Eclogue.
THE TIMES.
John an’ Tom.
JOHN.
Well, Tom, how be’st? Zoo thou’st a-got thy neäme
Among the leaguers, then, as I’ve a heärd.
TOM.
Aye, John, I have, John; an’ I ben’t afeärd
To own it. Why, who woulden do the seäme?
We shant goo on lik’ this long, I can tell ye.
Bread is so high an’ wages be so low,
That, after workèn lik’ a hoss, you know,
A man can’t earn enough to vill his belly.
JOHN.
Ah! well! Now there, d’ye know, if I wer sure
That theäsem men would gi’e me work to do
All drough the year, an’ always paÿ me mwore
Than I’m a-earnèn now, I’d jein em too.
If I wer sure they’d bring down things so cheap,
That what mid buy a pound o’ mutton now
Would buy the hinder quarters, or the sheep,
Or what wull buy a pig would buy a cow:
In short, if they could meäke a shillèn goo
In market just so vur as two,
Why then, d’ye know, I’d be their man;
But, hang it! I don’t think they can.
