I is i’ truth a coontry youth,
Nean used to Lunnon fashions;
Yet vartue guides, an’ still presides
Ower all my steps an’ passions.
Nea coortly leer, bud all sincere,
Nea bribe shall iver blinnd me ;
If thoo can like a Yorkshire tike,
A rogue thoo’ll niver finnd me.

Thof envy’s tongue, so slimly hung,
Would lee aboot oor coonty,
Nea men o’ t’ earth boast greater worth,
Or mair extend their boonty.
Oor northern breeze wi’ us agrees,
An’ does for wark weel fit us ;
I’ public cares, an’ love affairs,
Wi’ honour We acquit us.

Sea great a maand is ne’er confaand
‘Tiv onny shire or nation,
They gie un meast praise whea weel displays
A larned eddication;
Whaal rancour rolls i’ laatle souls,
By shallow views dissarnin’,
They’re nobbut wise at awlus prize
Good manners, sense, an’ larnin’.