And wants 'em mended up in town,
So would John call and bring 'em down
To-night . . . ? and so the tale goes on,
'Tis, "Sure you will, now DO 'ee, John."

Well, 'tis a hevil wind that blows
Nobody any good; it shows
As owd John haves his uses yet,
Though now and then he do forget.
Gee up, owd gal. When strikes is on,
They're glad of pore owd stoopid John.





The Lad's Love by the
Gate

Down in the dear West Country,
there's a garden where I know
The Spring is rioting this hour, though
I am far away --
Where all the glad flower-faces are old
loves of long ago,
And each in its accustomed place is
blossoming to-day.

The lilac drops her amethysts upon the
mossy wall,