Come nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Are words but rudely said;
Tho thay may chear some stricken heart,
Or raise some wretched head;
For thay are words I love mysel,
They’re music to my ear;
Thay muster up fresh energy
Ta chase each dout an’ fear.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Tho tha be poor indeed;
Ner lippen ta long it turning up
Sa mich ov a friend in need;
Fer few ther are, an’ far between,
That helps a poor man thru;
An God helps them at helps thersel,
An’ thay hev friends enew.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
What ivver thy crediters say;
Tell um at least tha’rt forst ta owe,
If tha artant able ta pay;
An if thay nail thy bits o’ traps,
An sell thee dish an’ spooin;
Remember fickle fortun lad,
Sho changes like the mooin.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Tho some ma laugh an scorn;
There wor nivver a neet ’fore ta neet,
Bud what there come a morn;
An if blind fortun used thee bad,
Sho’s happen noan so meean;
Ta morn al come, an then for some
The sun will shine ageean.

Nivver dee e thy shell, oud lad,
Bud let thy motto be,—
“Onward! an’ excelsior;”
And try for t’ top o’t tree:
And if thy enemies still pursue,
Which ten-to-one they will,
Show um oud lad tha’rt doing weel,
An climbing up the hill.