POETRY.
THE PLOUGH-GIRL.
Now, house-work, sure, bes airy done, an' wimmin's han's go light
About the cows, an' him, an' pigs, from mornin' up till night. The churnin' never frightened me, an' tocsin' hay's a play, Och I the dear knows how the furrow'll luk whin. I drive the plough wan day.
I can lay as straight a hem, I'll say, as anny fine machine 'The rich folk buy in Englan'—I rimimbher wan I seen ; I can spin the web widout a flaw, there's little o' that now. But the weans will make a holiday whine'er I go to plough.
"There's a blin' man, an' a lame man, an' a lad widout much wit Left here to furdher on the work. Feth t. an' they hindher it I I'd rather have a toddlin' chile than be moidhered wid thim three, The mornin' whin I lead the horse to the field foment the sea, I knew well whin I tuk himself for middlin' times an' bad, A girl does lave behint her sweetest dhreams she's iver had ; Yet, an' I wudn't wish him back, for the gun that fits his han' ,Luke betther than an ould plough'd do, an' the Lord will farm
Previous page
