"Nan, ta me cap toth frilling shop, Them get it up best way; Ol be at justices at morn, Be it be breyk o' day. "I'll not go there a daggletail, Like mucky onion Ann; I'll tell a tale, (yol seet ith news,) As weel as ony man." Ther scores o' people craaded raond, Twor like a village fair: When shoo went aaot ther sich a noise, As if they'd rais'd a hare. Sly Billy took her by the arm; "Come, Dolly, stick to me:" But Dolly struck him plump oth face; "I'll nooan be fooil'd by thee." His nose did bleed, the people laugh'd, "Reyt, thump him," they did cry; But Billy 'er fain to run away, His bloody nose to dry. Another scene gave Dolly pain: It struck her like a blast; Her old sweetheart wi bonny Jane, Stud laaghing as shoo past. This wor too much, the tears did flow, Her trubbled brest did beat; When love for love expects a smile, A scornful taunt did meet. "Thal wed her naa," Jane laughing said; "Shoo beots fine fouk ith taon; Shoo's like a walking cortan'd bed; I wish I'd sich a gaon." This Dolly heeard, but on shoo mov'd; Sad, mourning, all furlorn: "I wor in different trim, God knows, When I coom on at morn." I must be dreaming, Dolly thought; But to be sure shoo put Hur hands both up to touch her een, To feel if they wor shut. "This gaon, I'll burn it if I live, I'll burn it every bit; For, warst of all, where'er e go, Thel say I'm short o' wit." Then Dolly went at sich a speed, Shoo never went before; When shoo gat home shoo doft her gaon, Declar'd shoo'd dont no more. THE MORAL. O what a change we undergo By fate's unfriendly touch; When we're asham'd and laugh'd at too, For what we've priz'd so much. FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 247: By a Native Genius. Printed by Crabtree and son, Cheapside, Halifax. To which is added, "Rose and Dolly," &c.] THE WIDOW'S LAMENT. This ballad is founded on an event which took place in the latter part of the year 1848. A gamekeeper of the earl of Ripon went out one night about his usual business, and was found next morning, near one of the plantations on Hutton Moor, shot dead. A notorious poacher, who was seen in the neighbourhood on the day of the murder, was apprehended and tried at York assizes, but acquitted for want of evidence; he subsequently emigrated to America, where he died, and is said to have confessed that he was the murderer. The cheerless day is closing fast, The angry night-wind howls around, And hurried by the sweeping blast, Cold sleet and snow drive o'er the ground. Nought pleasing can the scene impart, Far as the weary eye can scan; But colder far the widow's heart,-- The widow of the murdered man. The scene is o'er--the grave has closed Above the form she loved the best; The heart where all her trust reposed Was driven to untimely rest.