Awd Isaac, The Steeple Chase, and other Poems

Ther's sum can nowther sit nor lig, Aboot t'election they're seea big, They say they're Britons, rump an' rig, Bud whea can trist 'em, When, frev a Toory tiv a Whig, A glass 'll twist 'em?

Ther's others rayther shoat o' seeght, Fort' seeak o' twea'r three sovrens breeght, Gies in ther vooat, an' thinks it reeght, Te t' Roman stranger; Then others pleeaster up i't' street, "The Church in danger!"

An' seea they yan prevent another, Wi' drinking, politics, an' bother, Thof t' best ov all can't seeave his bruther, Nor ransom him; That spark 'at's left they try te smuther, Wi' stratigem.

As for thooase Methodeys, they say, They mack seea varry mitch te deea, Ther's sum wad deea nowght else bud pray An' reead, an' preeach, Till they git all meead Methodeys, Within ther reeach.

Bud ther wur neean o' this amaze, I' neean ov oor foore elder's days, Thof ther gud deeds an' honest prayers, An' pious reeadins, Hez beean, neea doot, as gud as theers, Wiv all