Thy kiss is sweet, thy words are kind

Thy kiss is sweet, thy words are kind, Thy love is all to me; Aw couldn't in a palace find A lass more true ner thee: An' if aw wor the Persian Shah, An' thee mi Lovely Queen, The grandest diamond i' mi Crown Wor t' lass o' Newsholme Dean.

The lady gay may heed tha not, An' passing by may sneer; The upstart squire's dowters laugh, When thou, my love, art near; But if all ther shinin' soverins War wared o' sattens green, They mightn't be as handsome then As t' Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

When yellow autumn's lustre shines, An' hangs her golden ear, An' nature's voice fra every bush Is singing sweet and clear, 'Neath some white thorn to song unknown, To mortal never seen, 'Tis there with thee I fain wad be, Mi Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

Od drat, who cares fur kings or queens, Mix'd in a nation's broil, They nivver benefit the poor— The poor mun ollas toil. An' thou gilded spectre, royalty, That dazzles folks's een, Is nowt to me when I'm wi thee, Sweet Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

High fra the summit o' yon' crag, I view yon' smooky town, Where forten she has deigned to smile On monny a simple clown: Though free fra want, they're free fra brains; An' yet no happier I ween, Than this old farmer's wife an' hens, Aw saw i' Newsholme Dean.