Part 1 (1/2)

Random Rhymes and Rambles.

by William Wright.

INTRODUCTION.

_The RANDOM RHYMES and RAMBLES_, _in verse and prose_, _are but the leisure musings of the uneducated_, _and cannot be expected to come up to anything like the standard of even poetry_; _yet_, _when the fact is known that the Author_, _like his Works_, _are rough and ready_, _without the slightest notion of either Parna.s.sus or the Nines_, _at least give him credit for what they are worth_.

_WILLIAM WRIGHT_.

Random Rhymes AND Rambles.

Come Nivver De e Thee Sh.e.l.l.

Come nivver dee e thy sh.e.l.l, oud lad, Are words but rudely said; Tho thay may chear some stricken heart, Or raise some wretched head; For thay are words I love mysel, They're music to my ear; Thay muster up fresh energy Ta chase each dout an' fear.

Nivver dee e thy sh.e.l.l, oud lad, Tho tha be poor indeed; Ner lippen ta long it turning up Sa mich ov a friend in need; Fer few ther are, an' far between, That helps a poor man thru; An G.o.d helps them at helps thersel, An' thay hev friends enew.

Nivver dee e thy sh.e.l.l, oud lad, What ivver thy crediters say; Tell um at least tha'rt forst ta owe, If tha artant able ta pay; An if thay nail thy bits o' traps, An sell thee dish an' spooin; Remember fickle fortun lad, Sho changes like the mooin.

Nivver dee e thy sh.e.l.l, oud lad, Tho some ma laugh an scorn; There wor nivver a neet 'fore ta neet, Bud what there come a morn; An if blind fortun used thee bad, Sho's happen noan so meean; Ta morn al come, an then for some The sun will s.h.i.+ne ageean.

Nivver dee e thy sh.e.l.l, oud lad, Bud let thy motto be,- ”Onward! an' excelsior;”

And try for t' top o't tree: And if thy enemies still pursue, Which ten-to-one they will, Show um oud lad tha'rt doing weel, An climbing up the hill.

Oud Betty's Advice.

So Mary, la.s.s, tha'rt bahn to wed It morning we young blacksmith Ned, And tho it makes thy mother sad, Its like to be; I've nout ageean yond decent lad No more ner thee.

Bud let me tell thee what ta due, For my advice might help thee thru; Be kind, and to thy husband true, An I'll be bun Tha'll nivver hev a day ta rue, For out tha's done.

Nah, try to keep thi former knack, An due thi wes.h.i.+ng in a crack, Bud don't be flaid to bend thi back, Tha'll n.o.bbut sweeat; So try an hev a bit o' tack, An do it neat.

Be sure tha keeps fra being a flirt, An pride thysel e being alert,- An mind to mend thi husband's s.h.i.+rt, An keep it clean; It wod thy poor oud mother hurt, If tha wor mean.

Don't kal abaht like monny a wun, Then hev to broil, an sweeat, an run; Bud, alus hev thy dinner done, Withaht a mooild; If its n.o.bbut meil, la.s.s, set it on, An hev it boiled.

So Mary, I've no more to say- Tha gets thy choice an' tak thy way; An if tha leets to rue, I pray, Don't blame thy mother: I wish you monny a happy day We wun another.

The Fugitive: a Tale Kersmas Time.