Happy Sam's Song.

A poem by John Hartley

Varry monny years ago, when this world wor rather young,
A varry wicked sarpent, wi' a varry oily tongue,
Whispered summat varry nowty into Mistress Adam's ear;
An shoo pluckt a little apple 'at soa temptingly hung near.
Then shoo ait this dainty fruit shoo'd been tell'd shoo mudn't touch,
An shoo gave some to her husband, but it wornt varry much: -
But sin that fatal day, he wor tell'd, soa it wor sed,
'At henceforth wi' a sweeaty broo, he'd have to earn his breead.
An all awr lords an princes, an ladies great an grand,
Have all sprung off that common stock a laborer i' the land;
Soa aw think ther airs an graces are little but a sham,
An aw wodn't change 'em places wi' hardworkin, Happy Sam.

Awm contented wi' mi share,
Rough an ready tho' mi fare,
An aw strive to do mi duty to mi naybor;
If yo wonder who aw am,
Well, - mi name is Happy Sam;
Awm a member ov the multitude who labor.

When aw've worked throo morn to neet for a varry little brass,
Yet a smilin welcome greets me from mi buxom, bonny lass;
An two tiny little toddles come to meet me at mi door,
An they think noa less ov daddy's kiss becoss that daddy's poor;
An as aw sit to smook mi pipe, mi treasures on mi knee;
Aw think ther's net a man alive 'at's hawf as rich as me;
Aw wodn't change mi station wi' a king upon his throne,
For ivvery joy araand me, honest labor's made mi own.
An we owe noa man a penny 'at we're net prepared to pay,
An we're tryin hard to save a bit agean a rainy day.
Soa aw cry a fig for care! Awm contented as aw am, -
An bless the fate 'at made me plain, hardworkin, Happy Sam.

Awm contented wi' mi share,
Rough an ready tho' mi fare,
An aw strive to do mi duty to mi naybor;
If yo wonder who aw am,
Well, mi name is Happy Sam,
Awm a member ov the multitude who labor.

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