Some poets sing o' gipsy queens, An' some o' ladies fine; Aw'll sing a song o' other scenes, A humbler muse is mine: Jewels, an' gold, an' silken frills, Are things too heigh for me, But woll mi harp wi' vigour thrills, Aw'll strike a chord for thee. Poor lassie wan, Do th' best tha can, Although thi fate be hard; A time ther'll be When sich as thee Shall have yor full reward. At hauf-past five tha leaves thi bed, An' off tha goes to wark; An' gropes thi way to mill or shed, Six months o'th' year i'th' dark. Tha gets but little for thi pains, But that's noa fault o' thine; Thi maister reckons up his gains, An' ligs i' bed till nine. Poor lassie wan, &c. He's little childer ov his own 'At's quite as old as thee; They ride i' cushioned carriages 'At's beautiful to see; They'd fear to spoil ther little hand, To touch thy greasy brat: It's wark like thine 'as maks 'em grand They niver think o' that. Poor lassie wan, &c. I' summer time they romp an' play Where flowers grow wild and sweet; Ther bodies strong, ther spirits gay, They thrive throo morn to neet. But tha's a cough, aw hear tha has; An' oft aw've known thee sick; But tha mun work, poor little lass, For hauf-a-craan a wick. Poor lassie wan, &c. Aw envy net fowks' better lot-- Aw should'nt like to swap. Aw'm quite contented wi'mi cot; Aw'm but a warkin chap. But if aw had a lot o' brass Aw'd think o' them 'at's poor; Aw'd have yo' childer workin' less, An' mak yor wages moor. Poor lassie wan, &c. "There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign, Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain." Noa fact'ry bell shall greet thi ear, I' that sweet home ov love; An' those 'at scorn thi sufferins here May envy thee above. Poor lassie wan, &c. Th' First o'th Sooart Aw heeard a funny tale last neet-- Aw could'nt howd fro' laffin-- 'Twor at th' Bull's Heead we chonced to meet, An' spent an haar i' chaffin. Some sang a song, some cracked a joak, An' all seem'd full o' larkin; An' th' raam war blue wi' bacca smook, An' ivery e'e'd a spark in. Long Joa 'at comes thro th' Jumples cluff, Wor gettin rayther mazy; An' Warkus Ned had supped enuff To turn they're Betty crazy;-- An Bob at lives at th' Bogeggs farm, Wi' Nan throo th' Buttress Bottom, Wor treating her to summat wanm, (It's just his way,--"odd drot em!") An' Jack o'th' Slade wor theear as weel, An' Joa o' Abe's throo Waerley; An' Lijah off o'th' Lavver Hill, Wor passing th' ale raand rarely.-- Throo raand and square they seem'd to meet, To hear or tell a stoory; But th' gem o' all aw heard last neet Wor one bi Dooad o'th' gloory.