POETRY.

THE DORSETSIHRE LABOURERS' MANIFESTO.

EES,—Zur, you knows the law, no doubt,

We poor men scarce can spell it out.

I've broke my contract, more vool I, I've maids my bed, and there mun lie.

Ees,—you may grin, and think we down, And zay, ' Hullo! John, how's your crown ? '

That's very well,—we poor must bear,—

We'd ought to know't ; ees, eea, 'tie vair.

But passon there do talk so grand 0' Christian love, that I eaan't stand You lamed yokes that lives so high Just clean forgettin' charity.

What's charity ? To gie me coal 0' Christmas, as a poor man's dole, To gie me blankets, wescoats, soaks, To dress my galls in your galls' frocks ?

Noa, noa! 'taint clothes, nor warmth, nor food, Nor eent advice,—'tis brotherhood.

I be a man so well as thou,—

You pays the waiige, I guides the plough :— My eddication ain't so fine, But that's the country's fault, not mine, Eef you want labourers good and true Jest teach 'em how they'd ought to goo.

Teach 'em to feel they're bound to do The work they sets their hand unto With right good-will; no stinting measure, But thinking work a'most a pleasure, 'Cause him they works for pays 'em free, And thinks 'em just so good as he.

Teach 'em to saiive, and look avore, To keep the wolf from out the door ; To hate the poor-house like the devil, To bate the beer, and drunken revel.

There!—I can clap it in one sentence—

I means,—to teach 'ern independence.

Gie 'em a bit o' garden-ground, A tidy cottage, warm and sound, And, mind ye, maike 'em pay the rent, And count their pence avore they're spent ; Pay a full waiige, and let 'ern lam That livin' is their own consarn.

'They'll have to rough it '—Aye, that's true And you rich yokes must help 'em droo ; We bain't much used to saiive, and yit We'll try, if you'll but help a:bit, And gie our childer, doan't 'ee zee, The chance you never gied to we.

My poor wold feyther, when 'er died, 'Er said, " Zun John, I've most a-cried To think as you and Nan must slave

Like I from childhood to the grave r "Please God," sez I, "when I be gone,

woan't lave that to my zun John."

Noa, noa ! Zur, I be bound to vight For John my zun, wi' all my might ; For all my neighbours, kith and kin: I tell-'ee what, I woan't give in.

Eef you speaks fair, why, here's my ban'; But if you threaten, I'm your man.