wi' his eaerm a-hung down his cwold zide.
Slinken on! blinken on! thinken on!
Gloomy an' glum;
Nothen but dullness to come.

An' when he do onlock his door,
Do rumble as hollow's a drum,
An' the veaeries a-hid roun' the vloor,
Do grin vor to see en so glum.
Keep alwone! sleep alwone! weep alwone!
There let en bide,
I'll have a wife at my zide.

But when he's a-laid on his bed
In a zickness, O, what wull he