The Young Rhymer Snubbed

To meäke up rhymes, my mind wer zoo a-vire
'Twer idle work to try to keep me quiet,
O' meäken rhymes my heart did never tire;
Though I should never be a gainer by it.
" You meäke up rhyme!" vo'k zaid, " why who would buy it?
Could you write fine enough to please a squire?
An' rhyme's what plain vo'k woudden much require;
You'd vind your rhymes would eärn but scanty diet,
An' if I'd any cure vor it, I'm sure I'd try it."

An' father too, in learnen noo great crammer,
Zaid rhymen wer a treäde but vew got fat in;
That men wi' neämes a-ringen wi' a clamour
Did live in holes not fit to put a cat in,
An' sleep on locks o' straw, or bits o' matten;
An' mother zaid she'd sooner hear me stammer
Than gauk about a-gabblen rhymes an' Latin.
I'd better crack my noddle wi' her patten,
She used to zay, or crack en wi' a hammer,
Than vill en up wi' rhymes, an' silly stuff o' grammar.

My father didden rhymy. He knew better.
Bezides his business, an' to buy an' zell,
He only learnt to write a friend a letter,
That always went a hopen he wer well;
Or in a ledger, or a bill, to tell
Vor what an' when a man became his debtor;
An' mother too, I never shall vorget her,
Wer only just a-taught to read an' spell,
An' mark a teäble-cloth or napkin pretty well.

An' zoo I vound my friends think all the seäme o't,
That rhyme won't vill the pocket over tight,
But then my heart did kindle wi' the fleäme o't,
Whenever I did zee a touchen zight,
An' I did all but lose my wits there-right.
'Tis likely I shall meäke a losen geäme o't,
But still, ageän, to lighten off the bleäme o't,
Vor all do keep me poor, it still will bring
My heart a pleasure that do leäve noo sting.
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