Heart Brokken.

He wor a poor hard workin lad,
An shoo a workin lass,
An hard they tew'd throo day to day,
For varry little brass.
An oft they tawk'd o'th' weddin day,
An lang'd for th' happy time,
When poverty noa moor should part,
Two lovers i' ther prime.
But wark wor scarce, an wages low,
An mait an drink wor dear,
They did ther best to struggle on,
As year crept after year.
But they wor little better off,
Nor what they'd been befoor;
It tuk 'em all ther time to keep
Grim Want aghtside o'th' door.
Soa things went on, wol Hope at last,
Gave place to dark despair;
They felt they'd nowt but lovin hearts,
An want an toil to share.
At length he screw'd his courage up
To leeav his native shore;
An goa where wealth wor worshipped less,
An men wor valued moor.
He towld his tale; - poor lass! - a tear
Just glistened in her e'e;
Then soft shoo whispered, "please thisen,
But think sometimes o' me:
An whether tha's gooid luck or ill,
Tha knows aw shall be glad
To see thee safe at hooam agean,
An welcome back mi lad."
"Awl labor on, an do mi best;
Tho' lonely aw must feel,
But awst be happy an content
If tha be dooin weel.
But ne'er forget tho' waves may roll,
An keep us far apart;
Tha's left a poor, poor lass behind,
An taen away her heart."
"Dost think 'at aw can e'er forget,
Whearivver aw may rooam,
That bonny face an lovin heart,
Aw've prized soa dear at hooam?
Nay lass, nooan soa, be sure o' this,
'At till next time we meet
Tha'll be mi first thowt ivvery morn,
An last thowt ivvery neet."
He went away an years flew by,
But tidins seldom came;
Shoo couldn't help, at times, a sigh,
But breathed noa word o' blame;
When one fine day a letter came,
'Twor browt to her at th' mill,
Shoo read it, an her tremblin hands,
An beating heart stood still.
Her fellow workers gathered raand
An caught her as shoo fell,
An as her heead droop'd o' ther arms,
Shoo sighed a sad "farewell."
Poor lass! her love had proved untrue,
He'd play'd a traitor's part,
He'd taen another for his bride,
An broke a trustin heart.
Her doleful stooary sooin wor known,
An monny a tear wor shed;
They took her hooam an had her laid,
Upon her humble bed;
Shoo'd nawther kith nor kin to come
Her burial fees to pay;
But some poor comrade's undertuk,
To see her put away.
Each gave what little helps they could,
From aght ther scanty stooar;
I' hooaps 'at some 'at roll'd i' wealth
Wod give a trifle moor.
But th' maisters ordered 'em away,
Abaat ther business, sharp!
For shoo'd deed withaat a nooatice,
An shoo hadn't fell'd her warp.