‘Tes time to riddle out grate, mauther
An’ to maake us desh o’ tay,
Fer be gwain up temberen ‘ill, mauther
In coose fer anawther day.
‘Twas ‘ansum, thy sour-sab pie, mauther
Art a -maakin more come morn?
I’ll taake a pasty fer me croust, mauther
I be up meddow rollin’ corn.
Weather’s finin’ away now, mauther
‘Tes raggin fer rain, sure ‘nough,
Guss-on now, you’m triddlin’ brave, mauther
To talk of sun an’ such stuff.
We won’t cry the neck on morro’, mauther
The harvest is middlin’, ’tis plain,
Ol’ Ben’ll maz’d as a curley
If our lousterin’s dinted by rain.
I see’d Reuben Carne in the kiddley
Grass cap’n up to Wheal Dare;
‘Is piggwidden’s off to St. Austle,
Taak his chance in chaney-bal there.
Thank God our dear cheel did’n see fitty
T’marry darn tinner like that;
I ben’t screechin’ she took’d up with a farmer
‘Twas nice-chance that wasn’t scat.
So gaddle down now thy tay, mauther
Yon ewmers be fadin’ fast,
Come clunk’n down fitty, me ‘ansum,
An’ we’ll clember to tye at long last.
Fer coverclouts waitin’ upstairs, mauther
The catch-up’s fixed on yon door,
So taak off thine apperne quick, mauther
‘Tes time to gaw up once more.
