Mak th' best on't,—mak th' best on't,—tho' th' job be a bad en,
God bless mi life! childer, its useless to freeat!
This world's reight enuff, but it wod be a sad en,
If we all started rooarin for what we cant get.
Who knows but what th' things we mooast wish for an covet,
Are th' varry warst things we could ivver possess;
Let's shak hands wi' awr luck, an try soa to love it,
'At noa joy ov awr life shall be made onny less.
Mak th' best on't,—mak th' best on't,—ne'er heed if yor naybor
Can live withaat workin wol yo have to slave;
Ther's nowt sweetens life like some honest hard labor,
An it's th' battles yo feight 'at proves yo are brave.
Ne'er heed if grim poverty pays yo a visit,
'Twill nivver stop long if yo show a bold front;
It's noa sin to be poor, if yo cant help it,—is it?
Soa keep up yor pecker an gie sorrow a shunt.
Mak th' best on't,—mak th' best on't,—if Fortune should favor,
An a big share o' blessins pour into yor lap,
'Twill give to yor pleasures a mich better flavor,
If yo share yor gooid luck wi' some other poor chap.
Depend on't, ther's nowt tends to mak life as jolly,
As just to mak th' best ov what falls to yor lot;
For freeatin at best is a waste an a folly,
An it nivver will help to mend matters a jot.