Fairly Weel-off.

A poem by John Hartley

Ov whooalsum food aw get mi fill, -
Ov drink aw seldom want a gill;
Aw've clooas to shield me free throo harm,
Should winds be cold or th' sun be warm.

Aw rarely have a sickly spell, -
Mi appetite aw'm fain to tell
Ne'er plays noa scurvy tricks on me,
Nowt ivver seems to disagree.

Aw've wark, as mich as aw can do, -
Sometimes aw laik a day or two, -
Mi wage is nobbut small, but yet,
Aw manage to keep aght o' debt.

Mi wife, God bless her! ivvery neet
Has slippers warmin for mi feet;
An th' hearthstun cleean, an th' drinkin laid,
An th' teah's brew'd an th' tooast is made.

An th' childer weshed, an fairly dressed,
Wi' health an happiness are blest;
An th' youngest, tho' aw say't misen,
Is th' grandest babby ivver seen.

Aw've friends, tho' humble like misen,
They're gradely, upright, workin-men,
They're nooan baght brains oth' sooart they're on; -
They do what's reight as near's they con.

Aw tak small stock i' politics,
For lib'ral shams an tooary tricks,
Have made me daat 'em one an all; -
Ther words are big, but deeds are small.

Aw goa to th' chapil, yet confess
Aw'm somewhat daatful, moor or less,
For th' chaps at cracks up gloory soa,
Ne'er seem in onny haste to goa.

To me, religion seems quite plain; -
Aw cause noa fellow-mortal pain,
Aw do a kind act when aw can,
An hooap to dee an honest man.

Aw hooap to live till old an gray,
An when th' time comes to goa away,
Aw feel convinced some place ther'll be,
Just fit for sich a chap as me.

Green fields, an trees, an brooks, an flaars,
Are treasures we can all call awrs,
An when hooam is earth's fairest spot
One should be thankful for his lot.

Aw'm nooan contented, - nay, net aw!
Aw nivver con be tho' aw try;
But aw enjoy th' gooid things aw have,
An if aw for moor blessins crave,
It's more for th' sake o'th' wife an bairns,
To spare them my life's ups an daans.

Well, yo may laff, an sneerin say,
Aw'm praad an selfish i' mi way; -
Maybe aw am, - but yo'll agree,
Ther's few fowk better off nor me.