Second Thowts.

A poem by John Hartley

Aw've been walkin up th' loin all ith weet,
Aw felt sure tha'd be comin that way;
For tha promised tha'd meet me to-neet,
An answer me "Aye" or else "Nay."
Tho aw hevn't mich fear tha'll refuse,
Yet awd rayther mi fate tha'd decide,
For this trailin abaat is no use,
Unless tha'll at last be mi bride.

Aw dooant like keepin thus i' suspense,
An aw think tha'rt too full o' consait;
If aw get thee tha'll bring me expense,
To provide thee wi clooas an wi mait.
If tha fancies all th' gain's o' my side
Tha'rt makkin a sorry mistak,
For when a chap tackles a bride,
He's an extra looad on his back.

An in fact, when aw study things o'er,
Awm nooan sorry tha hasn't shown up,
For awm nooan badly off nah awm sure,
For awve plenty to ait an to sup.
Aw've noa wife to find fault if awm lat,
Aw've noa childer to feed nor to clam,
An when aw put this thing to that,
Aw think aw shall stop as aw am.

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