Owd Ailse's Thrift Poem by William Baron

'What meks tha sit so quate, to-neet ?
Come, hes ta nowt to say ?
Theaw coom i' th' heawse an' never spoke
O th' time theaw geet thi tay.
An' when aw looked up i' thi een,
Aw seed tears peepin' throo;
Neaw, lad, ther's summat trubbles tha,
Sooa tell me what's to do.'

' Well, lass, aw mut as weel speyk eawt—
Aw've some bad news to tell;
An' when aw've towd mi tale, aw know
Theaw'll be upset thisel.
Life's bin just like a sunny dreeam,
But neaw it's drear an' dark;
An' th' cause uv o mi trubble, lass,
Is this—aw'm eawt o' wark.

' Aw've woven deawn at th' factory yon
For close on forty year ;
But age an' service ceawnt as nowt
If th' average isno' theer.
For neaw, becose aw've getten owd,
An' connot keep up th' pace,
Aw hev to shift for younger folks
To come an' tek mi place.

' When th' jobber coom wi' t'- slate, to-day,
He fairly carried on ;
An' towd me he'd be like to try
To find a better mon.
He waited for me comin' eawt,
As soon as th' engine stopped;
An' sed aw needno' gooa no mooar,
Becose mi looms wur shopped.

' An' that's what's med me sit so quate,
Sin' aw coom whoam to-neet;
We've nowt i' th' world to save us neaw
Fro' bein' turned i' th' street.
For th' bits o' goods 'll soon be gone—
An' when they've o bin sowd,
Ther'll be nowt left but t' warkheawse then,
An' t' thowt on't meks me cowd.'

' Theaw needno' look so deawn, owd lad,—
Just hear what aw've to say :
We'st never gooa to th' warkheawse, mon,
Sooa drive sich thowts away.
An' as for bein' turned i' th' street—
That's what 'll never be ;
For this owd heawse we're livin' in
Belongs to thee an' me.

' Aw've t' deeds for t' locked i' th' dresser-drawer,
They've bin theer mony a while.
An' sitha what aw've getten here—
Aw knew aw'd mek tha smile !
It's t' bank-book, showin' th' brass aw've saved—
Ne'er mind heaw it's bin done;
Ther's what'll keep us booath for life,
An' mooar beside, owd mon!'

' God bless thee, Ailse! Theaw good owd wife,
Aw never thowt o' this!
Words connot tell mi feelin's, lass,
Sooa, come, let's hev a kiss !
Theaw's bin th' good angel o' mi life—
A priceless. Heaven-sent gift;
An' breetent up life's closin' days
Wi' th' fruits o' luv an' thrift !'