“Onward!” an’ “Excelsior;” An’ try for t’ top o’t’ tree: An’ if thi enemies still pursue, Which ten-ta-one they will, Show um owd lad, tha’rt doin’ weel, An’ climin’ up the hill. Owd Betty’s Advice. So Mary, lass, tha’rt bahn to wed It mornin’, we young Blacksmith Ned, An’ though it maks thi mother sad, It’s like to be; I’ve nowt ageean yond dacent lad, No more ner thee. Bud let me tell tha what ta due, For my advise might help tha thru; Be kind, and to thi husband true, An’ I’ll be bun Tha’ll nivver hev a day ta rue For owt that’s done. p. 19Nah, try to keep thi former knack, An’ du thi weshin’ in a crack, Bud don’t be flaid to bend thi back, Tha’ll nobbut sweeat; So try an’ hev a bit o’ tack, An’ du it neeat. p. 19 Be sure tha keeps fra bein’ a flirt, An’ pride thysel i’ bein’ alert,— An’ mind ta mend thi husband’s shirt, An’ keep it cleean; It wod thi poor owd mother hurt, If tha wur meean. Don’t kal abaht like monny a wun, Then hev to broil, an’ sweeat, an’ run; Bud alus hev thi dinner done Withaht a mooild; If it’s nobbut meil, lass, set it on, An’ hev it boiled. Now Mary, I’ve no more ta say— Tha gets thi choice an’ tak thi way; An’ if tha leets to rue, I pray, Don’t blame thi mother: I wish yeh monny a happy day Wi wun another. p. 20T’owd Blacksmith’s Advice ta hiz Son Ned. p. 20 So, Ned, awm geen ta understand, Tha’rt bahn ta join i’ wedlock band, Ta travil thru life’s weeary strand, Yond lass an’ thee; But if yer joinin’ heart an’ hand, It pleases me. Nah tha’ll hev trubbles, Ned, ta bear, While pushin’ thru this world o’ care, An’ wat tha’ll hev it face ta stare, It’s hard ta tell; Life’s ups and dahns tha’ll get ta share, So pleas thisel’. Tha’rt weel an’ strong, long may it last; But age an’ care creep on us fast; Then act az tha can luke at t’past An’ feel no shaam; Then if tha’rt poor az sum ahtcast, Tha’rt noan ta blame. Doant sport abaht an’ wagers bet, But mind an’ shun that foolish set At cannut mak ther awn ta fet, Though shaam to say it. An’ mind tha keeps fra bein’ i’ debt, An’ tha’ll be reight. p. 21Nah stick fast hod o’ iron will; Push boldly on an’ feear no ill; Keep Him i’ veiw,
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