Some fowk choose one thing, some another,
      To grace ther prose or rhyme;
   Some sneerin say ’at tha’lot my brother,
      Maks me choose thee for mine;
   Well, let ’em sneer owd Neddy lad,
      Or laff at my selection,
   Who fail to see ther type i’ thee
      Are void o’ mich perception.—­
   Ther’s things more stupid nor an ass,
      An things more badly treated,
   Tho’ we ait beef, an’ tha aits grass,
      May be we’re just related. 
   Throo toil an’ trouble on tha jogs,
      An’ then like ony sinner,
   Tha dees, an’ finds a meal for th’ dogs;—­
      We furnish th’ worms ther dinner.

Deemas an’ ‘Becka used to keep th “Cock an’ Bottle,” i’ awr street.  They’d lived thear iver sin th’ haase wor built, an’ won iverybody’s gooid word, at worn’t particlar abaght a sup o’ drink.  One day they sent aght invitashuns to all ther neighbors an’ friends to come to a tea drinkin.  Niver mind if ther wornt a rumpus i’ that district!  Th’ chaps winked when they met one another, an’ said “Aw reckon tha’ll be at yond doo?” “Aw mean to be nowt else,” they’d reply; an’ away they’d trudge i’ joyful anticipation of a reight spree!

But th’ women!  Hi! that’s it!  It’s th’ women ‘ats th’ life an’ soul ov a jollificashun yet.  They wor buzzin aght o’ one door into another just like a lot o’ bees, to see what soa an soa wor gooin in.  “What sooart ov a bonnet art ta baan in Zantippa?” said Susan Stooanthrow; (or rayther aw should, say, Miss Stooanthrow, for shoo reckoned hersen th’ lady o’th ginnel).

“Well, aw’ve nut made up mi mind yet,” shoo says; “but aw have thowt aw should goa, aw hardly know ha’; but what does ta think o’ gooin in?”

“Well, aw suppooas it’s ta be a varry spicy affair, soa aw have thowt aw should goa i’ full dress.  Yo’ see, being a single woman, an’ rayther a stylish shape, aw think it ‘ud just suit me.  What do yo’ think?”

“Just the varry ticket, lass!  Tha’ couldn’t do better!  For, as aw’ve mony a time said to Betty Wagstang, ther’s noabody con mak up a moor lady-liker appearance nor what tha con, when tha’s a mind!  But talkin’ abaght Betty, has ta seen that new cap o’ hers?”

“Do yo’ mean that shoo bowt up th’ street t’other wick?”

“Th’ same!  Did ta iver see onybody luk sich a flaycrow i’ all thi life?  Her heead reminds me ov a gurt pickled cabbage.  Shoo doesn’t keep up her colour wi’ nowt, tha may depend on’t.  Awther shoo can mak brass goa farther nor other fowk, or else summat else; but they tell me ’at thers nut mony shopkeepers abaght here but what has her name daan ofter nor they like.  But that’s noa business o’ mine.”

“Aw shouldn’t be at all apprised at that, for aw’ve heeard fowk say ’at her family wor allus fond o’ summat to sup afoor shoo wor born, an’ they niver had a gooid word at th’ shops.  Is she gooin’ ta be at this swarry?

“At this what does ta say, Susy?”