Aw love 'em all, but mooastly them
'At tawk mi native twang.

Aw wish gooid luck to ivery one;
Gooid luck to them 'ats brass;
Gooid luck an' better times to come
To them 'ats poor--alas!
An' may health, wealth, an' sweet content
For iver dwell amang
True, honest-hearted, Yorkshire fowk,
At tawk mi native twang.


Shoo's thi Sister

(Written on seeing a wealthy townsman rudely push
a poor little girl off the pavement.)

Gently, gently, shoo's thi sister,
Tho' her clooas are nowt but rags;
On her feet ther's monny a blister:
See ha painfully shoo drags
Her tired limbs to some quiet corner:
Shoo's thi sister--dunnot scorn her.

Daan her cheeks noa tears are runnin,
Shoo's been shov'd aside befoor;
Used to scoffs, an' sneers, an'shunnin--
Shoo expects it, coss shoo's poor;
Schooil'd for years her grief to smother,