They all do it.

A poem by John Hartley

They're all buildin nests for thersen,
One bi one they goa fleetin away;
A suitable mate comes, - an then,
I'th' old nest they noa longer can stay.
Well, - it's folly for th' old en's to freeat,
Tho' it's hard to see loved ones depart, -
An we sigh, - let a tear drop, - an yet,
We bless 'em, an give 'em a start.

They've battles to feight 'at we've fowt,
They've trubbles an trials to face;
I'th' futer they luk an see nowt
'At can hamper ther coorse i' life's race.
Th' sun's shinin soa breetly, they think
Sorrow's claads have noa shadow for them,
They walk on uncertainty's brink,
An they see in each teardrop a gem.

Happy dreams 'at they had long ago,
Too sweet to believe - -could be true,
Are realized nah, for they know
Th' world's pleasures wor made for them two.
We know 'at it's all a mistak,
An we pity, an yet we can pray,
'At when th' end comes they'll nivver luk back
Wi' regret to that sweet weddin day.

God bless 'em! may happiness dwell,
I' ther hearts, tho' they beat in a cot;
An if in a palace, - well, - well, -
Shall ther young love be ever forgot.
Nay, - nay, - tho' old Time runs his plough,
O'er fair brows an leaves monny a grove;
May they cloiser cling, th' longer they grow,
Till two lives blend i' one sacred love.

Bless th' bride! wi' her bonny breet e'en!
Bless th' husband, who does weel his part;
Aye! an bless those old fowk where they've been,
The joy an the pride ov ther heart.
May health an prosperity sit
At ther table soa long as they live!
An accept th' gooid wishes aw've writ,
For they're all 'at aw'm able to give.