CORNISH COMFORT

“Do n't‘ ee cry, lil’ maid,‘ tis awnly a broken bussa;

The jowds wo n't mend, best lave the attle abide.

There's tummals o’ bussas left, an’ it might be wusser.”

But the lil’ maid cried.

“Do n't‘ ee cry, li'l maid. If fellows gets changy and chancy,

Tomorrow a braaver will come than the totle who stepped.

Floshed milk baint no use, an’ it isn’ wuth scrowlin’, I fancy.”

Still the lil’ maid wept.

“Do n't‘ ee cry, li'l maid — Iss, the Say be a terrible net,

An’‘ tis wearisome waitin’ a meetin’ beyont the Big Tide;

Jest try to catch sleep on you'm pellaw, mebbe you'll forget.”

Still the lil’ maid cried.

“Do n't‘ ee cry did un say? Well, youm feyther jest wanted to cheer'ee,

But men doesn’ knaw where the best cup o’ comfort is kept.

Cuddle down; cry it out on you'm own mother's bosom, me dearie.”

Then the lil’ maid slept.