To listen to my creed,
An' things they find they cannot get,
Why, try to niver heed.

Ther's some 'at lang for parks an' halls,
An' letters to ther name;
But happiness despises walls,
It's nooan a child o' fame.
A robe may lap a woeful chap,
Whose heart wi grief may bleed,
Wol rags may rest on joyful breast,
Soa hang it! niver heed!

Th' sun shines as breet for me as them,
An' th' meadows smell as sweet,
Th' larks sing as sweetly o'er mi heead,
An' th' flaars smile at mi feet,
An' when a hard day's wark is done,
Aw ait mi humble feed,
Mi appetite's a relish fun,
Soa hang it, niver heed.




Sing On.

Sing on, tha bonny burd, sing on, sing on;
Aw cannot sing;
A claad hings ovver me, do what aw con