Give Every Mon His Due by George Hull (with rough adaption into standard English by flusteredduck)

I’ve rambled up an’ deawn this waurld
For nine-an’-fifty year’;
I’ve booath hed mony a merry laugh
An’ mony a lonely tear;
I’m one that knows booath friends an’ foes,
There’s lots o’ things I rue,
But this is still my motto, lads—
Give every mon is due.

Of cooarse, when I were green an’ young,
Like mony a lad beside,
I use to think this waurld knew o,
An’ bowed befoor id’ pride.
But soon I fun’ that if a mon
Were poor as weel as true,
‘Twere ten to one, though hard he toiled,
He’d never ged his due.

Yo’ see, there’s sich a lot o’ fooak
That’s bod one gradely e’e,—
They peep an’ smile at th’ rich an’ fine,
But th’ poor they connod see.
They’ll like a mon if he geds on
An’ joins their waurldy crew,
But—just grow owd beawt grabbin’ gowd,
Yo’ll never ged yo’r due.

There’s some fooak laughs when t’ weather’s fine
But cosses when id rains,
Sich like ‘ll cooart gred men wi’ brass
But scorn poor men wi’ brains.
There’s mony a chap gi’es o his life
To help his neighbours through—
To cheer their hearts i’ t’ midst o’ t’ strife—
Yet never geds his due.

When dark and deadly slander comes
To cleawd a mon’s good name,
There’s allus lots o’ idle tongues
To spreyd th’ unwelcome fame:
But give to me them kindly souls—
I wish they waurn’d so few—
That patient bide, watch every side,
An’ give the mon his due.

Oh, mates! i’ country-place an’ teawn,
Through t’ length an’ breadth o’ t’ land,
There’s mony a lonely heart gooas deawn
Witheawt a helpin’ hand.
Then let goodwill be near us still
When others’ fa’uts we view,
For One Aboon ‘ll render soon
To every mon his due!

Give Every Man His Due by George Hull (rendered in standard English by flusteredduck)

I’ve rambled up and down this world
For nine-and-fifty years,
I’ve both had many a merry laugh
And many a lonely year;
I’m one that knows both friends and foes,
There are lots of things I rue,
But this is still my motto, lads—
Give every man his due.

Of course, when I was green and young,
Like many a lad beside,
I used to think this world knew all,
And bowed before its pride.
But soon I found that if a man
Was poor as well as true,
It were ten to one, though hard he toiled,
He would never get his due.

You see, there are such a lot of folk
That have but one proper eye,—
They peep and smile at the rich and fine,
But the poor they cannot see.
They’ll like a man if he gets on
And joins their worldly crew,
But—just grow old without grabbing gold,
You’ll never get your due.

There are some folk who laugh when the weather’s fine
But curses when it rains,
Such like will court great mean with brass (money)
But scorn poor men with brains.
There’s many a chap gives all his life
To help his neighbours through—
To cheer their hearts in the midst of the strife—
Yet never gets his due.

When dark and deadly slander comes
To cloud a man’s good name,
There are always lots of idle tongues
To spread the unwelcome fame:
But give to me them kindly souls—
I wish they weren’t so few—
That patient bide, watch every side,
And give the man his due.

Oh, mates! in country-place and town,
Through the length and breadth of the land,
There’s many a lonely heart goes down
Without a helping hand.
Then let goodwill be near us still
When other’s faults we view,
For One Above will render soon
To every man his due!

From: http://gerald-massey.org.uk/hull/c_songs_&_lyrics_(5).htm

Date: 1888

By: George Hull (1863-1933)

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