human
You an' me must see wan another home,
gpt
Fust time as ever you give me an arm,
human
Won't be the last, I'm sure,
gpt
I've allus had a gude word for 'e ever since I knawed 'e,
human
An' why for shouldn't 'e?
gpt
Beginning of New Year 's a solemn sarcumstance, proceeded Billy, as a solitary bell began to toll.
human
Theer 's the death-rattle of eighteen hunderd an' eighty-six! Well, well, we must all die--men an' mice.
gpt
An' the devil take the hindmost.
human
Let 's go round this way,
gpt
Why? Ban't your auld bones ready for bed yet? Theer 's nought theer but starlight an' frost.
human
Be gormed to the frost! I laugh at it. Ban't that. 'T is the Union workhouse, wheer auld Lezzard lies. I likes to pass, an' nod to un as he sits on the lew side o' the wall in his white coat, chumping his thoughts between his gums.
gpt
He 'm happier 'n me or you, I lay.
human
Not him! You should see un glower 'pon me when I gives un 'gude day.' I tawld un wance as the Poor Rates was up somethin' cruel since he'd gone in the House, an' he looked as though he'd 'a' liked to do me violence. No, he ban't happy, I warn 'e.
gpt
Well, you won't see un sitting under the stars in his white coat, poor auld blid. He 'm asleep under the blankets, I lay.
human
Thin wans! Thin blankets an' not many of 'em. An' all his awn doin'. Patent justice, if ever I seed it.
gpt
Tramp along! You can travel faster 'n that. Ess fay! Justice is the battle-cry o' God against men most times. Maybe they 'm strong on it in heaven, but theer 's damned little filters down here. Theer go the bells! Another New Year come. Years o' the Lard they call 'em! Years o' the devil most times, if you ax me. What do 'e want the New Year to bring to you, Billy?
human
A contented 'eart, said Mr. Blee,
gpt
Doan't knaw. They 'm maggoty mostly at your age!
human
An' they 'm milky mostly at yourn!
gpt
Listen to the bells an' give awver chattering,
human
After gude store o' drinks, a sad thing like holy bells ringing in the dark afar off do sting my nose an' bring a drop to my eye, confessed Mr. Blee.
gpt
An' you--why, theer 's a baaby hid away in the New Year for you--a human creature as may do gert wonders in the land an' turn out into Antichrist, for all you can say positive. Theer 's a braave thought for 'e!