But they niver leeav us, niver-- Storms may come, but still they stay; But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shiver, Up tha mounts an' flies away. Ther's too mony like thee, swallow, 'At when fortun's sun shines breet, Like a silly buzzard follow, Doncin raand a bit o' leet. But ther's few like Robin redbreast, Cling throo days o' gloom an' care; Soa aw love mi old tried friends best-- Fickle hearts aw'll freely spare. Plenty o' Brass A'a! it's grand to ha' plenty o' brass! It's grand to be able to spend A trifle sometimes on a glass For yorsen, or sometimes for a friend To be able to bury yor neive Up to th' shackle i' silver an' gowd An', 'baght pinchin', be able to save A wee bit for th' time when yor owd. A'a! it's grand to ha', plenty o' brass! To be able to set daan yor fooit Withaght ivver thinkin'--bith' mass! 'At yor wearin' soa mitch off yor booit; To be able to walk along th' street, An' stand at shop windows to stare, An' net ha' to beat a retreat If yo' scent a "bum bailey" i' th' air. A'a I it's grand to ha' plenty o' brass! To be able to goa hoam at neet, An' sit i'th' arm-cheer bith' owd lass, An' want nawther foir nor leet; To tak' th' childer a paper o' spice, Or a pictur' to hing up o' th' wall; Or a taste ov a summat 'at's nice For yor friends, if they happen to call. A'a! it's grand to ha' plenty o' brass! Then th' parsons'll know where yo' live: If yo'r' poor, it's mooast likely they'll pass, An' call where fowk's summat to give. Yo' may have a trifle o' sense, An' yo' may be both upright an' true But that's nowt, if yo' can't stand th' expense Ov a hoal or a pairt ov a pew. A'a! it's grand to ha' plenty o' brass! An' to them fowk at's getten a hoard, This world seems as smooth as a glass, An' ther's flaars o' boath sides o'th' road; But him 'at's as poor as a maase, Or, happen, a little i' debt, He mun point his noas up to th' big haase, An' be thankful for what he can get. A'a! it's grand to ha' plenty o' chink! But doan't let it harden yor heart: Yo' 'at's blessed wi' abundance should think An' try ta do gooid wi' a part! An' then, as yor totterin' daan, An' th' last grains o' sand are i'th glass, Yo' may find 'at yo've purchased a craan Wi' makkin gooid use o' yor brass. Th' Little Stranger Little bonny, bonny babby, How tha stares, an' weel tha may, For its but an haar, or hardly, Sin' tha furst saw th' leet o' day. A'a! tha little knows, young moppet, Ha aw'st have to tew for thee; May be when aw'm forced to drop it, 'At tha'll do a bit for me. Are ta maddled, mun, amang it? Does ta wonder what aw mean? Aw should think tha does, but dang it! Where's ta been to leearn to scream? That's noa sooart o' mewsic, bless thee! Dunnot peawt thi lip like that! Mun, aw hardly dar to nurse thee, Feared awst hurt thee, little brat.