you.

THE OLDHAM WEAVER.

I.

Oi'm a poor cotton-weyver, as mony a one knoowas,
Oi've nowt for t' yeat, an' oi've worn eawt my clooas,
Yo'ad hardly gi' tuppence for aw as oi've on,
My clogs are both brosten, an' stuckings oi've none,
Yo'd think it wur hard,
To be browt into th' warld,
To be--clemmed,* an' do th' best as yo con.

II.

Owd Dicky o' Billy's kept telling me long,
Wee s'd ha' better toimes if I'd but howd my tung,
Oi've howden my tung, till oi've near stopped my breath,
Oi think i' my heeart oi'se soon clem to deeath,
Owd Dicky's weel crammed,
He never wur clemmed,
An' he ne'er picked ower i' his loife,**

III.

We tow'rt on six week--thinking aitch day wur th' last,
We shifted, an' shifted, till neaw we're quoite fast;
We lived upo' nettles, whoile nettles wur good,
An' Waterloo porridge the best o' eawr food,