IT’S HARD TO CEAWR I’ TH’ CHIMNEY NOOK SAMUEL LAYCOCK
It’s hard to ceawer i’ th’ chimney nook,
Fro’ weary day to day;
An’ no kind word, nor lovin’ look
To drive one’s care away!
Mi clooas are welly o worn eawt,
An’ neaw aw’m sich a seet,
Aw dunno’ loike to walk abeawt
Unless it’s dark at neet.
To get us bread, mi mother sowd
Eawr mattrasses an’ sheets;
An’ oh! it is so bitter cowd,
These frosty winter neets!
Two ladies kindly co’d one day,
An’ put us deawn some shoon;
They said they’d sheets to give away,
An’ we must ha’ some soon.
Eawr Mary Jane’s a bonny lass,
Wi’ two such rosy cheeks;
Hoo goes to th’ Refuge sewin’ class,
An’ has done neaw for weeks.
Poor thing! hoo’s badly starved, aw know,
Hoo’s scarcely owt to wear;
Aw do so wish ’at somebody’d co,
’At’s getten owt to spare.
Her petticoats are o worn eawt;
Her Sunday frock’s i’ holes;
An’ then her boots—hoos’s welly beawt—
They want booath heels an’ soles.
Aw wish mi feyther had a job,
He looks so strange an’ wild;
He’ll sit for heawers at th’ side o’ th’ hob,
An’ cry just like a child.
No wonder he should pine an’ fret,
An’ look soa discontent;
For th’ gas bill isn’t settled yet,
An’ th’ lon’lord wants his rent.
Mi mother’s bin to th’ shop toneet,
To fetch a bit o’ tay;
Hoo says they hardly looken reet,
Becose hoo conno pay.
An’ who con blame ’em? Nob’dy con;
They’re wur nor us, bi th’ mass!
Iv they’re to pay for what they han,
They’re loike to ha’ some brass;
We’n lived as careful as we con
Aw’m sure, but after o
A great big shop score’s runnin’ on,
For twothry pewnd or so.
Aw’ve etten bacon till aw’m sick;
Eawr Jimmy has an’ o;
An’ iv yo’ll ax mi uncle Dick,
He’ll tell yo’ th’ same, aw know.
Of porritch aw’ve had quite enoo,
For they dunno suit, aw find;
Aw conno do wi’ soup an’ stew,
They fill one full o’ wind.