Young Chirrup woo’d a village maid,— An’ hoo wur th’ flower ov o’,— Wi’ kisses kind, i’th’ woodlan’ shade, An’ whispers soft an’ low; I’ Matty’s ear twur th’ sweetest chime That ever mortal sung; An’ Matty’s heart beat pleasant time To th’ music of his tung. Oh, th’ kindest mates, this world within, Mun sometimes meet wi’ pain; But, if this pair could life begin, They’d buckle to again; For, though he’re hearty, blunt, an’ tough, An’ Matty sweet an’ mild; For three-score year, through smooth an’ rough, Hoo led him like a child. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DULE’S I’ THIS BONNET O’ MINE. The dule’s i’ this bonnet o’ mine; My ribbins’ll never be reet; Here, Mally, aw’m like to be fine, For Jamie’ll be comin’ to neet; He met me i’th’ lone tother day,— Aw’re gooin’ for wayter to th’ well,— An’ he begged that aw’d wed him i’ May;— Bi’th mass, iv he’ll let me, aw will! When he took my two honds into his, Good Lord, heaw they trembled between; An’ aw durstn’t look up in his face, Becose on him seein’ my e’en; My cheek went as red as a rose;— There’s never a mortal can tell Heaw happy aw felt; for, thea knows, One couldn’t ha’ axed him theirsel’. But th’ tale wur at th’ end o’ my tung,— To let it eawt wouldn’t be reet,— For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung, So aw towd him aw’d tell him to-neet; But, Mally, thae knows very weel,— Though it isn’t a thing one should own,— Iv aw’d th’ pikein’ o’th world to mysel’, Aw’d oather ha’ Jamie or noan. Neaw, Mally, aw’ve towd tho my mind; What would to do iv ’twur thee? “Aw’d tak him just while he’re inclined, An’ a farrantly bargain he’d be; For Jamie’s as gradely a lad As ever stept eawt into th’ sun;— Go, jump at thy chance, an’ get wed, An’ may th’ best o’th job when it’s done!” Eh, dear, but it’s time to be gwon,— Aw shouldn’t like Jamie to wait; Aw connut for shame be to soon, An’ aw wouldn’t for th’ world be to late; Aw’m o’ ov a tremble to th’ heel,— Dost think at my bonnet’ll do?— “Be off, lass,—thae looks very weel; He wants noan o’th bonnet, thae foo!” [Illustration] TICKLE TIMES. Here’s Robin, he looks very gloomy; An’ Jamie keeps starin’ at th’ greawnd; An’ thinkin’ o’th table at’s empty, An’ th’ little things yammerin’ reawnd; It’s true, that it’s dark just afore us,— But, keep your hearts eawt o’ your shoon,— Though clouds may be thickenin’ o’er us, There’s lots o’ blue sky up aboon!