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We're foorced to tak it as it is;
What faults we think we see;
It mayn't be what it owt to be,--
But its gooid enuff for me.
Then if we connot alter things,
Its folly to complain;
To hunt for faults an failins,
Allus gooas agean my grain.
When ther's soa monny pleasant things,
Why should we hunt for pain,
If troubles come, we needn't freeat,
For sunshine follows rain.
If th' world gooas cruckt,--what's that to us?
We connot mak it straight;
But aw've come to this conclusion,
'At its th' fowk 'at isn't reight.
If ivverybody 'ud try to do
Ther best wi' th' means they had,
Aw think 'at they'd agree wi' me,--
This world is nooan soa bad.

Th' Honest Hard Worker.

It's hard what poor fowk mun put up wi'!
What insults an snubs they've to tak!
What bowin an scrapin's expected,
If a chap's a black coit on his back.
As if clooas made a chap ony better,
Or riches improved a man's heart;
As if muck in a carriage smell'd sweeter
Nor th' same muck wod smell in a cart.


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