"One thing ah can say if me life Ta neet sud end it leease; Ah've doin my dewty an tha knaws Ah awlus strave for peease. "Ah knaw, ah knaw at ah'm it gate, Tha's other oats ta thresh; So when ah's dun for tha ma wed You gooid for nowt young tresh." Then Nan pool'd summat aht o't drawer White as a summer claad; Ses I ta Jonny, "What's that thear?" Ses Jonny, "It's a shraad. "An t'coffin coom tu, bud ah sware I woddunt ha't it haase, So, when shoo's muled, shoo sews at that, As quiat as a maase." Then Nan lewkt at me we a lewk, So yonderly an sad, "Tha'll coom ta t'berrin?" "Yus," says ah, "Ah sall be varry dlad." "An bid the Mother," Jonny cried, "An ax the Uncle Ben, Fur all hur prayers for suddan deeath, Sal hev my best 'Amen.'" FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 212: Benjamin Preston, of Bradford, author of "T' Spicy Man," &c. Mr. Preston purposes giving a series of twelve, similar to the above, in the dialect of Bradford Dale. Published by Abraham Holroyd, Westgate, Bradford.] THE BARBER OF THIRSK'S FORFEITS. First come, first served--Then come not late. And when arrived keep your sate; For he who from these rules shall swerve, Shall pay his forfeit--so observe. Who enters here with boots and spurs, Must keep his nook, for if he stirs, And gives with arm'd heel a kick, A pint he pays for every prick. Who rudely takes another's turn, By forfeit glass--may manners learn; Who reverentless shall swear or curse, Must lug seven ha'-pence from his purse. Who checks the barber in his tale, Shall pay for that a gill of yale; Who will, or cannot miss his hat, Whilst trimming pays a pint for that. And he who can but will not pay, Shall hence be sent half trimmed away; For will he--nill he--if in fault, He forfeit must in meal or malt. But mark the man who is in drink, Must the cannikin oh, never, never, clink. THE YORKSHIRE IRISHMAN; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A POTATO MERCHANT. My father was once a great merchant, As any in Ireland was found, But, faith, he could never save a shilling, Tho' potatoes he sold by the pound. So says he to my mother one night, To England suppose you and I go, And the very next day, by moonlight, They took leave of the county of Slygo. Sing de ral, ral de ral la, fal lal de, &c. That the land is all cover'd with water, 'Twixt England and Ireland, you'll own, And single misfortunes, they say, To Irishmen ne'er come alone. So my father, poor man! was first drown'd, Then shipwreck'd, in sailing from Cork, But my mother she got safe to land, And a whisky shop open'd in York. Fal de ral, &c.