It's a queer thing at sich a nation
Can't use a bit o' moderation;
But one lot rush to ther damnation
Through love o'th bottle:
Wol others think to win salvation
Wi being teetotal."
Wi' booany neive he stroked mi heead,
"Tak my advice, young chap," he sed,
"Let liquors be, sup ale asteead,
An' tha'll be better,
An' dunnot treat th' advice tha's heard
Like a dead letter."
"Why Deeath," aw sed, "fowk allus say,
Yo come to fotch us chaps away!
But this seems strange, soa tell me pray,
Ha wor't yo coom?
Wor it to tell us keep away,
Yo hav'nt room?"
"Stop whear tha art, Jack, if tha dar
But tha'll find spirits worse bi far
Sarved aght i' monny a public bar,
At's thowt quite lawful;
Nor what tha'll find i'th' places par-
Sons call soa awful."
"Gooid bye!" he sed, an' off he shot,
Leavin behind him sich a lot
O' smook, as blue as it wor hot!
It set me stewin!
Soa hooam aw cut, an' gate a pot
Ov us own brewin.
---------
If when yo've read this stooary through,
Yo daat if it's exactly true,
Yo'll nobbut do as others do,
Yo may depend on't.
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