A widow of forty-five As has sludged like a horse all her life, Till 'er's tough as whit-leather, to slive Atween a lad an' 'is wife! A widow of forty-five. A tough old otchel wi' long Witch teeth, an' 'er black hawk-eyes as I've Mistrusted all along! An' me as 'as kep my-sen Shut like a daisy bud, Clean an' new an' nice, so's when He wed he'd ha'e summat good! An' 'im as nice an' fresh As any man i' the force, To ha'e gone an' given his white young flesh To a woman that coarse! III You're stout to brave this snow, Miss Stainwright, Are you makin' Brinsley way? --I'm off up th' line to Underwood Wi' a dress as is wanted to-day. Oh are you goin' to Underwood? 'Appen then you've 'eered? --What's that as 'appen I've 'eered-on, Missis, Speak up, you nedna be feared. Why, your young man an' Widow Naylor, Her as he lodges wi', They say he's got her wi' childt; but there, It's nothing to do wi' me. Though if it's true they'll turn him out O' th' p'lice force, without fail; An' if it's not true, I'd back my life They'll listen to _her_ tale. Well, I'm believin' no tale, Missis, I'm seein' for my-sen; An' when I know for sure, Missis, I'll talk _then_. IV Nay robin red-breast, tha nedna Sit noddin' thy head at me; My breast's as red as thine, I reckon, Flayed red, if tha could but see. Nay, you blessed pee-whips, You nedna screet at me! I'm screetin' my-sen, but are-na goin' To let iv'rybody see. Tha _art_ smock-ravelled, bunny, Larropin' neck an' crop I' th' snow: but I's warrant thee, bunny, _I'm_ further ower th' top. V Now sithee theer at th' railroad crossin' Warmin' his-sen at the stool o' fire Under the tank as fills the ingines, If there isn't my dearly-beloved liar! My constable wi' 'is buttoned breast As stout as the truth, my sirs!--An' 'is face As bold as a robin! It's much he cares For this nice old shame and disgrace. Oh but he drops his flag when 'e sees me, Yes, an' 'is face goes white ... oh yes Tha can stare at me wi' thy fierce blue eyes, But tha doesna stare me out, I guess! VI Whativer brings thee out so far In a' this depth o' snow? --I'm takin' 'ome a weddin' dress If tha maun know. Why, is there a weddin' at Underwood, As tha ne'd trudge up here? --It's Widow Naylor's weddin'-dress, An' 'er's wantin it, I hear. _'Er_ doesna want no weddin-dress ... What--but what dost mean? --Doesn't ter know what I mean, Tim?--Yi, Tha must' a' been hard to wean! Tha'rt a good-un at suckin-in yet, Timmy; But tell me, isn't it true As 'er'll be wantin' _my_ weddin' dress In a week or two? Tha's no occasions ter ha'e me on Lizzie--what's done is done! --_Done_, I should think so--Done! But might I ask when tha begun? It's thee as 'as done it as much as me, Lizzie, I tell thee that. --"Me gotten a childt to thy landlady--!" Tha's gotten thy answer pat,