Ange, for you in old Lancashire Dialect - a poem about a baby cutting its teeth.
Get tha gob roond yon ditty, lass!.
Cuttin Id Teeth
For weeks it's slavvered o th' day through on hankitcher an' bib, It's slavvered on idsel an' me - it's slavvered on th' owd rib. It's shoved id neyve into id meawth, an skriked an' kickt id legs, An' o becose it's gooin' to ged some "ickle peggy-wegs." It's chewed id hand for heawrs at wonst, it's chewed id ivory ring, It's chewed - eh dear, aw r'aly think it's chewed at ev'rything. It's chewed mi' ears, it's chewed mi nooase, wi' gums as hard as segs, An' yet thad little bab o' mine corn'd cut id peggy-wegs. It's bitten away at th' Tum-cat's tail, till th' Tum-cat's t'en id hook; It's bitten away ten bob's arrears fro' th' rent-collector's book. It's bitten hoyles i' th' sofy seat, an' polish off th' cheear legs, An' still thad little beggar corn'd fot eawt them peggy-wegs.
For the benefit of those yet to be 'edicated', th'owd rib means the wife; neyve is knife (of course). Ten bob, in the old days, was half a pound (money), hoyles is holes, and cheear couldn't be anything other than chair.
So now you know.