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Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now, The maids may twine the summer bough, May northward look with longing glance For those that went to lead the dance, For the blithe archers look in vain! Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en, Pierced through, trod down, by thousands slain, They cumber Bannock's bloody plain!
When one gets sixty year owd, they needen to go to schoo again neaw; they getten o'erta'en wi' so many kerly-berlies o' one mak and another. Mon, owd folk at has to wortch for a livin' cannot keep up wi' sich times as these, nought o'th sort." "Well, but how do you manage to live?" "Well, aw can hardly tell, aw'll be sunken iv aw can tell.
She understood the mute appeal, and composing herself by a strong effort said: "My dear father an' mither, a great grief has o'erta'en us sin' we left hame', an' our hearts are wellnigh broken; we buried wee Susie in the caul waters o' the ocean."
She understood the mute appeal, and composing herself by a strong effort said: "My dear father an' mither, a great grief has o'erta'en us sin' we left hame', an' our hearts are well-nigh broken; we buried wee Susie in the caul waters o' the ocean."
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