Aw should think 'at theease rattlin looms Saand queer sooart o' music to thee; An' tha'll hardly quite relish th' perfumes O' miln-grease,--what th' quality be. Maybe' tha'rt disgusted wi' us, An' thinks we're a low offald set But tha'rt sadly mistaen if tha does, For ther's hooap an' ther's pride in us yet. Tha wor nobbut a worm once thisen, An' as humble as humble could be; An' tho we nah are like tha wor then, We may yet be as nobby as thee. Tha'd to see thi own livin when young, An' when tha grew up tha'd to spin; An' if labor like that worn't wrong, Tha con hardly call wayvin 'a sin.' But tha longs to be off aw con tell; For tha shows 'at tha ar'nt content: Soa aw'll oppen thee th' window--farewell! Off tha goas, bonny fly!--An' it went. Uncle Ben A gradely chap wor uncle Ben As iver lived ith' fowd: He made a fortun for hissen, An' lived on't when he'r owd. His yed wor like a snow drift, An' his face wor red an' breet, An' his heart wor like a feather, For he did the thing 'at's reet. He wore th' same suit o' fustian clooas He'd worn sin aw wor bred; An' th' same owd booits, wi' cappel'd tooas, An' th' same hat for his yed; His cot wor lowly, yet he'd sing Throo braik o' day till neet; His conscience niver felt a sting, For he did the thing 'at's reet. He wod'nt swap his humble state Wi' th' grandest fowk i' th' land; He niver wanted silver plate, Nor owt 'at's rich and grand; He did'nt sleep wi' curtained silk Drawn raand him ov a neet, But he slept noa war for th' want o' that, For he'd done the thing 'at's reet. Owd fowk called him "awr Benny," Young fowk, "mi uncle Ben,"-- An' th' childer, "gronfather," or "dad," Or what best pleased thersen. A gleam o' joy coom o'er his face When he heeard ther patterin feet, For he loved to laik wi' th' little bairns An' he did the thing 'at's reet. He niver turned poor fowk away Uncared for throo his door; He ne'er forgate ther wor a day When he hissen wor poor; An' mony a face has turned to Heaven, All glistenin wi' weet, An' prayed for blessins on owd Ben, For he did th' thing 'at's reet. He knew his lease wor ommost spent, He'd sooin be called away; Yet he wor happy an' content, An' waited th' comin day; But one dark neet he shut his e'en, An' slept soa calm an' sweet, when mornin coom, th' world held one less, 'At did the thing 'at's reet. The New Year's Resolve Says Dick, "ther's a' notion sprung up i' mi yed, For th' furst time i' th' whole coorse o' mi life, An' aw've takken a fancy aw'st like to be wed, If aw knew who to get for a wife. Aw dooant want a woman wi' beauty, nor brass, For aw've nawther to booast on misel; What aw want is a warm-hearted, hard-workin' lass, An' ther's lots to be fun, aw've heeard tell.