Natty Nancy.

"Mooar fowk get wed nor what do weel,"     A've heeard mi mother say;     But mooast young lads an lasses too,     Think just th' contrary way.     An lasses mooar nor lads it seems,     To wed seem nivver flaid;     For nowt they seem to dreead as mich     As deein an old maid.     But oft for single life they sigh,     An net withaat a cause,     When wi' ther tongue they've teed a knot,     Ther teeth's too waik to lawse.     Days arn't allus weddin days,     They leearn that to ther sorrow,     When panics come an th' brass gets done,     An they've to try to borrow.     When th' chap at th' strap shop's lukkin glum,     An hardly seems to know yo;     An gooas on sarvin other fowk     As if he nivver saw yo.     An when yo're fain to pile up th' foir,     Wi' bits o' cowks an cinders; -     When poverty says, "here' aw've come,"     Love hooks it aght o'th' winders.     Friends yo once had are far too thrang     To ax yo to yer drinkin;     They happen dunnot meean owt wrang, -     But one cannot help for thinkin.     An when yo're lukkin seedy like,     Wi' patched an tattered clooas;     Yo'll find when yer coit elbows gape,     Sich friends oft shut ther doors.     Ther are poor fowk 'at's happier far,     Nor rich ens, - ther's noa daat on't,     For brass cannot mak happiness,     But sewerly it's a pairt on't.     Aw'll tell yo ov a tale aw heeard, -     It's one 'at tuk mi fancy, -     Abaat a young chap an his wife,     They called her Natty Nancy.     They called her Natty, yo mun know     Becoss shoo wor soa clivver,     At darnin, cookin, weshin clooas     Or onny job whativver.     Well, they began as monny do     'At arn't blest wi' riches;     He hugg'd all th' fortun he possessed     I'th' pocket ov his britches.     It worn't mich, it wodn't raich     Aboon a two-o'-three shillin;     But they wor full ov hooap an health,     An they wor strong an willin.     An fowk wor capt to see ha sooin     Ther little cot grew cooasy;     Shoo'd allus summat cheerful like,     If't nobbut wor a pooasy.     Soa time slipt on, an all went weel     When Dick sed, "Natty, lass,     A-latly aw've begun to feel     Aw'st like a bigger haase.     For when aw tuk this cot for thee,     We'd nubdy but ussen;     But sin that lad wor born ther's three,     An ther'll sooin be four, an then?"     "Why, Dick," shoo sed, "just suit thisen,     Here's raam enuff for me;     But if tha'rt anxious for a change,     Aw'm willin to agree."     Soa sooin they tuk a bigger haase,     They tew'd throo morn to neet,     To mak it smart, an varry sooin     'Twor th' nicest haase i'th' street.     An when a little lass wor born     They thowt ther pleasur double;     But Dick, alas! had nah to taste     A little bit o' trubble.     For times wer growin varry hard,     An wark kept gettin slacker;     He'd furst to goa withaat his ale,     An then to stop his bacca.     But even that did net suffice     To keep want at a distance,     An they'd noa whear i'th' world to turn,     To luk for some assistance.     An monny a time he left his meal     Untouched, tho' ommost pinin;     An trail'd abaat, i' hooaps to find     Some breeter fortun shinin.     For long he sowt, but sowt in vain,     Although his heart wor willin     To turn or twist a hundred ways,     To get an honest shillin.     One day his wife coom back throo th' shop,     Her heart seem'd ommost brustin;     Shoo sob'd, "Oh, Dick, - what mun we do,     Th' shop keeper's stall'd o' trustin.     We've nowt to ait, lad, left i'th' haase, -     Aw know th' fault isn't thine,     But th' childer's bellies mun be fill'd     Tho' thee an me's to pine."     Dick seized his hat an aght o'th' door     He flew like somdy mad,     Detarmined 'at he'd get some brass,     If brass wor to be had.     He furst tried them he thowt his friends,     An tell'd his touchin stooary;     They button'd up ther pockets     As they sed, "We're varry sooary."     They tell'd him to apply to th' taan,     Or sell his goods an chattels;     Dick felt at last 'at he'd to feight     One o' life's hardest battles.     For when he'd tried 'em ivvery one     He fan aght to his sorrow,     'At fowk wi' brass have far mooar friends,     Nor them 'at wants to borrow.     Wi' empty hands, hooamwards he went,     An thear on th' doorstep gleamin,     Wor ligg'd a shillin, raand an white; -     He thowt he must be dreamin.     He rub'd his een, an eyed it o'er,     A-feeard lest it should vanish,     He sed, "some angel's come aw'm sewer,     Awr misery to banish."     He pickt it up an lifted th' sneck,     Then gently oppen'd th' door,     An thear wor Nancy an his bairns,     All huddled up o'th' flooar.     "Cheer up!" he sed, "gooid luck's begun,     Here, - tak this brass an spend it;     It isn't mine, lass, but aw'm sewer     Aw think the Lord has sent it."     A'a! ha her heart jumpt up wi' joy!     Shoo felt leet as a feather;     An off shoo went an bowt some stuff,     Then they set daan together.     Befooar they'd weel begun, at th' door,     They heeard a gentle tappin,     "Goa Dick," shoo sed, "luk sharp, - awm sewer     Aw heead sombody rappin."     It wor a poor old beggar man     Who ax'd for charity;     "Come in!" sed Dick, "it's borrow'd stuff,     But tha shall share wi' me.     Soa set thi jaws a waggin lad, -     It's whooalsum, nivver heed it,     An if tha ivver has a chonce,     Pay back to them 'at need it."     Wi' th' best they had th' old chap wor plied,     An but few words wor spokken,     Till th' old chap pushed his plate aside,     An silence then wor brokken.     "Aw'm varry old an worn," he sed,     This life's soa full o' cares,     Yet have aw sometimes entertained     An angel unawares.     Ther's One aboon reads ivvery heart,     An them 'at he finds true,     Altho' He tries 'em sooar, - at last,     He minds to pool 'em throo.     Then nivver let yor faith grow dim,     Altho yo've hard to feight;     Just let yer trust all rest o' Him,     An He'll put all things straight,     He quietly sydled aght o'th' door,     An when they lukt araand,     A purse they'd nivver seen befooar     Wor liggin up o'th' graand.     Dick pickt it up - what could it be?     He hardly dar to fancy; -     "Why, its addressed to thee an me!     To Dick an Natty Nancy!"      -    -    -    -    -     They oppened it wi' tremblin hands,     An when they saw the treasure;     'Twor hard to say which filled 'em mooast,     Astonishment or pleasur.     Ther wor a letter for 'em too,     An this wor ha it ended, -     "You once helped me, may this help you, -     From one you once befriended,"      -    -    -    - -     They nivver faand aght who he wor,     Altho' they spared noa labor;     But for his sake they ne'er refuse     To help ther needy naybor.