i' that pint up o'th' hob, aw dar say;
An' nah, wol tha'rt toastin thi shins,
just scale th' foir, an' aw'll side thi owd stick,
Then aw'll tell thi some things 'ats happen'd
sin tha went away.

An' first of all tha mun knaw
'at aw havn't been spar'd,
For trials an' troubles have come,
an' mi heart has felt well nigh to braik;
An' mi wife, 'at tha knaws wor mi pride,
an' mi fortuns has shared,
Shoo bent under her griefs,
an' shoo's flown far, far away aat o' ther raik.

My life's like an owd gate
'ats nobbut one hinge for support,
An' sometimes aw wish--aw'm soa lonely--
at tother 'ud drop off wi' rust;
But it hasn't to be, for it seems
Life maks me his spooart,
An' Deeath cannot even spare time,
to turn sich an owd man into dust.

Last neet as aw sat an' watched th' yule log
awd put on to th' fire,
As it cracked, an' sparkled, an' flared
up wi' sich gusto an' spirit,
An' when it wor touch'd it shone breeter,
an' flared up still higher,