Reedin Aud Letters!

Teun- "All Among the Barley."

Aw've just red these aud letters,
That's been se lang lockt by,
A' what they've browt inte me mind,
Te tell ye, whey, aw'll try;
They've myed us think mair then aw de
O' foaks an' times that's gyen,
An' browt such queer reflecshuns
On byeth lasses, lads, an' men
That rote te me, an' nivor dreamt
That pen an' in wad keep
For eers to show the thowts an' words
So dear, an' yet se cheap.

Korus.
Tho sum may give us plissure,
An' sum may giv us pain,
Aw like to reed aud letters,
Tho but littil they contain.

The forst wes frev a playmate,
Where he talks o' days gyen by,
An' menshuns when he went te scheul,
The day he store me pie.
He says he's turn'd a big un noo,
An' lately bowt a keel.
He's married an' got fower bairns,
Aw think he's deein weel;
The second's fev anuther mate,
A bubbly heeded lad,
But faith he's turned a clivor man,
Scheul-maistor!-that's not bad.

The next it's frev anuther frind,
At least a frind aw thowt,
He's axin for a pund or two,
Aw wish aw'd lent him nowt.
But what's the use o' whishing noo,
He said that he wad pay,
But money, or the sight o' him,
Aw've not seen te this day;
The next it's frev a chap that might
Heh been forst-rate off noo,
But he went to be a brewer, an'
He drunk mair than he'd brew.

The next it's frev a lass aw had;
Shey says-"Aw's yor's till deeth."
An' te see the kisses thor's i' this
Wadd fairly stop yor breeth.
She may be mine, but that aw doot,
For hoo aw cannot see,
Last Sunday she wes married tiv
A chep-that issent me;
And letters then ye see contains
Vexashun an' delight,
But if ye'll tyek a frind's advice
Be careful hoo ye write!

-Joe Wilson