When all had getten sarved wi' hot watter, an' given ovver crushin sugar, th' cheerman announced 'at it wor Mr. Standhen's call, soa up jumped Standhen, an' said "he couldn't do better nor call owd Mosslump for a song." Some moor applause followed this, but they didn't knock th' tables wi' ther glasses this time, becoss they wor too full. Mosslump stood up, wiped his maath wi' th' corners ov his necktie, turned up his e'en as if he wor gooin to depart this life i' peace, an' in a voice, time, an' manner peculiarly his own he sung-- Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife, An' Johnny is a druffen sot; He spends th' best portion ov his life I'th beershop wi' a pipe an' pot. At schooil together John an' me Set side by side like trusty chums, An' niver did we disagree Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs. At John shoo smiled, An' aw wor riled; Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me Her bonny e'en Aw've seldom seen Sin' that sad day shoo slighted me. Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want, For Johnny ofttimes gets o'th spree; He spends his wages in a rant, An' leeaves his wife to pine or dee. An' monny a time aw've ligged i' bed, An' cursed my fate for bein poor, An' monny a bitter tear aw've shed, When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore. For shoo's mi life Is Johnny's wife, An' tho' to love her isn't reet, What con aw do, When all th' neet throo Aw'm dreeamin ov her e'en soa breet. Aw'll goa away an' leeave this spot, For fear 'at we should iver meet, For if we did, as sure as shot Awst throw me daan anent her feet. Aw know shoo'd think aw wor a fooil, To love a woman when shoo's wed, But sin' aw saw her furst at schooil, It's been a wretched life aw've led. But th' time has come To leeave mi hooam, An' th' sea between us sooin shall roar, Yet still mi heart Will niver part Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore. Long befoor he'd done th' chaps had begun tawkin, some abaat politics an some abaat Knursticks, an' when he sat daan th' cheerman wor th' only quiet chap i' th' lot, an' he wor ommost asleep; but Mosslump comforted hissen wi' whisperin to me 'at classical mewsic wor varry little thowt on, an' after a sigh, a sup, a shake ov his head, an' another leet for his pipe, he sat daan evidently detarmined not to be suited wi' owt i' th' singin way that neet. After th' cheerman had wakken'd up, two or three called for "Cocky," an' this time he gate up withaat ony excuses, an' although he did rock backards an' forrads like a clock pendlum th' wrang end up, yet aw must say he entered life an' soul into what he had to do, an' in a voice 'at seemed three times too big for the size ov his carcass he sang--