It's all varry weel to be spendin
Ther time at a hunt or a ball,
But if th' workers war huntin an' doncin,
Whativer wad come on us all?

Ther's summat beside fun an' frolic
To live for, aw think, if we try;
Th' world owes moor to a honest hard worker
Nor it does to a rich fly-bi-sky.
Tho' wealth aw acknowledge is useful,
An' awve oft felt a want on't misen,
Yet th' world withaat brass could keep movin,
But it wodn't do long withaat men.

One truth they may put i' ther meersham,
An' smoke it--that is if they can;
A man may mak hooshuns o' riches,
But riches can ne'er mak a man.
Then give me that honest hard worker,
'At labors throo marnin to neet,
Tho' his rest may be little an' seldom,
Yet th' little he gets he finds sweet.

He may rank wi' his wealthier brother,
An' rank heigher, aw fancy, nor some;
For a hand 'at's weel hoofed wi' hard labor
Is a passport to th' world 'at's to come.
For we know it's a sin to be idle,
As man's days i' this world are but few;
Then let's all wi' awr lot 'be contented,