Why lad, awm sewer tha'rt ommost done,
This ovvertime is killin;
'Twor allus soa sin th' world begun,
They put o' them at's willin.
Tha's ne'er a neet to call thi own,--
Tha starts furst thing o' Mundy,
An works thi fingers fair to th' booan,
Booath day an neet wol Sundy.
Aw know tha addles extra pay,--
We couldn't weel do baght it,
But if tha'rt browt hooam sick some day,
We'st ha to do withaat it.
Aw seldom get to see thi face,
Exceptin when tha'rt aitin;
Neet after neet aw caar ith' place
Wol awm fair sick o' waitin.
An when tha comes, tha'rt off to bed,
Befoor aw've chonce o' spaikin,
An th' childer luk, aw've ofttimes sed,
Like orphans when they're laikin.
Come hooam at six o'clock to-morn,
An let wark goa to hummer,
Thi face is growin white an worn:--
Tha'll nivver last all summer.
Besides ther's lots o' little jobs,
At tha can tak a hand in,--
That kist o' drawers has lost two nobs,
An th' table leg wants mendin.
Ther's th' fixin up oth' winderblind,
An th' chaymer wants whiteweshin,
Th' wall's filled wi marks o' ivvery kind,--
(Yond lads desarve a threshin.)
Aw can't shake th' carpet bi misen,
Nor lig it square an straightly;--
Th' childer mud help me nah an then,
But they ne'er do nowt reightly.
That bed o' awrs wants shakin up,
All th' flocks has stuck together,
Tha knows they all want braikin up,
Or they'll get tough as leather.
An th' coilhoil wants a coit o' lime,
Then it'll smell mich sweeter,
An th' cellar should be done this time,
It maks it soa mich leeter.
Ther's lots o' little things beside;--
All th' childer's clogs want spetchin,
Jack's hurts his toa, tha'll mak em wide,
Wi varry little stretchin.
Besides, tha raillee wants a rest,
For a neet, or maybe two,
An tha can fix theas trifles best,
Some neet when tha's nowt to do.
Awm net like some at connot feel
For others, aw assure thi:
Tha's tewd until tha'rt owt but weel;
An nowt but rest can cure thi.
Soa come hooam sooin an spend a neet,
Wi me an Jack an Freddy,
They'll think it's ivver sich a treat;
An aw'll have th' whitewesh ready.