ches,--
Hearts 'at love wi' pure devotion.
Perfect limbs an round full bosoms,
Sich as set men ravin, O,
Only can be faand i' blossoms,
Sich as bloom i' Craven, O,

An amang the fairest,--sweetest,
Ther's net sich a brave en, O;
For her beauty's the completest,
Yo can find i' Craven, O.
Ivvery charm 'at mother Nature
Had to give, shoo placed upon her,---
Modest ways, an comely feature--
Health ov body,--soul ov honor
Isn't shoo a prize worth winnin?
An a gem worth savin, O?
Smile on,--sooin yo'll stop yor grinnin,
When my lass leeaves Craven, O.

A Gooid Kursmiss Day.

It wor Kursmiss day,--we wor ready for fun,
Th' puddin wor boil'd an th' rooast beef wor done;
Th' ale wor i'th' cellar, an th' spice-cake i'th' bin,
An th' cheese wor just lively enuff to walk in.
Th' lads wor all donned i' ther hallidy clooas,
An th' lasses,--they each luckt as sweet as a rooas;
An th' old wife an me, set at each end o'th' hob,
An th' foir wor splutterin raand a big cob,
An aw sed, "Nah, old lass,
Tho we havn't mich brass,
We shall celebrate Kursmiss to-day."

Th' young fowk couldn't rest, they kept lukkin at th' clock,
Yo'd a thowt 'twor a wick sin they'd had any jock,
But we winkt one at tother as mich as to say,
They mun wait for th' reight time, for ther mother has th' kay.
Then they all went to th' weshus at stood just aghtside,
An they couldn't ha made mich moor din if they'd tried,
For they skriked an they giggled an shaated like mad,
An th' wife sed, "They're happy," an aw sed, "Awm glad,
An be thankful old lass,
Tho we havn't mich brass,
We shall celebrate Kursmiss to-day."

When twelve o'clock struck, th' wife says "aw'll prepare,
An ov ivvery gooid thing they shall all have a share;
But aw think some o'th' lasses should help me for once,"
An aw answered, "ov coorse,--they'll be glad ov a chonce."
Soa aw went to call em, but nivver a sign
Could aw find o' them strackle-brained childer o' mine;
An when th' wife went ith' cellar for th' puddin an th' beef,
An saw th' oppen winder, it filled her wi grief,
An shoo sed, "nay old lad,
This is rayther too bad,
We can't celebrate Kursmiss to-day,"

Aw went huntin raand, an ith' weshus aw faand,
Some bits o' cold puddin, beef, spicecake an cheese;
Then aw heard a big shaat, an when aw lukt agivt,
Them taistrels wor laffin as hard as yo pleeas.
Aw felt rayther mad,--but ov coorse awm t