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Title: Address Ta T' First Wesherwoman
Author: Bill o'th' Hoylus End [
More Titles by Bill o'th' Hoylus End]
I' sooth shoo wor a reeal God-send,
Ta t' human race the greatest friend,
An' liv'd, no daht, at t'other end
O' history.
Her name is nah, yah may depend,
A mystery.
But sprang shoo up fra royal blood,
Or some poor slave beyond the Flood,
Mi blessing on the sooap an' sud
Shoo did invent;
Her name sall renk ameng the good,
If aw get sent.
If nobbut in a rainy dub,
Shoo did at furst begin ta skrub,
Or hed a proper weshin' tub--
It's all the same;
Aw'd give a crahn, if aw'd to sub,
To get her name.
I' this wide world aw'm set afloat,
Th' poor regg'd possessor of one coat;
Yet linen clean, aw on tha dote,
An' thus assert,
Tha'rt worthy o' great Shakespeare's note--
A clean lin' shirt.
Low is mi lot, an' hard mi ways,
While paddlin' thro' life's stormy days;
Yet aw will sing t'owd lass's praise,
Wi' famous glee;
Tho' rude an' rough sud be mi lays,
Shoo's t'lass for me.
Bards hev sung the fairest fair,
Their rosy cheeks an' auburn hair;
The dying lover's deep despair,
Their harps hev rung;
But useful wimmin's songs are rare,
An' seldom sung.
[The end]
Bill o'th' Hoylus End's poem: Address Ta T' First Wesherwoman
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