Oud Betty’s Advice

So Mary, lass, tha’rt bahn to wed It morning we young blacksmith Ned, And tho it makes thy mother sad, Its like to be; I’ve nout ageean yond decent lad No more ner thee.

Bud let me tell thee what ta due, For my advice might help thee thru; Be kind, and to thy husband true, An I’ll be bun Tha’ll nivver hev a day ta rue, For out tha’s done.

Nah, try to keep thi former knack, An due thi weshing in a crack, Bud don’t be flaid to bend thi back, Tha’ll nobbut sweeat; So try an hev a bit o’ tack, An do it neat.

Be sure tha keeps fra being a flirt, An pride thysel e being alert,— An mind to mend thi husband’s shirt, An keep it clean; It wod thy poor oud mother hurt, If tha wor mean.

Don’t kal abaht like monny a wun, Then hev to broil, an sweeat, an run; Bud, alus hev thy dinner done, Withaht a mooild; If its nobbut meil, lass, set it on, An hev it boiled.

So Mary, I’ve no more to say— Tha gets thy choice an’ tak thy way; An if tha leets to rue, I pray, Don’t blame thy mother: I wish you monny a happy day We wun another.