A Bad Sooart.

Aw'd rayther face a redwut brick,     Sent flyin at mi heead;     Aw'd rayther track a madman's steps,     Whearivver they may leead;     Aw'd rayther ventur in a den,     An stail a lion's cub;     Aw'd rayther risk the foamin wave     In an old leaky tub.     Aw'd rayther stand i'th' midst o'th' fray,     Whear bullets thickest shower;     Nor trust a mean, black hearted man,     At's th' luck to be i' power.     A redwut brick may miss its mark,     A madman change his whim;     A lion may forgive a theft;     A leaky tub may swim.     Bullets may pass yo harmless by,     An leeav all safe at last;     A thaasand thunders shake the sky,     An spare yo when they've past.     Yo may o'ercome mooast fell disease;     Mak poverty yo're friend;     But wi' a mean, blackhearted man,     Noa mortal can contend.     Ther's malice in his kindest smile,     His proffered hand's a snare;     He's plannin deepest villany,     When seemingly mooast fair.     He leads yo on wi' oily tongue,     Swears he's yo're fastest friend;     He get's yo once within his coils,     An crushes yo i'th' end.     Old Nick, we're tell'd, gooas prowlin aght,     An seeks whom to devour;     But he's a saint, compared to some,     'At's th' luk to be i' power.