It happened one time 'at Tom had a bit o' spare time ov his hands, soa
he went up to th' aleus to get a pint o' drink, singing as he went, "Ye
lads an' lasses so blithe an' gay, come to the 'Woodlands,' come away."
"Hallo, Tom," said th' landlord, "tha'rt just th' chicken aw wor wantin!
Tha mun gi' us a lift, wi' ta?"

"A lift! What does ta mean? What is it tha wants liftin? Aw dar say aw
con do mi share, for aw've seen th' time when ther worn't a chap i'
Awrram 'at could lift as mich as me."

Why, Tom! aw'm capt tha hasn't heeard! Doesn't ta knaw 'at we're goin to
have a grand tea-drinkin up stairs to neet, an' a grand ball ta finish
off wi'?"

"Noa, ther's niver noabdy tells me owt," says Tom.

"Well, aw thowt tha knew all abaght it--its to be a furst rate doo;
tickets to be a shillin a piece, an' them 'at taks two con have' em for
one an' ninepence; an' we're gooin to have a peanner, for tha knaws noa
beershop's thowt respectable nah, unless ther's a peanner i' th' chamer
an' an ale pump i'th' bar, soa as aw dooan't want to be behund other
fowk, aw've borrowed one ov a musichener 'at keeps a shop, an' a grand
un it is as iver tha clapt thi een on."

"What is it made on?" says Tom.

"Aw dooan't knaw reightly, but aw think its awther mogny or wallmuck--aw
forget whether; but there it is. Luk! Sithee!" he sed, runnin to th'
winder, "come help us to get it in."