They gloored o'er th' map together:
Drew did all at he wor able,
But could'nt find a stiver.
At last says he, "Thear's Leeds Taan Hall,
An thear stands Braforth mission:
It's just between them two--that's all:
Your map's an old edition.

But thear it is, aw'll lay a craan,
An' if yo've niver known it,
Yo've miss'd a bonny Yorksher taan,
Tho mony be 'at scorn it."
He oppen'd th' gate,--says he, "It's time
Some body coom--aw'll trust thee.
Tha'll find inside noa friends o' thine--
Tha'rt th' furst 'at's come throo Pudsey."


Lines, on finding a butterfly in a weaving shed.

Nay surelee tha's made a mistak;
Tha'rt aght o' thi element here;
Tha may weel goa an' peark up oth' thack,
Thi bonny wings shakin wi fear.

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.