Monkey’s an’ vain magpies chatter,
   But it doesn’t prove em wise;
An it’s net wi noise an’ clatter,
   Men o’ sense expect to rise.

’Tisn’t them ’at promise freely,
   Are mooast ready to fulfill;
An’ ’tisn’t them ’at trudge on dreely
  ‘At are last at top o’th’ hill.

Bad hauf-craans may pass as payment,
   Gaudy flaars awr een beguile;
Women may be loved for raiment,
   Show may blind us for a while;

But we sooin grow discontented,
   An’ for solid worth we sigh,
An’ we leearn to prize the jewel,
   Tho it’s hidden from the eye.

Him ’at thinks to gether diamonds
   As he walks along his rooad,
Niver need be tired wi’ huggin,
   For he’ll have a little looad.

Owt ’at’s worth a body’s winnin
   Mun be toiled for long an’ hard;
An’ tho’ th’ struggle may be pinnin,
   Perseverance wins reward.

Earnest thowt, an’ constant striving,
   Ever wi’ one aim i’th’ seet;
Tho’ we may be late arrivin,
   Yet at last we’st come in reight.

He who will succeed, he must,
   When he’s bid false hopes farewell. 
If he firmly fix his trust
   In his God, and in hissel,

Did yo Iver.

Gooid gracious! cried Susy, one fine summer’s morn,
   Here’s a bonny to do! aw declare! 
Aw wor niver soa capt sin th’ day aw wor born! 
   Aw near saw sich a seet at a Fair.

Here, Sally! come luk!  Ther’s a maase made its nest
   Reight ith’ craan o’ mi new Sundy bonnet! 
Haiver its fun its way into this chist,
   That caps me!  Aw’m fast what to mak on it!

Its cut!  Sithee thear!  It’s run reight under th’ bed! 
   An luk here!  What’s’theas little things stirrin? 
If they arn’t some young uns at th’ gooid-for-nowt’s bred,
   May aw be as deead as a herrin!

But what does ta say?  “Aw mun draand ’em?” nooan soa! 
   Just luk ha they’re seekin ther mother;
Shoo must be a poor little softheead to goa;
   For awm nooan baan to cause her noa bother.

But its rayther to bad, just to mak her hooam thear,
   For mi old en’s net fit to be seen in
An’ this new en, awm thinkin, ul luk rayther queer,
   After sich a rum lot as thats been in.

But shut up awr pussy, an heed what aw say;
   Yo mun keep a sharp e’e or shoo’ll chait us;
Ah if shoo sees th’ mother shoo’ll kill it!  An pray
   What mun become o’ thease poor helpless crayturs?

A’a dear! fowk have mich to be thankful for, yet,
   ‘At’s a roof o’ ther own to cawer under,
For if we’d to seek ony nook we could get,
   Whativer ’ud come on us aw wonder?

We should nooan on us like to be turned aat o’ door,
   Wi a lot a young bairns to tak ’care on: 
Ah’ although awm baat bonnet, an think misen poor,
   What little aw have yo’st have t’share on.