A Millionaire.

A poem by John Hartley

Aw wodn't gie a penny piece
To be a millionaire,
For him 'at's little cattle, is
The chap wi' little care.
Jewels may flash o'er achin broos,
An silken robes may hide
Bosoms all fair to look upon,
Whear braikin hearts abide.

Gie me enuff for daily needs,
An just a bit to spend;
Enuff to pay mi honest way,
An help a strugglin friend.
Aw'll be contented it aw keep
The wolf from off mi door;
Aw'll envy nubdy o' ther brass,
An nivver dream awm poor.

Dewdrops 'at shine i'th' early morn
Are diamons for me.
An jewels glint i' ivvery tint,
On th' hill or daan i'th' lea.
My sweet musicianers are burds
At tune their joyous lay,
Araand mi cottage winder,
An nivver strike for pay.

Aw lang for noa fine carriages
To drag me raand about!
Shanks galloway my purpose fits
Far better, beyond daat.
An when at times aw weary grow,
An fain wod have a rest;
Aw toddle hooam an goa to bed, -
That allus answers best.

"Insomnia;" ne'er bothers me, -
It's tother way abaght;
Aw sleep throo tummelin into bed,
Wol th' time to tummel aght.
Aw nivver want a "pick-me-up,"
To tempt mi appetite;
Aw ait what's set anent me,
An aw relish ivvery bite.

What pleasure has a millionaire
'At aw've net one to match?
Awd show 'em awm best off o'th' two,
If they'd come up to th' scratch.
Ov one thing aw feel sartin sewer,
They've mooar nor me to bear;
Yo bet! its net all "Lavender,"
To be a millionaire.

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