John Hartley

I know a workin' lad,
His hands are hard an' rough,
His cheeks are red an' braan,
But I like him weel enough.
His ee's as breet 's a bell,
An' his curly hair is black,
An' he stands six foot in his stockin' feet,
An' his name is Rollickin' Jack.

At morn, if we should meet,
He awlus has a smile,
An' his heart is gay an' leet,
When trudgin' to his toil.
He whistles, or he sings,
Or he stops a joke to crack;
An' monny a lass at he happens to pass
Looks shyly at Rollickin' Jack.

His mother's old an' gray;
His father's deead an' gooan;
He'll niver move away
An' leave her all alooan.
Choose who(1) should be his wife,
Shoo'll mak a sad mistak,
For he's ivery inch a mother's lad,
Is this rough an' rollickin' Jack.

An' still I think sometimes
Th' old woman wants a nurse;
An' as for weddin' Jack,
Why, there's monny a lass done worse.
Of coorse it's not for me
To tell him who to tak,
But there's one I could name, if I could but for shame,
Just the lass to suit Rollickin' Jack.

1. Whoever.