Bless all them bonny lasses, I’ Yorksher born an bred! Ther beauty nooan surpasses, Complete i’th’ heart an th’ heead. An th’ lads,—tho aw’ve seen monny…

‘Another day will follow this,’ Ah,—that shall sewerly be, But th’ day 'at dawns to-morn, my… May nivver dawn for thee, This day is thine, soa use it weel…

Little childer,—little childer; Harken to an old man’s ditty; Tho yo live ith’ country village,— Tho yo live ith’ busy city. Aw’ve a little tale to tell yo,—

Down in the deeps of dark despair… Of Death expectant;—Hope I put a… Counting the heartbeats, slowly, y… Marking the lazy ebb of life’s las… Sweet Resignation, with her opiat…

Why lad, awm sewer tha’rt ommost d… This ovvertime is killin; ‘Twor allus soa sin th’ world begu… They put o’ them at’s willin. Tha’s ne’er a neet to call thi own…

A’a dear, what it is to be big! To be big i’ one’s own estimation, To think if we shake a lawse leg, ‘At th’ world feels a tremblin sen… To fancy 'at th’ nook 'at we fill,

Aw’ve been laiking for ommost eigh… An’ aw can’t get a day’s wark to d… Aw’ve trailed abaht th’ streets wo… An’ aw’ve worn mi clog-soils ommos… Aw’ve a wife and three childer at…

O, the lasses, the lasses, God bl… His heart must be hard as a stooan ’At could willingly goa an distres… For withaat ’em man’s lot 'ud be l… Tho’ th’ pooasies i’ paradise grow…

Sin Leeds wor a city it puts on g… An aw’ve noa wish to bother wi’ ot… ‘At they’ve mich to be praad on aw… But aw think thier’s some things t… They’ve raised some fine buildings…

On the sixteenth of June, eightee… The children of Sunderland hasten… Strange wonders performed by a mys… Believing,—as only young children… And merry groups chattered, as han…

As through life you journey onward Many a hill you’ll have to climb; Many a rough and dang’rous pathway… You’ll encounter time and time. Now and then a gleam of sunshine,

Aw know some fowk will call it cri… To put sich stooaries into ryhme, But yet, contentedly aw chime Mi simple ditty: An if it’s all a waste o’ time,

It nobbut luks like tother day, Sin Jane an me first met; Yet fifty years have rolled away, But still aw dooant forget. Th’ Sundy schooil wor ovver,

When but a little toddlin thing, I’th’ heather sweet shoo’d play, An like a fay on truant wing, Shoo’d rammel far away; An even butterflees wod come

She may be dark or may be fair, If beauty she possesses; But she must have abundant hair— I doat on flowing tresses. Her skin must be clear, soft and w…