But its rayther to bad, just to mak her hooam thear,
For mi old en's net fit to be seen in
An' this new en, awm thinkin, ul luk rayther queer,
After sich a rum lot as thats been in.
But shut up awr pussy, an heed what aw say;
Yo mun keep a sharp e'e or shoo'll chait us;
Ah if shoo sees th' mother shoo'll kill it! An pray
What mun become o' thease poor helpless crayturs?
A'a dear! fowk have mich to be thankful for, yet,
'At's a roof o' ther own to cawer under,
For if we'd to seek ony nook we could get,
Whativer 'ud come on us aw wonder?
We should nooan on us like to be turned aat o' door,
Wi a lot a young bairns to tak 'care on:
Ah' although awm baat bonnet, an think misen poor,
What little aw have yo'st have t'share on.
That poor little maase aw dooant think meant me harm,
Shoo ne'er knew what that bonnet had cost me;
All shoo wanted wor some little nook snug an' warm,
An' a gooid two o'-three shillin its lost me.
Aw should think as they've come into th' world born i' silk,
They'll be aristocratical varmin;
But awm wasting mi time! awl goa get 'em some milk,
An' na daat but th' owd lass likes it warmin.
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