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,