XIII

An' thou was es fond o' thy bairns es I be mysen o' my cats,

But I niver not wish'd fur childer, I hevn't naw likin' fur brats;

Pretty anew when ya dresses 'em oop, an' they goäs fur a walk,

Or sits wi' their 'ands afoor 'em, an' doesn't not 'inder the talk!

But their bottles o' pap, an' their mucky bibs, an' the clats an' the clouts,

An' their mashin' their toys to pieäces an' maäkin' ma deaf wi' their shouts,

An' hallus a-joompin' about ma as if they was set upo' springs,

An' a haxin' ma hawkard questions, an' saäyin' ondecent things,

Alt' a-callin' ma 'hugly' mayhap to my faäce, or a teärin' my gown—

Dear! dear! dear! I mun part them Tommies—Steevie git down.