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A time ther'll be
When sich as thee
Shall have yor full reward.
At hauf-past five tha leaves thi bed,
An off tha goes to wark;
An gropes thi way to mill or shed,
Six months o'th' year i'th' dark.
Tha gets but little for thi pains,
But that's noa fault o' thine;
Thi maister reckons up _his_ gains,
An ligs i bed till nine.
Poor lassie wan, &c.
He's little childer ov his own
'At's quite as old as thee;
They ride i' cushioned carriages
'At's beautiful to see;
They'd fear to spoil ther little hand,
To touch thy greasy brat:
It's wark like thine at makes em grand--
They nivver think o' that.
Poor lassie wan, &c.
I' summer time they romp an' play
Where flowers grow wild and sweet;
Ther bodies strong, ther spirits gay,
They thrive throo morn to neet.
But tha's a cough, aw hear tha has,
An oft aw've known thee sick;
But tha mun work, poor little lass,
Foa hauf-a-craan a wick.
Poor lassie wan, &c.
Aw envy net fowks' better lot--
Aw shouldn't like to swap.


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