A Warnin.

A poem by John Hartley

A'a dear, what it is to be big!
To be big i' one's own estimation,
To think if we shake a lawse leg,
'At th' world feels a tremblin sensation.
To fancy 'at th' nook 'at we fill,
Wod be empty if we worn't in it,
'At th' universe wheels wod stand still,
If we should neglect things a minnit.

To be able to tell all we meet,
Just what they should do or leeav undone;
To be crammed full o' wisdom an wit,
Like a college professor throo Lundun.
To show statesmen ther faults an mistaks, -
To show whear philosifers blunder;
To prove parsons an doctors all quacks,
An strike men o' science wi' wonder.

But aw've nooaticed, theas varry big men,
'At strut along th' streets like a bantam,
Nivver do mich 'at meeans owt thersen,
For they're seldom at hand when yo want 'em.
At ther hooam, if yo chonce to call in,
Yo may find 'em booath humble an civil,
Wol th' wife tries to draand th' childer's din,
Bi yellin an raisin the devil.

A'a dear, what it is to be big!
But a chap 'at's a fooil needn't show it,
For th' rest o'th' world cares net a fig,
An a thaasand to one doesn't know it.
Consait, aw have often heeard say,
Is war for a chap nor consumption,
An aw'll back a plain chap onny day,
To succeed, if he's nobbut some gumpshun.

My advice to young fowk is to try
To grow honestly better an wiser;
An yo'll find yor reward by-an-by, -
True merit's its own advertiser.
False colors yo'll seldom find fast,
An a mak-believe is but a bubble,
It's sure to get brussen at last,
An contempt's all yo'll get for yor trouble.

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