Prime October.

Ther's some fowk like watter,     An others like beer;     It doesn't mich matter,     If ther heead is kept clear.     But to guzzle an swill,     As if aitin an drinkin     Wor all a chap lives for,     Is wrang to my thinkin.     Ivvery gooid thing i' life     Should be takken i' reason;     Even takkin a wife     Should be done i'th' reight season.     Tho' i' that case to give     Advice is noa use,     Aw should ne'er win fowk's thanks     But might get some abuse.     But if ther's a fault     'At we owt to luk ovver,     It's when a chap's tempted     Wi' "prime old October."     An to cheer up his spirits     As nowt else on earth could,     He keeps testin its merits,     An gets mooar nor he should.     Ov coorse he'll be blamed     If he gets ovver th' mark;     An noa daat he'll feel shamed     When he's throo wi' his lark.     An he'll promise "it nivver     Shall happen agean,"     Tho' he's feelin all th' time     Just as dry as a bean.     But who can resist,     When it sparkles an shines;     An his nooas gets a whif     At's mooar fragrant nor wines?     Aw'd forgie a teetotaller     At sich times, if he fell; -     For aw know ha it is,     'Coss aw've been thear mysel.