Me Muther's Warnin!

                      Me muther often says--"Maw canny lad,
                      It's myekin rhyume that myeks ye varry bad;
                      Yor heed's been achin noo for mony a day,
                      So write ne mair, but thraw the trash away!
                      What gud can't de ye myekin Tyneside sangs,
                      Or useless speeches 'boot foaks' reets and rangs?
                      For poets vary seldum de much gud
                      Wi' owt they say or write,--besides ye shud
                      Tyek care i' what ye say, -whe ye defend,
                      Ye may please sum, but mair ye may offend
                      Wi' what ye just may think as harmless chaff;
                      An ye needent kill yorsel te myek foaks laff!
                      An if wi' study ye shud win a nyem,
                      It 'ill gan ne farther than yor Tyneside hyem!
                      Newcassel taek's a queerish thing te reed,
                      Aw dinnet knaw what put sic i' yor heed:
                      Yor ower young te tell foaks what te de,
                      So write ne mair!-tyek this advice frae me!"

                      Aw's sure aw's sorry that aw thus disploease,
                      An writin sangs, me canny muther teaze,
                      But if aw dinnet write, aw think the syem,
                      Tho maw poor efforts may appear but lyem
                      Te them greet critics, that man's fate can seal,
                      Aw hope thor censure aw may nivor feel;
                      Me constant aim's te please, instruct, amuse,
                      Gud humour and gud will a' roond infuse:
                      Contented, blist, shud aw me end attain;
                      A humble candidate for your regard,
                      Aw sign me-sel Joe Wilson, Tyneside Bard.

                      -Joe Wilson