Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore.

Long befoor he'd done th' chaps had begun tawkin, some abaat politics an
some abaat Knursticks, an' when he sat daan th' cheerman wor th' only
quiet chap i' th' lot, an' he wor ommost asleep; but Mosslump comforted
hissen wi' whisperin to me 'at classical mewsic wor varry little thowt
on, an' after a sigh, a sup, a shake ov his head, an' another leet for
his pipe, he sat daan evidently detarmined not to be suited wi' owt i'
th' singin way that neet. After th' cheerman had wakken'd up, two or
three called for "Cocky," an' this time he gate up withaat ony excuses,
an' although he did rock backards an' forrads like a clock pendlum th'
wrang end up, yet aw must say he entered life an' soul into what he had
to do, an' in a voice 'at seemed three times too big for the size ov his
carcass he sang--

Lord John and John Lord were both born on a day,
But their fortunes were different quite;
Lord John was decked out in most gorgeous array,
As soon as he first saw the light.
But poor Johnny Lord, it's true on my word,
He'd no clothes to step into at all;
He'd no flannel to wrap, he'd no nightgown or cap,
But was rolled in his poor mother's shawl.
Now, it seems very strange, yet it's true what I say
And I hope you're not doubting my word;
And I'll tell what took place in a general way,
With Lord John and with poor Johnny Lord

The nurse took Lord John, and the doctors stood round,
And examined the child and his clothes;