I'll ne'er rest i' my grave if I donna see thee i' the churchyard of a Sunday." "Donna fear, mother," said Adam.

"If I hadna made up my mind not to go, I should ha' been gone before now." He had finished his breakfast now, and rose as he was speaking.
"What art goin' to do ?" asked Lisbeth.

"Set about thy feyther's coffin ?" "No, mother," said Adam; "we're going to take the wood to the village and have it made there." "Nay, my lad, nay," Lisbeth burst out in an eager, wailing tone; "thee wotna let nobody make thy feyther's coffin but thysen?
Who'd make it so well?
An' him as know'd what good work war, an's got a son as is the head o' the village an' all Treddles'on too, for cleverness." "Very well, mother, if that's thy wish, I'll make the coffin at home; but I thought thee wouldstna like to hear the work going on." "An' why shouldna I like 't?
It's the right thing to be done.

An' what's liking got to do wi't?
It's choice o' mislikings is all I'n got i' this world.

One morsel's as good as another when your mouth's out o' taste.
Thee mun set about it now this mornin' fust thing.