Gradely Weel off.

A poem by John Hartley

Draw thi cheer nigher th' foir, put th' knittin away,
Put thi tooas up o'th' fender to warm:
We've booath wrought enuff, aw should think, for a day,
An a rest willn't do us mich harm.
Awr lot's been a rough en, an tho' we've grown old,
We shall have to toil on to its end;
An altho' we can booast nawther silver nor gold,
Yet we ne'er stood i'th' want ov a Friend.

Soa cheer up, old lass,
Altho' we've grown grey,
An we havn't mich brass,
Still awr hearts can be gay:
For we've health an contentment an soa we can say,
'At we're gradely weel off after all.

As aw coom ovver th' moor, a fine carriage went by,
An th' young squire wor sittin inside;
An wol makkin mi manners aw smothered a sigh,
As for th' furst time aw saw his young bride.
Shoo wor white as a sheet, an soa sickly an sad,
Wol aw could'nt but pity his lot;
Thinks aw, old an grey, yet awm richer to-day,
For aw've health an content i' mi cot.
Soa cheer up, old lass, &c.

Gie me th' pipe off o'th' hob, an aw'll tak an odd whiff,
For aw raillee feel thankful to-neet;
An altho' mi booans wark, an mi joints are all stiff,
Yet awm able to keep mi heart leet.
If we've had a fair share ov th' world's trubble an care,
We mun nivver forget i' times past,
Ther wor allus one Friend, His help ready to lend,
An He'll nivver forsake us at last.
Soa cheer up, old lass, &c.

Tho' we've noa pew at th' church, an we sit whear we can,
An th' sarmon we dooant understand;
An th' sarvice is all ov a new fangled plan,
An th' mewsic's suppooased to be grand, -
We can lift up awr hearts when we come hooam at neet,
As we sing th' old psalms ovver agean;
An tho' old crackt voices dooant saand varry sweet,
He knows varry weel what we mean.

Soa cheer up, old lass,
Altho' we've grown grey,
An we havn't mich brass,
Still awr hearts can be gay;
For we've health an contentment, an soa we can say,
'At we're gradely weel off after all.