Contrasts.

A poem by John Hartley

If yo've a fancy for a spree,
Goa up to Lundun, same as me,
Yo'll find ther's lots o' things to see,
To pleeas yo weel.
If seem isn't quite enuff,
Yo needn't tew an waste yor puff,
To find some awkard sooarts o' stuff
At yo can feel.

Yo'll nobbut need to set yor shoe
On some poleeceman's tender toa, -
A varry simple thing to do, -
An wi a crack
Enuff to mak a deead man jump,
Daan comes his staff, an leeaves a lump,
An then he'll fling yo wi a bump,
Flat o' yor back.

If signs o' riches suit yo best,
Yer een can easily be blest;
Or if yo seek for fowk distrest,
They're easy fun,
Wi faces ommost worn to nowt,
An clooas at arn't worth a thowt,
Yet show ha long wi want they've fowt,
Till fairly done.

Like a big ball it rolls along,
A nivver ending, changing throng,
Mixt up together, waik an strong, -
An gooid an bad.
Virtues an vices side bi side, -
Poverty slinkin after pride, -
Wealth's waste, an want at's hard to bide,
Some gay, some sad.

It ommost maks one have a daat,
(To see some strut, some crawl abaat,
One in a robe, one in a claat,)
If all's just square.
It may be better soa to be,
But to a simpleton like me,
It's hard to mak sich things agree;
It isn't fair.

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