Wikipedia page that gives a little more detail.

If I recall aright, this Lancashire dialect poem was written at the time:

BONNY BRID

by Sam Laycock.


Th'art welcome, little bonny brid,               (1)
But shouldn't ha' come just when tha did;
Toimes are bad.
We're short o' pobbies for eawr Joe,             (2)
But that, of course, tha didn't know,
Did ta, lad?

Aw've often yeard mi feyther tell,
'At when aw coom i' th' world misel'
Trade wur slack;
An' neaw it's hard wark pooin' throo —            (3)
But aw munno fear thee, iv aw do
Tha'll go back.

Cheer up! these toimes'll awter soon;
Aw'm beawn to beigh another spoon —               (4)
One for thee;
An', as tha's sich a pratty face
Aw'll let thee have eawr Charley's place
On mi knee.

God bless thee, love, aw'm fain tha'rt come,
Just try an' mak' thisel awhoam:
Here's thi nest;
Tha'rt loike thi mother to a tee,
But tha's thi feyther's nose, aw see,
Well, aw'm blest!

Come, come tha needn't look so shy,
Aw am no' blamin' thee, not I;
Settle deawn,
An' tak' this haupney for thisel,
There's lots o' sugar-sticks to sell
Deawn i' th' teawn.

Aw know when furst aw coom to th' leet,
Aw're fond o' owt' at tasted sweet;
Tha'll be th' same.
But come, tha's never towd thi dad
What he's to co thee yet, mi lad —
What's thi name?

Hush! hush! tha mustn't cry this way,
But get this sope o' cinder tay
While it's warm;
Mi mother used to give it me,
When aw wur sich a lad as thee,
In her arm.

Hush-a-babby, hush-a-bee,
Oh, what a temper! dear-a-me
Heaw tha skrikes!
Here's a bit o' sugar, sithee;
Howd thi noise, an' then aw'll gie thee
Owt tha likes.

We've nobbut getten coarsish fare,
But, eawt o' this tha'll get thi share,
Never fear.
Aw hope tha'll never want a meal,
But allis fill thi bally weel
While tha'rt here.

Thi feyther's noan been wed so long,
An'yet tha sees he's middlin' throng
Wi' yo' o.
Besides thi little brother Ted,
We've one upsteers, asleep i' bed,
Wi' eawr Joe.

But tho' we've childer two or three,
We'll mak' a bit o' reawm for thee,
Bless thee, lad!
Tha'rt th' prattiest brid we have i' th' nest,
So hutch up closer to mi breast;
Aw'm thi dad.

(1) brid=bird
(2) Pobbies = bread and milk sops
(3) pooin= pulling
(4) Aw'm beawn to beigh another spoon = I must buy another spoon