"Come, help thisen, lad,—help thisen!"
Wor what mi uncle sed.
We'd just come in throo makkin hay,
To get some cheese an breead.
An help misen aw did,—yo bet!
Aw wor a growin lad;
Aw thowt then, an aw fancy yet,
'Twor th' grandest feed aw'd had.
When aw grew up aw fell i' love,—
Shoo wor a bonny lass!
But bein varry young an shy,
Aw let mi chonces pass.
Aw could'nt for mi life contrive
A thing to do or say,
For fear aw should offend her, soa
Aw let her walk away.
But what aw suffered nooan can tell;—
Aw loved her as mi life!
But dursn't ax her for the world
To be mi darlin wife.
Aw desperate grew,—we met,—aw ax'd
For just one kuss,—an then,
Shoo blushed, an shook her bonny curls,
But let me help misen.
It's varry monny years sin then,—
Mi hair's nah growin gray;
But oft throo life aw've thowt aw've heeard
That same owd farmer say,—
When in some fix aw've vainly sowt
For aid from other men,—
"Tha'rt wastin time,—if tha wants help
Pluck up, an help thisen."
If th' prize yo long for seems too heigh,
Dooant let yor spirits drop;
Ther may be lots o' thrustin, but
Yo'll find ther's room at th' top.
Yo connot tell what yo can do
Until yo've had a try;
It may be a hard struggle, but
Yo'll get thear, by-an-bye.
Nah, young fowk, bear this in yor mind
An let it be yor creed,
For sooin yo'll find fowk's promises
Are but a rotten reed.
Feight yor own battles bravely throo,
Yo'll sewerly win, an then
Yo'll find ther's lots will help yo,
When yo con help yorsen.