  Miss Tregear be a whisht poor woman, With her big fine house an' her carriage an' pair; Her keeps four maids, not countin' the tweeny, An' another especial to do her hair. Ruth Penwarne be a braave rich woman; Her lives in a cottage with a warpley door; Her've got four childer, not countin' the baby, An' there baint no tellin' but her might have more. Miss Tregear have a room for dinin', An' a room for drawin', where her doesn' draw, An' a room where books be shut in cupboards, An' others us don't knaw what they'm for. Ruth Penwarne have a little linhay, An' there her washes when the rain be nigh, But when 'tis sunny her goes in the garden, An' spreads her clo'es on the fuzzen to dry. Miss Tregear have a pile o' carpets; Her be frit of a moth or a speck o' dust; Her be feared that the sun will spile her curtains, An' the damp will make her fire-irons rust. Ruth Penwarne have a fine stone kitchen; An' two rooms aloft as be crammed with beds; Her don't have carpets, so they can't get dirty, An' her soon clanes up where the childer treads. Miss Tregear have a face that's lonely; Her be often sad, tho' her can't tell why; Her be allays asayin there's nothin' doin', An' thinks how slow all the days go by. Ruth Penwarne haven't time for thinkin', With makin' an' mendin' an' scrubbin' too, An' sartin sure, she'm a braave rich woman, With childer an' home an' her work to do. |
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