Aht O' Wark Poem by John Hartley

Aw've been laiking for ommost eight wick,
An' aw can't get a day's wark to do!
Aw've trailed abaht th' streets wol awm sick
An' aw've worn mi clog-soils ommost through.

Aw've a wife and three childer at hooam,
An' aw know they're all lukkin at th' clock,
For they think it's high time aw should come,
An' bring 'em a morsel 'o jock.

A'a dear! it's a pitiful case
When th' cubbord is empty an' bare;
When want's stamped o' ivery face,
An' yo hav'nt a meal yo can share.

To-day as aw walked into th' street,
Th' squire's carriage went rattlin past:
An' aw thout 'at it hardly luk'd reet,
For aw had'nt brokken mi fast.

Them horses, aw knew varry weel,
Wi' ther trappins all shining i' gold,
Had nivver known th' want of a meal,
Or a shelter to keep 'em thro' th' cold.

Even th' dogs have enuff an' to spare,
Tho' they ne'er worked a day i' ther life;
But ther maisters forget they should care
For a chap 'at's three bairns an' a wife.

They give dinners at th' hall ivery neet,
An' ther's carriages standin bi'th scoor,
An' all th' windows are blazin wi leet,
But they seldom give dinners to th' poor.

I' mi pocket aw hav'nt a rap,
Nor a crust, nor a handful o' mail;
An' unless we can get it o'th strap,
We mun pine, or mun beg, or else stail.

But hoamwards aw'll point mi owd clogs
To them three little lambs an' ther dam;
Aw wish they wor horses or dogs,
For it's nobbut poor fowk 'at's to clam.

But they say ther is One 'at can see,
An' has promised to guide us safe through;
Soa aw'll live on i' hopes, an' surelee,
He'll find a chap summat to do.