when, oh! if you had seen the kindly look the old man gave her as he said to me, in his strong Derbyshire dialect, "Hey, maister, my old wife's a good old cratur." The words rang upon my ear until I reached the town of the warped steeple, and there, procuring writing materials, I concocted the following song, which has been set to music by G. Simpson, Sen., and may be had of Messrs. D'Almaine & Co., London.
My old wife is a good old cratur,
Never was a kinder born,
Never did nothing to make me hate her,
Since the wedding ring she 's worn.
And every morning for my breakfast
She gives me good toast and roll
My old wife's a good old cratur,
My old wife's a good old soul.
Then at night when work is over,
She brings my bacca and my beer,
So you see, I lives in clover,
Ain't my wife a good old dear?
And every morning for my breakfast, &c.
And when matters run three-cornered,
She sidles up so droll and kind,
Gives me a "buss" and gently whispers,
Did 'um vex it? Never mind.
And every morning for my breakfast, &c.
If, as now and then it happens,
I get beery, even then
She never says a cross word to me,
But welcomes me with, Well done, Ben!
And every morning for my breakfast, &c.
