Theaw'Rt Welcome Poem by William Baron

Theaw'rt welcome, Prince, as fleawers i' May,
To eawr little village!
An' thi health we'll drink to-day
I'th' choicest ale on th' stillage.
As luvvin' subjects o' thi dad,
Th' ' Smithy ' gives tha greetin', lad !
Anxious creawds are linin' th' street
To give thee an ovation;
Everybody's heart feels leet
On this greyt occasion.
Th' cry gooas up as theaw draws near—
'Th' Prince is comin'!—Th' Prince is here!'
Bands o' music gaily play,
Th' owd haymaker's shinin',
Who could sit on sich a day
Mopin' an' repinin'?
It 'ud surely ceawnt a crime
To be sad at sich a time.
Welcome, welcome, Prince o’ Wales!—
We're preawd to ha' thee wi' us;
Ringin' cheers thi presence hails—
Come agen, an' see us!
Loyal will we ever be
To thi feyther, an' to thee!