Yon Cottage Uv Eawrs Poem by William Baron

Aw've a snug little cot, an' a sweet-tempered wife,
To help me an' cheer me throo th' journey o' life;
Aw've a nice little garden at th' front o' mi dooar,
An', tho' humble mi lot, yet aw wish for no mooar;
For yon four bonny childer 'at creawd reawnd mi knee,
Are a theawsand times dearer than riches to me ;
For they breeten life's pathway, like sweet summer fleawers,
An' fill wi' contentment yon cottage uv eawrs.

When homeward aw turn fro' mi labour, at neet,
Mi heart gi'es a beawnd soon as th' chimney's i' seet;
An' when seated at last on mi own humble hearth,
Mi weariness flies as new joys spring to birth.
Ther's th' tay-things on th' table, an' o seems so snug,
An' mi owd easy-slippers lie warmin' on th' rug ;
While th' fire 'at shines eawt warm an' cheerful throo th'bars,
Meks o look so breet i' yon cottage uv eawrs.

When th' childer get quater, as th' neet weears away,
Aw draw up to th' har'stone, an' smook mi long clay ;
Eawr Joe gets his slate—he's his home-work to do,
While eawr Jane does hur sewin' to tek back to th' schoo' ;
Ther's wife sits reet facin', wi' th' young'st on hur knee,
While Mary, th' next youngest, comes hutchin' to me;
It's seldom 'at trubble eawr happiness mars.
For bliss reigns supreme i' yon cottage uv eawrs.

God bless yo mi childer, mi whoam, an' mi wife!—
Witheawt yo, this world wur an ocean o' strife;
Wheeraw should be tossed, like a boat, to an' fro,
An' happen be sunk in a whirlpool o' woe.
It's yo 'at mek th' world like an' Eden to me
An' th' thowts on yo cheer me wheere'er aw may be ;
Oh, may we o meet i' that land beyond th' stars,
When Deeath co's us off fro yon cottage uv eawrs!