d worker
Nor it does to a rich fly-bi-sky.
Tho' wealth aw acknowledge is useful,
An' awve oft felt a want on't misen,
Yet th' world withaat brass could keep movin,
But it wodn't do long withaat men.

One truth they may put i' ther meersham,
An smoke it--that is if they can;
A man may mak hooshuns o' riches,
But riches can ne'er mak a man.
Then give me that honest hard worker,
'At labors throo mornin to neet,
Tho' his rest may be little an seldom,
Yet th' little he gets he finds sweet.

He may rank wi' his wealthier brother,
An rank heigher, aw fancy, nor some;
For a hand 'at's weel hoofed wi' hard labor
Is a passport to th' world 'at's to come.
For we know it's a sin to be idle,
As man's days i' this world are but few;
Then let's all wi' awr lot be contented,
An continue to toil an to tew.

For ther's one thing we all may be sure on,
If we each do awr best wol we're here;
'At when th' time comes for reckonin, we're called on,
We shall have varry little to fear.
An at last, when we throw daan awr tackle,
An are biddin farewell to life's stage,
May we hear a voice whisper at partin,
"Come on, lad! Tha's haddled thi wage."

Peevish Poll.

Aw've heeard ov Mary Mischief,
An aw've read ov Natterin Nan;
An aw've known a Grumlin Judy,
An a cross-grained Sarah Ann;
But wi' all ther faults an failins,
They still seem varry tame,
Compared to one aw'll tell yo on,
But aw dursn't tell her name.

Aw'll simply call her Peevish Poll,
That name suits to a dot;
But if shoo thowt 'twor meant for her,
Yo bet, aw'st get it hot.
Shoo's fat an fair an forty,
An her smile's as sweet as spice,
An her voice is low an tender
When shoo's tryin to act nice.

Shoo's lots ov little winnin ways,
'At fit her like a glove;
An fowk say shoo's allus pleasant,--
Just a woman they could love.
But if they nobbut had her,
They'd find aght for a start,
It isn't her wi' th' sweetest smile
At's getten th' kindest heart.

Haivver her poor husband lives
An stands it,--that licks doll!
Aw'st ha been hung if aw'd been cursed
Wi' sich a wife as Poll!
Her children three, sneak in an aght
As if they wor hawf deead
They seem expectin, hawf ther time,
A claat o'th' side o'th' heead.

If they goa aght to laik, shoo storms
Abaat her looanly state;
If they stop in, then shoo declares
They're allus in her gate.
If they should start t