Advice to Jenny.

Jenny, Jenny, dry thi ee,
   An’ dunnot luk soa sad;
It grieves me varry mich to see
   Tha freeats abaat yon lad;
For weel tha knows, withaat a daat,
   Wheariver he may be,
Tho fond o’ rammellin’ abaat,
   He’s allus true to thee.

Tha’ll learn mooar sense, lass, in a while,
   For wisdom comes wi’ time,
An’ if tha lives tha’ll leearn to smile
   At troubles sich as thine;
A faithful chap is better far,
   Altho’ he likes to rooam,
Nor one ’at does what isn’t reight,
   An’ sits o’th’ hearth at hooam.

Tha needn’t think ’at wedded life
   Noa disappointment brings;
Tha munnot think to keep a chap
   Teed to thi appron strings: 
Soa dry thi een, they’re varry wet,
   An’ let thi heart be glad,
For tho’ tha’s wed a rooamer, yet,
   Tha’s wed a honest lad.

Ther’s mony a lady, rich an’ great,
   ’At’s sarvents at her call,
Wod freely change her grand estate
   For thine tha thinks soa small: 
For riches cannot buy content,
   Soa tho’ thi joys be few,
Tha’s one ther’s nowt con stand anent,—­
   A heart ‘at’s kind an’ true.

Soa when he comes luk breet an’ gay,
   An’ meet him wi’ a kiss,
Tha’ll find him mooar inclined to stay
   Wi treatment sich as this;
But if thi een luk red like that,
   He’ll see all’s wrang at once,
He’ll leet his pipe, an’ don his hat,
   An’ bolt if he’s a chonce.

Ther’s mich Expected.

Life’s pathway is full o’ deep ruts,
   An’ we mun tak gooid heed lest we stumble;
Man is made up of “ifs” and of “buts,”
   It’seems pairt ov his natur to grumble.

But if we’d anxiously tak
   To makkin’ things smooth as we’re able,
Ther’d be monny a better clooath’d back,
   An’ monny a better spread table.

It’s a sad state o’ things when a man
   Connot put ony faith in his brother,
An’ fancies he’ll chait if he can,
   An’ rejoice ovver th’ fall ov another.

An’ it’s sad when yo see some ’at stand
   High in social position an’ power,
To know at ther fortuns wor plann’d
   An’ built, aght o’th’ wrecks o’ those lower.

It’s sad to see luxury rife,
   An’ fortuns being thowtlessly wasted;
While others are wearin’ aat life,
   With the furst drops o’ pleasure untasted.

Some in carriages rollin’ away,
   To a ball, or a rout, or a revel;
But their chariots may bear ’em some day
   Varry near to the gates ov the devil.

Oh! charity surely is rare,
   Or ther’d net be soa monny neglected;
For ther’s lots wi enuff an’ to spare,
   An’ from them varry mich is expected.

An’ tho’ in this world they’ve ther fill
   Of its pleasures, an’ wilfully blinded,
Let deeath come—­as surely it will—­
   They’ll be then ov ther duties reminded.