Ther’s chimleys an’ factrys i’ ivery nook nah,
   But ther’s varry few left ’at con fodder a caah;
   An’ ther’s telegraff poles all o’th’ edge o’th’ highways,
   Whear grew bonny green trees i’ thi gronfayther’s days.

   We’re teld to be thankful for blessin’s ’ats sent,
   An’ aw hooap ’at tha’ll allus be blessed wi content: 
   Tha mun mak th’ best tha con o’ this world wol tha stays,
   But aw wish tha’d been born i’ thi gronfayther’s days.

Mose Hart’s Twelvth Mess.

‘Holloa! whear ta for, Dick?  Tha’rt donned up fearful grand.’

‘Nay, aw nobbut wish aw knew whear aw wor, but aw connot tell for th’ life on me; but tha can happen put me into th’ end, for awm seekin “Th’ Fiddle Brig an’ Blow Pipe Music Saloon,” for aw’ve getten two tickets for a grand consart ’at’s gooin to be gien bi some Morpheus Musical Society, an’ aw’ve rammel’d abaat for a gooid clock haar, an’ awm blow’d if aw can find th’ shop.’

‘Why, if tha’s getten two tickets tha mud as weel gie me one, an’ aw’ll goa hooam an’ get donned, an’ we’st be company.’

‘Bith’ heart, lad, aw wish tha wod; aw dooant care bein my share towards a quairt if tha’ll goa, but awm feeard we’st be lat; doesn’t ta think them clooas tha has on’ll do?’

‘Nay, tha sees mi britches knee is brussen.’

‘Ne’er heed, aw’l leearn thi mi kerchy, an’ then as sooin as tha’s getten set daan tha can spreead it ovver thi knees, an’ nobdy’ll iver know owt abaat it.’

’Well, if tha doesn’t mind aw dooant, for a chap had better have a hoil in his clooas nor a hoil in his karracter, soa let’s try to find this place.  Sithee! what does that sign say ‘at’s hingin’ aght o’ th’ charmer winder?’

‘Nay, Seth, tha knows awm noa reader, an’ besides aw havn’t mi specks, but what does ta mak it into?’

‘Well, ther’s a Hess, an’ a Hay, an’ a Hell, an’ two Hoes, an’ a Hen, what does that spell?’

‘Nay, aw connot tell, but it’ll nooan be what we want awm sewer o’ that, for thear’s noa hens abaat thear.’

‘Ha hens, lumpheead!  It’s th’ letter N aw sed.’

‘Litter hen! why aw nivver heeard o’ sich o’ thing; aw’ve heeard o’ pigs havin litters but nivver hens, we call ’em cletches.’

’Tha gets less sense, Dick, ivvery day, aw do think.  Doesn’t ta understand?  Ther’s a Hess, an’ a Hay, an’ a Hell, an’ two Hoes, an’ a Hen, an’ that spells saloon, or else aw’ve forgetten my algibra.’

’Well, well, happen it does; tha’s noa need to get soa cross-grained abaat it; if tha goes on like that aw’ll gie th’ ticket to somdy else, nah mark that.’

’Tha can gie it to who the duce tha’s a mind, Dick; awm nawther beholden to thee nor to thi ticket, soa crack that nut!’

‘Well, tha’s noa need to be soa chuff.  Here’s th’ ticket an’ mi kerchy, an’ nah tha con follow clois to me an’ we’ll goa up stairs.  Aw con hear some mewsic bi nah, come on.’