TOM.
Why ees they can, though you don’t know’t,
An’ theäsem men can meäke it clear.
Why vu’st they’d zend up members ev’ry year
To Parli’ment, an’ ev’ry man would vote;
Vor if a fellow midden be a squier,
He mid be just so fit to vote, an’ goo
To meäke the laws at Lon’on, too,
As many that do hold their noses higher.
Why shoulden fellows meäke good laws an’ speeches
A-dressed in fusti’n cwoats an’ cord’roy breeches?
Or why should hooks an’ shovels, zives an’ axes,
Keep any man vrom votèn o’ the taxes?
An’ when the poor’ve a-got a sheäre
In meäkèn laws, they’ll teäke good ceäre
To meäke some good woones vor the poor.
Do stan’ by reason, John; because
The men that be to meäke the laws,
Will meäke em vor theirzelves, you mid be sure.
JOHN.
Ees, that they wull. The men that you mid trust
To help you, Tom, would help their own zelves vu’st.
TOM.
Aye, aye. But we would have a better plan
O’ votèn, than the woone we got. A man,
As things be now, d’ye know, can’t goo an’ vote
Ageän another man, but he must know’t.
We’ll have a box an’ balls, vor votèn men
To pop their hands ’ithin, d’ye know; an’ then,
If woone don’t happen vor to lik’ a man,
He’ll drop a little black ball vrom his han’,
An’ zend en hwome ageän. He woon’t be led
To choose a man to teäke away his bread.
