Yorkshire Lyrics.

Poems written in the dialect as spoken in the West Riding of Yorkshire. To which are added a selection of Fugitive Verses not in the dialect. By John Hartley,



Author of "Clock Almanack," "Yorkshire Puddin," "Yorkshire Tales" &c, &c,



"It has not been my lot to pore O'er ancient tomes of Classic lore, Or quaff Castalia's springs; Yet sometimes the observant eye May germs of poetry descry In plain and common things."



London: W. Nicholson & Sons, Limited, 26, Paternoster Square, E. C. and Albion Works, Wakefield.



Dedication. To my dear daughter, Annie Sophie, this collection of dialect verses is dedicated, as a token of sincere love. John Hartley. Christmas, 1898.



Contents.

Mi Darling Muse. To a Daisy, Found blooming March 7th. Mi Bonny Yorksher Lass. Give it 'em Hot. A Tale for th' Childer, on Christmas Eve. Words ov Kindness. A Brussen Bubble. Th' Little Stranger. Th' Traitle Sop. Once agean Welcome. Still true to Nell. Bide thi Time. A Cold Dooas. A Jolly Beggar. Aw Wodn't for all aw Could See. Come thi Ways! What is it? Awst Nivver be Jaylus. Lamentin' an Repentin'. Bite Bigger. Second Thowts. A Neet when aw've Nowt to do. Ther's much Expected. Coortin Days. Sweet Mistress Moore. Waivin Mewsic. Jimmy's Choice. Old Moorcock. Th' Short-Timer. Sol an' Doll. Their Fred. Love an' Labor. Nooan so Bad. Th' Honest Hard Worker. Peevish Poll. The Old Bachelor's Story. Did yo Ivver! A Quiet Tawk. Lines, on Startling a Rabbit. Nivver Heed. Gronfayther's Days. Awr Dooad. Whear Natur Missed it. That's All. Mary Hanner's Peanner. Grondad's Lullaby. Sixty, Turned, To-day. That Lad Next Door. A Summer Shaar. Awr Lad. Bonny Mary Ann. That Christmas Puddin. A Bad Sooart. Fairly Weel-off. A Warnin. To W. F. Wallett. The Queen's Jester. Lads an Lasses. A New Year's Gift. Matty's Reason. Uncle Ben. A Hawporth. Th' Better Part. Th' Lesser Evil. Take Heart! They all do it. To Let. Lost Love. (appeared twice in the paper book) Drink. Duffin Johnny. (A Rifleman's Adventure.) Plenty o' Brass. The New Year's Resolve. A Strange Stooary. What Wor it? Billy Bumble's Bargain. Aght o' Wark. That's a Fact. Babby Burds. Queen ov Skircoit Green. Th' Little Black Hand. My Native Twang. Sing On. Shoo's thi Sister. Another Babby. To a Roadside Flower. An Old Man's Christmas Morning. Settin Off. To th' Swallow. A Wife. Heart Brokken. Lines, on finding a butterfly in a weaving shed. Rejected. Persevere. A Pointer. An Acrostic. Help Thisen. Bless 'em! Act Square. His Dowter Gate Wed. All We Had. Th' First o'th Sooart. Poor Old Hat. Done Agean. What it is to be a Mother. What they say. Young Jockey. Missed his Mark. When Lost. Mak a Gooid Start. Stop at Hooam. Advice to Jenny. Jockey an Dolly. Dooant Forget the Old Fowks. Soa Bonny. The Linnet. Mary Jane. Aw Dooant Care. My Lass. A Gooid Kursmiss Day. Mi Love's Come Back. A Wife. All Tawk. Aw Can't Tell. Happen Thine. Contrasts. To Mally. Th' State o' th' Poll. A nop tickle illusion. Try a Smile. Growin Old. Gooid Bye, Old Lad. That Drabbled Brat. Song for th' Hard Times, (1879.) Stir thi Lass! Tother Day. Happy Sam's Song. Gradely Weel off. Is it Reight? A Yorksher Bite. Lily's Gooan. What aw Want. Latter Wit. A Millionaire. Mi Fayther's Pipe. Let th' Lasses Alooan! A Breet Prospect. Missin Yor Way. Heather Bells. A Lucky Dog. My Doctrine. That Lass. Mi Old Umberel What it Comes to. Hold up yer Heeads. A Quiet Day. Lass o'th Haley Hill. Ditherum Dump. My Polly. Love one Another. Dick an Me. Briggate at Setterdy Neet. Awr Annie. Peter Prime's Principles. Cuckoo! Fowk Next Door. Dad's Lad. Willie's Weddin. Somdy's Chonce. To a True Friend. Warmin Pan. It may be Soa. A Safe Investment. Red Stockin. Plain Jane. Cash V. Cupid. Mary's Bonnet. Prime October. Old Dave to th' New Parson. Tom Grit. Th' Demon o' Debt. Th' Lad 'at Loves his Mother. Matilda Jane. Modest Jack o' Wibsey Slack. Work Lads! Bonny Yorksher. Sixty an Sixteen. Come thi Ways in. Horton Tide. Mi Old Slippers. A Friend to Me. A Pair o' Black Een. A Screw Lawse. A Sad Mishap. If. A True Tale. Peter's Prayer. Mak th' Best Ont. On Strike. Be Happy. Its True. Natty Nancy. Fugitive poems. Angels of Sunderland. In Memoriam, June 16th, 1893. Trusting Still. Shiver the Goblet. Little Sunshine. Passing Events. Those Days have Gone. I'd a Dream. To my Harp. Backward Turn, Oh! Recollection. Alice. Looking Back. I Know I Love Thee Bachelors Quest. Waiting at the Gate. Love. Do your Best and Leave the Rest. To my Daughter on her Birthday. Remorse. My Queen Now and Then. The Open Gates. Blue Bells. A Song of the Snow Hide not thy Face. In my Garden of Roses. The Match Girl. De Profundis. Nettie. The Dean's Brother. I Would not Live Alway. Too Late. On the Banks of the Calder. Lines on Receiving a Bunch of Wild Hyacinths by Post. November's Here. Mary. When Cora Died. The Violet. Repentant. Sunset. Poetry and Prose. Years Ago. Somebody's. Claude. All on a Christmas Morning. Once Upon a Time. Nearing Home. Those Tiny Fingers. Lilly-White Hand. Shut Out. Charming May. Who Cares?



Mi Darling Muse.

Mi darlin' Muse, aw coax and pet her, To pleeas yo, for aw like nowt better; An' if aw find aw connot get her To lend her aid, Into foorced measure then aw set her, The stupid jade!

An' if mi lines dooant run as spreetly, Nor beam wi gems o' wit soa breetly, Place all the blame,—yo'll place it reightly, Upon her back; To win her smile aw follow neetly, Along her track.

Maybe shoo thinks to stop mi folly, An let me taste o' melancholy; But just to spite her awl be jolly, An say mi say; Awl fire away another volley Tho' shoo says "Nay."

We've had some happy times together, For monny years we've stretched our tether, An as aw dunnot care a feather For fowk 'at grummel, We'll have another try. Aye! whether We stand or tummel.

Sometimes th' reward for all us trubble, Has been a crop o' scrunty stubble, But th' harvest someday may be double, At least we'll trust it; An them 'at say it's but a bubble, We'll leeav to brust it.



To a Daisy, Found blooming March 7th.

A'a awm feeared tha's come too sooin, Little daisy! Pray, whativer wor ta doin? Are ta crazy? Winter winds are blowin' yet,— Tha'll be starved, mi little pet.

Did a gleam o' sunshine warm thee, An' deceive thee? Niver let appearance charm thee, For believe me, Smiles tha'll find are oft but snares, Laid to catch thee unawares.

Still aw think it luks a shame, To tawk sich stuff; Aw've lost faith, an' tha'll do th' same, Hi, sooin enuff. If tha'rt happy as tha art Trustin' must be th' wisest part.

Come, aw'll pile some bits o' stooan, Raand thi dwellin'; They may screen thee when aw've gooanm, Ther's no tellin'; An' when gentle spring draws near Aw'll release thee, niver fear.

An' if then thi pretty face, Greets me smilin'; Aw may come an' sit bith' place, Time beguilin'; Glad to think aw'd paar to be, Of some use, if but to thee.



Mi Bonny Yorksher Lass.

Aw've travelled East, West, North, an South, An led a rooamin' life; Aw've met wi things ov stirlin' worth, Aw've shared wi joy an strife; Aw've kept a gooid stiff upper lip, Whativver's come to pass: But th' captain of mi Fortun's ship, Has been mi Yorksher Lass.

Storm-tossed, sails rent, an reckonin' lost, A toy for wind an wave; Mid blindin' fog an snow an frost, Aw've thowt noa power could save; But ivver in the darkest day, Wi muscles strong as brass, To some safe port shoo's led the way,— Mi honest Yorksher Lass.

Shoo's fair,—all Yorksher lasses are,— Shoo's bonny as the rest, Her brow ne'er shows a line o' care, Shoo thinks what is, is best. Shoo's lovin', true, an full o' pluck, An it seems as clear as glass, 'At th' lad is sewer to meet gooid luck 'At weds a Yorksher Lass.

Ther's oriental beauties, an' Grand fowk ov ivvery grade, But when it comes to honest worth, Shoo puts 'em all ith' shade, For wi her charms an virtues, Shoo stands at top o'th' class; Ther's nooan soa rare as can compare, Wi a bonny Yorksher Lass,

Then here's to th' Yorksher lasses! Whearivver they may be; Ther worth ther's nooan surpasses, An ther's nooan as brave an free! If awd to live life o'er ageean, Awd think misen an ass, If aw didn't tak for company, A bonny Yorksher lass.



Give it 'em Hot.

Give it 'em hot, an be hanged to ther feelins! Souls may be lost wol yor choosin' yor words! Out wi' them doctrines 'at taich o' fair dealins! Daan wi' a vice tho' it may be a lord's! What does it matter if truth be unpleasant? Are we to lie a man's pride to exalt! Why should a prince be excused, when a peasant Is bullied an' blamed for a mich smaller fault?

O, ther's too mich o' that sneakin and bendin; An honest man still should be fearless and bold; But at this day fowk seem to be feeared ov offendin, An' they'll bow to a cauf if it's nobbut o' gold. Give me a crust tho' it's dry, an' a hard 'en, If aw know it's my own aw can ait it wi' glee; Aw'd rayther bith hauf work all th' day for a farden, Nor haddle a fortun wi' bendin' mi knee.

Let ivery man by his merit be tested, Net by his pocket or th' clooas on his back; Let hypocrites all o' ther clooaks be divested, An' what they're entitled to, that let em tak. Give it 'em hot! but remember when praichin, All yo 'at profess others failins to tell, 'At yo'll do far moor gooid wi' yor tawkin an' taichin, If yo set an example, an' improve yorsel.



A Tale for th' Childer, on Christmas Eve.

Little childer,—little childer; Harken to an old man's ditty; Tho yo live ith' country village,— Tho yo live ith' busy city. Aw've a little tale to tell yo,— One 'at ne'er grows stale wi' tellin,— It's abaat One who to save yo, Here amang men made His dwellin. Riches moor nor yo can fancy,— Moor nor all this world has in it,— He gave up becoss He loved yo, An He's lovin yo this minnit. All His power, pomp and glory, Which to think on must bewilder,— All He left,—an what for think yo? Just for love ov little childer. In a common, lowly stable He wor laid, an th' stars wor twinklin, As if angel's 'een wor peepin On His face 'at th' dew wor sprinklin. An one star, like a big lantern, Shepherds who ther flocks wor keepin, Saw, an foller'd till it rested Just aboon whear He wor sleepin. Then strange music an sweet voices Seem'd to sing reight aght o' Heaven, "Unto us a child is born! Unto us a son is given!" Then coom wise men thro strange nations,— Young men an men old an hoary,— An they all knelt daan befoor Him, An araand Him shone a glory. Then a King thowt he wod kill Him, Tho he reckoned net to mind Him, But they went to a strange country, Whear this bad King couldn't find Him. An He grew up strong and sturdy, An He sooin began His praichin, An big craads stood raand to listen, An they wondered at His taichin. Then some sed bad things abaat Him, Called Him names, laft at an jeered Him;— Sed He wor a base imposter, For they hated, yet they feeard Him. Some believed in His glad tidins,— Saw Him cure men ov ther blindness,— Saw Him make once-deead fowk livin, Saw Him full o' love an kindness. Wicked men at last waylaid Him, Drag'd Him off to jail and tried Him, Tho noa fault they could find in Him, Yet they cursed an crucified Him. Nubdy knows ha mich He suffered; But His work on earth wor ended:— From the grave whear they had laid Him, Into Heaven He ascended. Love like His may well bewilder,— Sinners weel may bow befoor Him;— Nah He waits for th' little childer, Up in Heaven whear saints adore Him. Think when sittin raand yor hearthstun, An the Kursmiss bells are ringing, Ha He lived an died at yo may Join those angels in ther singin.



Words ov Kindness.

'Tis strange 'at fowk will be sich fooils To mak life net worth livin', Fermentin' rows, creatin' mooils, Detractin' an' deceivin'. To fratch an' worry day an' neet, Is sewerly wilful blindness, When weel we know ther's nowt as sweet, As a few words spoke i' kindness.

Ther is noa heart withaat its grief, The gayest have some sadness; But oft a kind word brings relief, An' sheds a ray ov gladness. We ought to think of others moor, Nor ov ther pains be mindless; We may bring joy to monny a door Wi' a few words spoke i' kindness.

A peevish spaik, a bitin' jest, 'At may be thowtless spokken, May be like keen edged dagger prest Throo some heart nearly brokken. Then let love be awr rule o' life, This world's cares we shall find less; For nowt can put an end to strife, Like a few words spoke i' kindness.



A Brussen Bubble.

Bet wor a stirrin, strappin lass, Shoo lived near Woodus Moor;— An varry keen shoo wor for brass, Tho little wor her stoor. Shoo'd wed for love—and as luck let, It proved a lucky hit; A finer chap yo've seldom met, Or one wi better wit.

His name awm net inclined to tell, But he'd been kursend John; An he wor rayther praad hissel, An anxious to get on. At neet they'd sit an tawk, an plan, Some way to mend ther state; "What one chap's done another can," Sed Bet, "let's get agate."

"This morn wol darnin socks for thee This thowt coom i' mi nop, An do't we will if tha'll agree;— Let's start a little shop. We'll sell all sooarts o' useful things 'At ivverybody needs; Like scaarin-stooan, an tape an pins, An buttons, sooap, an threeds.

An spice for th' childer,—castor oil, An traitle drink, an pies, An kinlin wood, an maybe coil, Fresh yeast an hooks an eyes. Corn plaisters, Bristol brick, an clay, Puttates, rewbub an salt; An if that can't be made to pay, It willn't be my fault."

"Th' idea's a gooid en," John replied, "We should ha done 't befoor; Aw raillee think at if its tried, We'st neer luk back noa moor. But whear's th' stock commin throo, mi lass? That's moor nor aw can tell; Fowk willn't come an spend ther brass, Unless yo've stuff to sell."

"Why, wodn't th' maister lend a hand? Tha knows he's fond o' me; A five paand nooat wod do it grand— Awd ax if aw wor thee." An John did ax, an strange to say He gat it thear an then; An Bet wor ne'er i' sich a way— Fairly besides hersen.

Soa th' haase wor turned into a shop, An praad they wor,—an Bet Sed to hersen—"It luks tip top, Aw'st be a lady yet." An th' naybors coom throo far an near, To buy a thing or two, What they'd paid tuppence for,—why, here Bet made three awpence do.

When John coom home at neet, his wife Wor soa uncommon thrang, At th' furst time in his wedded life, His drinkin time coom wrang. He did his best to seem content, Till shuttin up time coom; "Why, lass, he said, "thar't fairly spent, Tha's oppen'd wi a boom."

An ivvery day, to th' end o'th' wick Browt customers enuff; But th' stock wor lukkin varry sick, For shoo'd sell'd all her stuff. But then, shoo'd bowt a new silk gaon, An John a silk top hat, An th' nicest easy chair ith' taan, An bits o' this an that.

An th' upshot wor, shoo'd spent all th' brass, An shoo'd nowt left to sell; An what John sed,—aw'll let that pass For 'tisn't fit to tell. Soa th' business brust, but Bet declares, 'Twor nobbut want o' thowt, For shoo'd sooin ha made a fortun, If th' stock had cost 'em nowt.



Th' Little Stranger.

Little bonny, bonny babby! How tha stares, an' weel tha may, For its but an haar or hardly Sin' tha furst saw th' leet o' day.

A'a tha little knows, young moppet, Ha awst have to tew for thee; But may be when forced to drop it, 'At tha'll do a bit for me.

Are ta maddled mun amang it? Does ta wonder what aw mean? Aw should think tha does, but dang it, Where's ta been to leearn to scream?

That's noa sooart o' mewsic, bless thi, Dunnot peawt thi lip like that; Mun, aw hardly dar to nurse thi, Feared awst hurt thi, little brat.

Come, aw'll tak thi to thi mother, Shoo's more used to sich nor me, Hands like mine worn't made to bother Wi sich ginger-breead as thee.

Innocent an' helpless craytur, All soa pure an' undefiled, If ther's ought belangs to heaven, Lives o'th' earth, it is a child.

An' its hard to think 'at someday, If tha'rt spared to weather throo, 'At tha'll be a man, an' someway Have to feight life's battles too.

Kings an' Queens, an' lords an' ladies, Once wor nowt noa moor to see, An' th' warst wretch at hung o'th' gallows, Once wor born as pure as thee.

An' what tha at last may come to, God aboon us all can tell; But aw hope 'at tha'll be lucky, Even tho aw fail mysel.

Do aw ooin thi? its a pity, Hush! nah prathi dunnot freat; Goa an' snoozle to thi titty, Tha'rt too young for trouble yet.



Th' Traitle Sop.

Once in a little country taan A grocer kept a shop, And sell'd amang his other things, Prime traitle-drink and pop;

Teah, coffee, currans, spenish juice, Soft soap an' paader blue, Presarves an' pickles, cinnamon, Allspice an' pepper too.

An' hoasts o' other sooarts o' stuff To sell to sich as came, As figs, an' raisens, salt an' spice, Too numerous to name.

One summer's day a waggon stood Just opposite his door; An' th' childer all gaped raand as if They'd ne'er seen one afoor.

An' in it wor a traitle cask, It wor a wopper too, To get it aght they all wor fast Which iver way to do.

But wol they stood an' parley'd thear, Th' horse gave a sudden chuck, An' aght it flew, an' bursting threw All th' traitle into th' muck.

Then th' childer laff'd an' clapp'd their hands, To them it seem'd rare fun; But th' grocer ommost lost his wits When he saw th' traitle run.

He stamp'd an' raved, an' then declared He wodn't pay a meg! An' th' carter vow'd until he did He wodn't stir a peg.

He said he'd done his business reight,— He'd brought it up to th' door, An' thear it wor, an' noa fair chap Wod want him to do moor.

But wol they stamped, an' raved, an' swore, An' vented aght ther spleen, Th' childer wor thrang enough, you're sure, All plaisterd up to th' een.

A neighbor chap saw th' state o' things, An' pitied ther distress, An' begg'd em not to be soa sour Abaht soa sweet a mess;

"An' tha'd be sour," th' owd grocer sed, "If th' job wor thine owd lad, An' somdy wanted thee to pay For what tha'd niver had."

"Th' fault isn't mine," said th' cart driver, "My duty's done I hope? I've brought him traitle, thear it is, An' he mun sam it up."

Soa th' neighbor left em to thersen, He'd nowt noa moor to say, But went to guard what ther wor left, An' send th' young brood away.

This didn't suit th' young lads a bit,— They didn't mean to stop, They felt detarmin'd that they'd get Another traitle sop.

They tried all ways but th' chap stood firm, They couldn't get a lick, An' some o'th' boldest gate a taste O'th neighbor's walkin stick.

At last one said, "I know a plan If we can scheme to do it, We'll knock one daan bang into th' dolt, An' let him roll reight throo it;"

"Agreed! agreed!" they all replied, "An here comes little Jack, He's foorced to pass cloise up this side, We'll do it in a crack."

Poor Jack wor rayther short, an' came Just like a suckin duck; He little dream'd at th' sweets o' life Wod ivver be his luck.

But daan they shoved him, an' he roll'd Heead first bang into th' mess, An' aght he coom a woeful seet, As yo may easy guess.

They marched him off i' famous glee, All stickified an' clammy, Then licked him clean an' sent him hooam To get lick'd by his mammy.

Then th' cartdriver an th' grocer came, Booath in a dreadful flutter, To save some, but they came too lat, It all wor lost ith gutter:

It towt a lesson to em booath Befoor that job wor ended, To try (at stead o' falling aght) If owt went wrang to mend it.

For wol fowk rave abaht ther loss, Some sharper's sure to pop, An' aght o' ther misfortunes They'll contrive to get a sop.



Once agean Welcome.

Once agean welcome! oh, what is ther grander, When years have rolled by sin' yo left an old friend? An what cheers yor heart, when yo far away wander, As mich as the thowts ov a welcome at th' end? Yo may goa an be lucky, an win lots o' riches; Yo may gain fresh acquaintance as onward yo rooam; But tho' wealth may be temptin, an honor bewitches, Yet they're nowt when compared to a welcome back hooam.

Pray, who hasn't felt as they've sat sad an lonely, They'd give all they possessed for the wings ov a dove, To fly far away, just to catch a seet only Ov th' friends o' ther childhood, the friends 'at they love. Hope may fill the breast when some old spot we're leavin, Bright prospects may lure us throo th' dear land away, But it's joy o' returnin at sets one's breast heavin, It's th' hopes ov a welcome back maks us feel gay.

Long miles yo may trudge ovver moor, heath, or mire, Till yor legs seem to totter, an th' stummack feels faint; But yor thowts still will dwell o' that breet cottage fire, Till yo feel quite refreshed bi th' fancies yo paint. An when yo draw nearer, an ovver th' old palins Yo see smilin faces 'at welcome yo back, Ther's an end to being weary! away wi complainin's! Yo leeave all yor troubles behind on yor track.

Then if ther's sich joy in a welcome receivin, Let us ivvery one try sich a pleasure to gain; An bi soothin' fowk's cares, an ther sorrows relievin, Let us bind em all to us, wi' friendship's strong chain. Let us love an be loved! let's be kind an forgivin, An then if fate forces us far from awr hooam, We shall still throughout life have the joy o' receivin A tear when we part, an a smile when we come.



Still true to Nell.

Th' sun wor settin,—red an gold, Wi splendor paintin th' west, An purplin tints throo th' valley roll'd, As daan he sank to rest. Yet dayleet lingered looath to leeav A world soa sweet an fair, Wol silent burds a pathway cleave, Throo th' still an slumb'rin air.

Aw stroll'd along a country rooad, Hedged in wi thorn an vine; Which wild flower scents an shadows broad, Converted to a shrine. As twileet's deeper curtains fell Aw sat mi daan an sighed; Mi thowts went back to th' time when Nell, Had rambled bi mi side.

Aw seemed to hear her voice agean, Soft whisperin i' mi ear, Recallin things 'at once had been, When th' futur all wor clear. When love,—pure, honest, youthful love Had left us nowt to crave; An fancies full ov bliss we wove;— Alas! Nell's in her grave.

Oh, Nell! I' that fair hooam ov thine, Whear all is breet an pure,—- Say,—is ther room for love like mine? Can earthborn love endure? Do angels' hearts past vows renew, To mortals here who dwell? It must be soa;—if my heart's true, Aw cannot daat thee, Nell.

It's weel we cannot see beyond That curtain Deeath lets fall; Lest cheerin hooaps, an longins fond, Should be denied us all. Better to live i' hooap nor fear,— 'Tis Mercy plan'd it soa; For if my Nelly isn't thear, Aw shouldn't care to goa.



Bide thi Time.

Bide thi time! it's sure to come, Tho' it may seem tardy,— Thine's a better fate nor some: If tha's but a humble home, Yet thart strong an hardy; Then cheer up an ne'er repine, Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! if fortun's blind, Rail not at her givin; If tha thinks shoo's ovver kind To thi neighbor, nivver mind, If tha gets a livin; Woll thi life is in its prime, Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! for ther's a endin To a loin, haivver long: Things at th' warst mun start o' mendin; Ther's noa wind but what's befriendin One or other, tho' its strong: Remember, poverty's noa crime— Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! tho none are near thee To stretch out a helpin hand; Let noa darken'd prospect fear thee, Ther's a promise yet should cheer thee As tha nears a breeter land: Tho thi rooad is hard to climb, Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! "I will not leave thee Nor forsake thee," He hath said. Let not worldly smiles deceive thee, Trust in Him—He will relieve thee— He that gives thy daily bread: Fill'd with faith and love sublime, Still contented, bide thi time.



A Cold Dooas.

One neet aw went hooam, what time aw can't tell, But it must ha been lat, for awd th' street to mysel. Furst one clock, then t'other, kept ringin aght chimes, Aw wor gaumless, a chap will get gaumless sometimes. Thinks aw—tha'll drop in for't to-neet lad, tha will! But aw oppen'd th' haase door an aw heeard all wor still; Soa aw ventured o' tip toe to creep up to bed, Thinkin th' less aw disturbed her an th' less wod be sed. When awd just getten ready to bob under th' clooas, Aw bethowt me aw hadn't barred th' gate an lockt th' doors; Soa daan stairs aw crept ommost holdin mi breeath, An ivverything raand mi wor silent as deeath. When aw stept aght oth door summat must ha been wrang, For it shut ov itsen wi a terrible bang; It wor lucky aw cleared it withaat gettin hurt, But still, aw wor lockt aght o' door i' mi shirt. Thinks aw its noa use to be feared ov a din, Awst be foorced to rouse Betty to let me get in. An to mend matters snow wor beginnin to fall, An a linen shirt makes but a poor overall. Aw knockt at first pratly, for fear ov a row, But her snooarin aw heeard plain enuff daan below. Mi flesh wor i' gooise-lumps, mi feet wor like ice, To be frozzen to deeath, thinks aw, willn't be nice; Soa as knockin wor useless aw started to bray, Till at last one oth pannels began to give way. All th' neighbors ther heeads aght oth windows did pop, But aw couldn't wake Betty, shoo slept like a top. At last a poleeceman coom raand wi his lamp, An he spied mi an thowt mi some murderin scamp; Aw tried to explain, but he wodn't give heed, For he wanted a job like all th' rest ov his breed. He tuk me to th' lock-up, an thear made a charge, At aw wor a lunatic rooamin at large. In a cell aw wor put, whear aw fan other three, 'Twor a small cell for four, but a big sell for me; An shiv'rin an shudd'rin an pairt druffen sick, That neet seem'd to me twice as long as a wick. Next mornin they dragg'd me to th' cooart-haase to tell What it meant, an to give an accaant o' misel; An they fined me five shillin, but ha could aw pay, When mi brass wor ith pockets oth clooas far away? Then they sent Betty word, an shoo coom, for it seems Shoo wor up i' gooid time, for shoo'd had ugly dreeams; An shoo browt me mi clooas, an shoo set me all streight, But her pity wor nobbut, "It just sarves thee reight." Sin then yo've noa nooation what awve to endure, For aw gate sich a cold 'at noa phisic can cure; An if aw complain Betty says i' quicksticks, "Tha sees what tha gets wi thi wrang-headed tricks." Soa aw grin an aw bide it as weel as aw can, But awve altered mi tactics, an nah it's mi plan If mi mates ivver tempt me an get me to rooam, Aw sup pop when awm aght an sup whisky at hooam. An Betty declares it's been all for mi gooid, For awd long wanted summat to cooil mi young blooid; But this lesson it towt me awl freely confess,— To mak sewer th' gate's made fast befoor aw undress.



A Jolly Beggar.

Aw'm as rich as a Jew, tho aw havn't a meg, But awm free as a burd, an aw shak a loise leg; Aw've noa haase, an noa barns, soa aw nivver pay rent, But still aw feel rich, for awm bless'd wi content, Aw live, an awm jolly, An if it is folly, Let others be wise, but aw'l follow mi bent.

Mi kitchen aw find amang th' rocks up oth moor, An at neet under th' edge ov a haystack aw snoor, An a wide spreeadin branch keeps th' cold rain off mi nop, Wol aw listen to th' stormcock at pipes up oth top; Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Aw nivver fear thieves, for aw've nowt they can tak, Unless it's thease tatters at hing o' mi back; An if they prig them, they'll get suck'd do yo see, They'll be noa use to them, for they're little to me. Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Fowk may turn up ther nooas as they pass me ith rooad An get aght oth gate as if fear'd ov a tooad; But aw laff i' mi sleeve, like a snail in its shell, For th' less room they tak up, ther's all th' moor for misel. Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Tho philosiphers tawk, an church parsons may praich, An tell us true joy is far aght ov us raich; Yet aw nivver tak heed o' ther cant o' ther noise, For he's nowt to be fear'd on at's nowt he can loise. Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.



Aw Wodn't for all aw Could See.

Why the dickens do some fowk keep thrustin, As if th' world hadn't raam for us all? Wi consarn an consait they're fair brustin, One ud think th' heavens likely to fall. They fidge an they fume an they flutter, Like a burd catched wi lime on a tree, And they'll fratch wi ther own breead an butter:— But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

Bless mi life! th' world could get on withaat em! It ud have to do if they wor deead; They may be sincere but aw daat em, If they're honest, they're wrang i' ther heead. They've all some pet doctrine, an wonder Why fowk wi ther plans disagree, They expect yo should all knuckle under, But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

My old woman may net be perfection, But we're wed soa we know we've to stick; An if shoo made another selection, Aw mightn't be th' chap at shoo'd pick. But we get on reight gradely together, An her failins aw try net to see, Some will bend under th' weight ov a feather, But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

A chap at aits peaches and cherries, Mun expect to be bothered wi stooans; An he's nobbut a fooil if he worries Coss yearins arnt made withaat booans. To mak th' best o' things just as aw find em, Seems th' reight sooart o' wisdom to me; An when things isn't reight aw neer mind em, For aw wodn't for all aw could see.

All araand me aw see ther's moor pleasure Nor aw can enjoy wol aw live; An contentment is this world's best treasure, Then why should aw sit daan an grieve? If they enjoy naggin an growlin, It maks little difference to me, But wi th' world full o' pleasure to roll in:— Why, aw wodn't for all aw could see.



Come thi Ways!

Bonny lassie, come thi ways, An let us goa together! Tho' we've met wi stormy days, Ther'll be some sunny weather. An if joy should spring for me, Tha shall freely share it; An if trouble comes to thee, Aw can help to bear it.

Tho' thi mammy says us nay, An thi dad's unwillin'; Wod ta have me pine away Wi this love at's killin'? Come thi ways, an let me twine Mi arms once moor abaght thee; Weel tha knows mi heart is thine, Aw couldn't live withaat thee.

Ivvery day an haar at slips, Some pleasure we are missin', For those bonny rooasy lips Awm nivver stall'd o' kissin'. If men wor wise to walk life's track Withaat sith joys to glad 'em, He must ha made a sad mistak At gave a Eve to Adam.



What is it?

What is it maks a crusty wife Forget to scold, an leeave off strife? What is it smoothes th' rooad throo life? It's sooap.

What is it maks a gaumless muff Grow rich, an roll i' lots o' stuff, Woll better men can't get enough? It's sooap.

What is it, if it worn't theear, Wod mak some fowks feel varry queer, An put em i' ther proper sphere? It's sooap.

What is it maks fowk wade throo th' snow, To goa to th' church, becoss they know 'At th' squire's at hooam an sure to goa? It's sooap.

What is it gains fowk invitations, Throo them at live i' lofty stations? What is it wins mooast situations? It's sooap.

What is it men say they detest, Yet allus like that chap the best 'At gives em twice as mich as th' rest? It's sooap.

What is it, when the devil sends His agents raand to work his ends, What is it gains him lots o' friends? It's sooap.

What is it we should mooast despise, An by its help refuse to rise, Tho' poverty's befoor awr eyes? It's sooap.

What is it, when life's wasting fast, When all this world's desires are past, Will prove noa use to us at last? It's sooap.



Awst Nivver be Jaylus.

"Awst nivver be jaylus, net aw!" Sed Nancy to th' love ov her heart, "Aw couldn't, lad, if awd to try, For aw know varry weel what tha art. Aw could trust thee to th' world's farthest point, Noa matter what wimmen wor thear, They'd nooan put mi nooas aght o'th joint, Tha'd come back to thi lass tha left here.

Though tha did walk Leweezy to th' church, An fowk wink'd an dropt monny a hint, Aw knew tha'd nooan leav me i'th lurch, For a dowdy like her wi a squint. An Ellen at lives at th' yard end, May simper an innocent look, But aw think shoo'll ha' farther to fend, Befoor shoo's a fish to her hook.

Nay, jaylussy's aght o' my line, Or else that young widdy next door, Wod ha heeard some opinions o' mine, At wodn't quite suit her awm sewer. What tha can see in her caps me, For awm sewer shoo's as faal as old Flue, An aw think when shoo's tawkin to thee, Shoo mud find surnmat better to do.

'Shoo's a varry nice lass,' does ta say? 'An luks looansum tha thinks?' oh! that's it! Tha'd better set off reight away, An try to console her a bit. Shoo's a two-faced deceitful young freet! Aw wish shoo wor teed raand thi neck! But goa to her an tell her to-neet, At Nancy has given thi th' seck.

Awm nooan jaylus! aw ammot that fond! Aw think far too mich o' mysen To care for sich a poucement as yond, At hankers for other fowk's men! Aw tell thi aw'll net hold mi tongue! Awm nooan jaylus tha madlin! it's thee!* An aw allus shall trust thee as long As tha nooatices nubdy but me."



Lamentin' an Repentin'.

Awst be better when spring comes, aw think, But aw feel varry sickly an waik, Awve noa relish for mait nor for drink, An awm ommost too weary to laik.

What's to come on us all aw can't tell, For we havn't a shillin put by; Ther's nowt left to pop nor to sell, An aw cannot get trust if aw try.

My wife has to turn aght to wark, An th' little uns all do a share; An they're tewin throo dayleet to dark, To keep me sittin here i' mi chair.

It doesn't luk long sin that day When Bessy wor stood bi mi side; An shoo promised to love an obey, An me to protect an provide.

Shoo wor th' bonniest lass i' all th' taan, An fowk sed as they saw us that day, When we coom aght o' th' church, arm i' arm, Shoo wor throwin' hersen reight away.

But shoo smiled i' mi face as we went, An her arm clung moor tightly to mine; "Aw feel happy," shoo sed, "an content To know at tha'rt mine an awm thine."

Aw wor praad ov her bonny breet een,— Aw wor praad ov her little white hand,— An aw thowt shoo wor fit for a queen, For ther wornt a grander ith' land.

We gat on varry weel for a bit, An aw stuck to mi wark like a man, An enjoying mi hooam, thear awd sit, As a chap at works hard nobbut can.

We hadn't been wed quite a year, When they showed me a grand little lad, An th' old wimmen sed, "Sithee! luk here! He's th' image exact ov his dad."

But mi mates nivver let me alooan, Till aw joined i' ther frolics and spree, An tho' Bessy went short, or had nooan, Shoo wor kinder nor ivver to me.

Sometimes when shoo's ventur'd to say, "Come hooam an stop in lad, to-neet." Awve felt shamed an awve hurried away, For her een have been glist'nin wi weet.

An awve sed to misen 'at awd mend, For it's wrang to be gooin on soa; But at neet back to th' aleus awd wend, Wi th' furst swillgut at ax'd me to goa.

Two childer wor added to th' stock, But aw drank, an mi wark went to th' bad; An awve known em be rooarin for jock, Wol awve druffen what they should ha had.

Aw seldom went hooam but to sleep, Tho Bessy ne'er offered to chide; But grief 'at is silent is deep, An sorrow's net easy to hide.

If th' childer wod nobbut complain, Or Bessy get peevish an tart, Aw could put up wi th' anguish or pain, But ther kindness is braikin mi heart.

Little Emma, poor child, ov a neet Does th' neighbours odd jobs nah and then, An shoo runs hersen off ov her feet, For a hawpny, they think for hersen.

An shoo saved em until shoo gat three, But this mornin away shoo went aght, An spent em o' bacca for me, 'Coss shoo thowt aw luk'd looansum withaat.

It's a lesson awst nivver forget, An awve bid a gooid-bye to strong drink; An theyst hev ther reward yo can bet;— Awst be better when spring comes aw think.

An if spendin what's left o' mi life For ther sakes can mak up for lost time, Ther shan't be a happier wife, Nor three better loved childer nor mine.

Aw can't help mi een runnin o'er, For mi heart does mi conduct condemn; But awl promise to do soa noa moor, If God spares me to Bessy and them.



Bite Bigger.

As aw hurried throo th' taan to mi wark, (Aw wur lat, for all th' whistles had gooan,) Aw happen'd to hear a remark, At ud fotch tears throo th' heart ov a stooan.— It wur raanin, an snawin, an cowd, An th' flagstoans wur covered wi muck, An th' east wind booath whistled an howl'd, It saanded like nowt but ill luck; When two little lads, donn'd i' rags, Baght stockins or shoes o' ther feet, Coom trapesin away ower th' flags, Booath on em sodden'd wi th' weet.— Th' owdest mud happen be ten, Th' young en be hauf on't,—noa moor; As aw luk'd on, aw sed to misen, God help fowk this weather at's poor! Th' big en sam'd summat off th' graand, An aw luk'd just to see what 't could be; 'Twur a few wizend flaars he'd faand, An they seem'd to ha fill'd him wi glee: An he sed, "Come on, Billy, may be We shall find summat else by an by, An if net, tha mun share thease wi me When we get to some spot where its dry." Leet-hearted they trotted away, An aw follow'd, coss 'twur i' mi rooad; But aw thowt awd ne'er seen sich a day— It worn't fit ta be aght for a tooad. Sooin th' big en agean slipt away, An sam'd summat else aght o'th' muck, An he cried aght, "Luk here, Bill! to-day Arn't we blest wi' a seet o' gooid luck? Here's a apple! an th' mooast on it's saand: What's rotten aw'll throw into th' street— Worn't it gooid to ligg thear to be faand? Nah booath on us con have a treat." Soa he wiped it, an rubb'd it, an then Sed, "Billy, thee bite off a bit; If tha hasn't been lucky thisen Tha shall share wi me sich as aw get." Soa th' little en bate off a touch, T'other's face beemed wi pleasur all throo, An' he sed, "Nay, tha hasn't taen much, Bite agean, an bite bigger; nah do!"

Aw waited to hear nowt noa moor,— Thinks aw, thear's a lesson for me! Tha's a heart i' thi breast, if tha'rt poor: Th' world wur richer wi' moor sich as thee! Tuppince wur all th' brass aw had, An awd ment it for ale when coom nooin, But aw thowt aw'll goa give it yond lad, He desarves it for what he's been dooin. Soa aw sed, "Lad, here's tuppince for thee, For thi sen,"—an they stared like two geese; But he sed, woll th' tear stood in his e'e, "Nay, it'll just be a penny a piece." "God bless thi! do just as tha will, An may better days speedily come; Tho clam'd, an hauf donn'd, mi lad, still Tha'rt a deal nearer Heaven nur some."



Second Thowts.

Aw've been walkin up th' loin all ith weet, Aw felt sure tha'd be comin that way; For tha promised tha'd meet me to-neet, An answer me "Aye" or else "Nay." Tho aw hevn't mich fear tha'll refuse, Yet awd rayther mi fate tha'd decide, For this trailin abaat is no use, Unless tha'll at last be mi bride.

Aw dooant like keepin thus i' suspense, An aw think tha'rt too full o' consait; If aw get thee tha'll bring me expense, To provide thee wi clooas an wi mait. If tha fancies all th' gain's o' my side Tha'rt makkin a sorry mistak, For when a chap tackles a bride, He's an extra looad on his back.

An in fact, when aw study things o'er, Awm nooan sorry tha hasn't shown up, For awm nooan badly off nah awm sure, For awve plenty to ait an to sup. Aw've noa wife to find fault if awm lat, Aw've noa childer to feed nor to clam, An when aw put this thing to that, Aw think aw shall stop as aw am.



A Neet when aw've Nowt to do.

Why lad, awm sewer tha'rt ommost done, This ovvertime is killin; 'Twor allus soa sin th' world begun, They put o' them at's willin. Tha's ne'er a neet to call thi own,— Tha starts furst thing o' Mundy, An works thi fingers fair to th' booan, Booath day an neet wol Sundy. Aw know tha addles extra pay,— We couldn't weel do baght it, But if tha'rt browt hooam sick some day, We'st ha to do withaat it. Aw seldom get to see thi face, Exceptin when tha'rt aitin; Neet after neet aw caar ith' place Wol awm fair sick o' waitin. An when tha comes, tha'rt off to bed, Befoor aw've chonce o' spaikin, An th' childer luk, aw've ofttimes sed, Like orphans when they're laikin. Come hooam at six o'clock to-morn, An let wark goa to hummer, Thi face is growin white an worn:— Tha'll nivver last all summer. Besides ther's lots o' little jobs, At tha can tak a hand in,— That kist o' drawers has lost two nobs, An th' table leg wants mendin. Ther's th' fixin up oth' winderblind, An th' chaymer wants whiteweshin, Th' wall's filled wi marks o' ivvery kind,— (Yond lads desarve a threshin.) Aw can't shake th' carpet bi misen, Nor lig it square an straightly;— Th' childer mud help me nah an then, But they ne'er do nowt reightly. That bed o' awrs wants shakin up, All th' flocks has stuck together, Tha knows they all want braikin up, Or they'll get tough as leather. An th' coilhoil wants a coit o' lime, Then it'll smell mich sweeter, An th' cellar should be done this time, It maks it soa mich leeter. Ther's lots o' little things beside;— All th' childer's clogs want spetchin, Jack's hurts his toa, tha'll mak em wide, Wi varry little stretchin. Besides, tha raillee wants a rest, For a neet, or maybe two, An tha can fix theas trifles best, Some neet when tha's nowt to do. Awm net like some at connot feel For others, aw assure thi: Tha's tewd until tha'rt owt but weel; An nowt but rest can cure thi. Soa come hooam sooin an spend a neet, Wi me an Jack an Freddy, They'll think it's ivver sich a treat; An aw'll have th' whitewesh ready.



Ther's much Expected.

Life's pathway is full o' deep ruts, An we mun tak gooid heed lest we stumble; Man is made up of "ifs" and of "buts," It seems pairt ov his natur to grumble.

But if we'd all anxiously tak To makkin things smooth as we're able, Ther'd be monny a better clooath'd back, An' monny a better spread table.

It's a sad state o' things when a man Cannot put ony faith in his brother, An fancies he'll chait if he can, An rejoice ovver th' fall ov another.

An it's sad when yo see some at stand High in social position an power, To know at ther fortuns wor plann'd, An built, aght oth' wrecks o' those lower.

It's sad to see luxury rife, An fortuns being thowtlessly wasted; While others are wearin out life, With the furst drops o' pleasure untasted.

Some in carriages rollin away, To a ball, or a rout, or a revel; But ther chariots may bear em some day Varry near to the gates ov the devil.

Oh! charity surely is rare, Or ther'd net be soa monny neglected; For ther's lots wi enuff an' to spare, An from them varry mich is expected.

An tho' in this world they've ther fill Of its pleasures, an wilfully blinded, Let deeath come—an surely it will— They'll be then ov ther duties reminded.

An when called on, they, tremblin wi fear, Say "The hungry an nak'd we ne'er knew," That sentence shall fall o' ther ear— "Depart from me; I never knew you."

Then, oh! let us do what we can, Nor with this world's goods play the miser; If it's wise to lend money to man, To lend to the Lord must be wiser.



Coortin Days.

Coortin days,—Coortin days,—loved one an lover! What wod aw give if those days could come ovver? Weddin is joyous,—its pleasur unstinted; But coortin is th' sweetest thing ivver invented. Walkin an talkin, An nursin Love's spark, Charmin an warmin Tho th' neet may be dark.

Oh! but it's nice when yor way's long and dreary, To walk wi yor arm raand th' waist ov yor dearie; Tellin sweet falsehoods, the haars to beguile em, (If yo tell'd em ith' dayleet they'd put yo ith' sylum.) But ivverything's fair I' love an i' war, But be sewer to act square;— An do if yo dar!

Squeezin an kissin an kissin an squeezin,— Laughin an coughin an ticklin an sneezin,— But remember,—if maybe, sich knowledge yo lack, Allus smile in her face, but, sneeze at her back. Yo may think, if a fooil, Sich a thing nivver mattered, But a lass, as a rule, Doesn't want to be spattered.

When th' coortin neet comes, tho' yor appetite's ragin, Dooant fill up wi oonions, wi mar'gum an sage in, Remember, the darlin, where centred yor bliss is, Likes to fancy, yor livin on love an her kisses. An yor linen, if plain, Have all spotless an fresh: Then shoo connot complain, When shoo has it to wesh.

When Love's flame's been lit, an burst into a glow, Th' best thing yo can do,—(that's as far as aw know;) Is to goa to a parson an pay him his price, An to join yo together he'll put in a splice, Then together yo'll face This world's battle an bother, An if that isn't th' case, Yo can feight for each other.



Sweet Mistress Moore.

Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife, An Johnny is a druffen sot; He spends th' best portion of his life Ith' beershop wi a pipe an pot. At schooil together John an me Set side by side like trusty chums, An nivver did we disagree Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs. At John shoo smiled, An aw wor riled; Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me; Her bonny e'en Aw've seldom seen Sin that sad day shoo slighted me.

Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want, For Johnny ofttimes gets oth' spree; He spends his wages in a rant, An leeaves his wife to pine or dee. An monny a time awve ligged i' bed, An cursed my fate for bein poor, An monny a bitter tear awve shed, When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore. For shoo's mi life Is Johnny's wife, An tho to love her isn't reet, What con aw do, When all th' neet throo Awm dreamin ov her e'en soa breet.

Aw'll goa away an leeave this spot, For fear at we should ivver meet, For if we did, as sure as shot Awst throw me daan anent her feet. Aw know shoo'd think aw wor a fooil, To love a woman when shoo's wed, But sin aw saw her furst at schooil, It's been a wretched life aw've led. But th' time has come To leeave mi hooam, An th' sea between us sooin shall roar, Yet still mi heart Will nivver part Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore.



Waivin Mewsic.

Ther's mewsic ith' shuttle, ith' loom, an ith frame, Ther's melody mingled ith' noise; For th' active ther's praises, for th' idle ther's blame, If they'd harken to th' saand of its voice. An when flaggin a bit, how refreshin to feel As you pause an look raand on the throng, At the clank o' the tappet, the hum o' the wheel, Sing this plain unmistakable song:— Nick a ting, nock a ting; Wages keep pocketing; Workin for little is better nor laikin; Twist an twine, reel an wind; Keep a contented mind; Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.

To see workin fowk wi a smile o' ther face As they labour thear day after day; An hear th' women's voices float sweetly throo th' place, As they join i' some favorite lay; It saands amang th' din, as the violet seems At peeps aght th' green dockens among, Diffusing a charm ovver th' rest by its means, Thus it blends i' that steady old song; Nick a ting, nock a ting, Wages keep pocketing; Workin for little is better nor laikin; Twist an twine, reel an wind, Keep a contented mind, Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.

An then see what lessons are laid out anent us, As pick after pick follows time after time, An warns us tho' silent, to let nowt prevent us From strivin by little endeavours to climb; Th' world's made o' trifles, its dust forms a mountain, Then nivver despair as yor trudgin along, If troubles will come an yor spirits dishearten, Yo'll find ther's relief i' that steady owd song; Nick a ting, nock a ting; Wages keep pocketin; Workin for little is better nor laikin; Twist an twine, reel an wind; Keep a contented mind; Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.

Life's warp comes throo Heaven, th' weft's faand bi us sen, To finish a piece we're compell'd to ha booath; Th' warp's reight, but if th' weft should be faulty, how then? Noa waiver ith' world can produce a gooid clooath. Then let us endeavour by workin an strivin, To finish awr piece so's noa fault can be fun, An then i' return for awr pains an contrivin, Th' takker in 'll reward us and whisper "well done." Clink a clank, clink a clank, Workin withaat a thank, May be awr fortun, if soa nivver mind it, Strivin to do awr best, We shall be reight at last, If we lack comfort now, then shall we find it.



Jimmy's Choice.

One limpin Jimmy wed a lass; An this wor th' way it coom to pass— He'd saved a little bit o' brass, An soa he thowt he'd ventur To tak unto hissen a wife, To ease his mind ov all its strife, An be his comfort all throo life— An, pray, what should prevent her?

"Awve brass enuff," he sed, "for two, An noa wark at awm foorced to do, But all th' day long can bill an coo, Just like a little pigeon. Aw nivver have a druffen rant; Aw nivver praich teetotal cant; Aw nivver booast at awm a saint, I' matters o' religion.

"Then with a gradely chap like me, A lass can live mooast happily; An awl let all awr neighbors see We'll live withaat a wrangle; For if two fowk just have a mind To be to one another kind, They each may be as easy twined As th' hannel ov a mangle.

"For love's moor paar nor oaths an blows, An kind words, ivverybody knows, Saves monny a hundred thaasand rows; An soa we'll start wi kindness; For if a chap thinks he can win Love or respect wi oaths an din, He'll surely find he's been let in, An sarved reight for his blindness."

Soa Jimmy went to tell his tale To a young lass called Sally Swale, An just for fear his heart should fail, He gate a drop o' whiskey. Net mich, but just enuff, yo see, To put a spark into his e'e, An mak his tongue a trifle free, An mak him strong an frisky.

Young Sally, shoo wor varry shy, An when he'd done shoo breathed a sigh, An then began to sob an cry As if her heart wor brokken. "Nay, Sally lass,—pray what's amiss?" He sed, an gave a lovin kiss, "If awd expected owt like this, Awm sewer awd ne'er ha spokken."

At last shoo dried her bonny een, An felt as praad as if a queen; An nivver king has ivver been One hawf as praad as Jimmy. An soa they made all matters sweet, An one day quietly stroll'd up th' street, Till th' owd church door coom into seet— Says Jim, "Come, lass, goa wi me."

Then wed they wor an off they went To start ther life ov sweet content; An Sally ax'd him whear he meant Ther honey-mooin to spend at? Says Jim, "We're best at hooam, aw think, We've lots o' stuff to ait an drink." But Sally gave a knowin wink, An sed, "Nay, awl net stand that.

"Tha needn't think aw meean to be Shut up like in a nunnery; Awm fond o' life, an love a spree, As weel as onny other." "Tha cannot goa," sed Jim, "that's flat." "But goa aw shall, awl tell thee that! What wod ta have a woman at? Shame on thee for sich bother!"

Jim scrat his heead, "Nah lass," sed he, "One on us mun a maister be, Or else we'st allus disagree, An nivver live contented." Sed Sal, "Awd ne'er a maister yet, An if tha thowt a slave to get, Tha'll find thisen mista'en, awl bet; Awm sewer aw nivver meant it."

Jim tried his best to change her mind, But mud as weel ha saved his wind; An soa to prove he worn't unkind, He gave in just to pleeas her. He's allus follow'd th' plan sin then, To help her just to pleeas hersen; An nah, he says, "They're fooilish men At wed a wife to teeas her."



Old Moorcock.

Awm havin a smook bi misel, Net a soul here to spaik a word to, Awve noa gossip to hear nor to tell, An ther's nowt aw feel anxious to do.

Awve noa noashun o' writin a line, Tho' awve just dipt mi pen into th' ink, Towards warkin aw dooant mich incline, An awm ommost too lazy to think.

Awve noa riches to mak me feel vain, An yet awve as mich as aw need; Awve noa sickness to cause me a pain, An noa troubles to mak mi heart bleed.

Awr Dolly's crept off to her bed, An aw hear shoo's beginnin to snoor; (That upset me when furst we wor wed, But nah it disturbs me noa moor.)

Like me, shoo taks things as they come, Makkin th' best o' what falls to her lot, Shoo's content wi her own humble hooam, For her world's i' this snug little cot.

We know at we're booath growin old, But Time's traces we hardly can see; An tho' fifty years o'er us have roll'd, Shoo's still th' same young Dolly to me.

Her face may be wrinkled an grey, An her een may be losin ther shine, But her heart's just as leetsome to-day As it wor when aw furst made her mine.

Awve mi hobbies to keep me i' toit, Awve noa whistle nor bell to obey, Awve mi wark when aw like to goa to it, An mi time's all mi own, neet an day.

An tho' some pass me by wi a sneer, An some pity mi lowly estate, Aw think awve a deeal less to fear Nor them at's soa wealthy an great.

When th' sky stretches aght blue an breet, An th' heather's i' blossom all round, Makkin th' mornin's cooil breezes smell sweet, As they rustle along ovver th' graand.

When aw listen to th' lark as he sings Far aboon, ommost lost to mi view, Aw lang for a pair ov his wings, To fly wi him, an sing like him, too.

When aw sit under th' shade of a tree, Wi mi book, or mi pipe, or mi pen, Aw think them at's sooary for me Had far better pity thersen.

When wintry storms howl ovver th' moor, An snow covers all, far an wide, Aw carefully festen mi door, An creep cloise up to th' fire inside.

A basin o' porridge may be, To some a despisable dish, But it allus comes welcome to me, If awve nobbut as mich as aw wish.

Mi cloas are old-fashioned, they say, An aw havn't a daat but it's true; Yet they answer ther purpose to-day Just as weel as if th' fashion wor new.

Let them at think joys nobbut dwell Wheear riches are piled up i' stoor, Try to get a gooid share for thersel' But leave me mi snug cot up o'th' moor.

Mi bacca's all done, soa aw'll creep Off to bed, just as quite as a maase, For if Dolly's disturbed ov her sleep, Ther'll be a fine racket i'th' haase.

Aw mun keep th' band i'th' nick if aw can, For if shoo gets her temper once crost, All comforts an joys aw may plan Is just soa mich labour at's lost.



Th' Short-Timer.

Some poets sing o' gipsy queens, An some o' ladies fine; Aw'll sing a song o' other scenes,— A humbler muse is mine. Jewels, an' gold, an silken frills, Are things too heigh for me; But wol mi harp wi vigour thrills, Aw'll strike a chord for thee.

Poor lassie wan, Do th' best tha can, Although thi fate be hard. A time ther'll be When sich as thee Shall have yor full reward.

At hauf-past five tha leaves thi bed, An off tha goes to wark; An gropes thi way to mill or shed, Six months o'th' year i'th' dark. Tha gets but little for thi pains, But that's noa fault o' thine; Thi maister reckons up his gains, An ligs i bed till nine.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

He's little childer ov his own 'At's quite as old as thee; They ride i' cushioned carriages 'At's beautiful to see; They'd fear to spoil ther little hand, To touch thy greasy brat: It's wark like thine at makes em grand— They nivver think o' that.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

I' summer time they romp an' play Where flowers grow wild and sweet; Ther bodies strong, ther spirits gay, They thrive throo morn to neet. But tha's a cough, aw hear tha has, An oft aw've known thee sick; But tha mun work, poor little lass, Foa hauf-a-craan a wick.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

Aw envy net fowks' better lot— Aw shouldn't like to swap. Aw'm quite contented wi mi cot; Aw'm but a workin chap. But if aw had a lot o' brass Aw'd think o' them at's poor; Aw'd have yo' childer workin less, An mak yor wages moor.

Poor lassie wan, &c.

"There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign, Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain." Noa fact'ry bell shall greet thi ear, I' that sweet home ov love; An' those at scorn thi sufferins here May envy thee above.

Poor lassie wan, &c.



Sol an' Doll.

Awm a young Yorksher lad as jolly an gay, As a lark on a sunshiny mornin, An Dolly's as fair as the flaars i' May, An trubbles we meean to be scornin. If we live wol to-morn aw shall make her mi wife, An we'll donce to a rollickin measure, For we booath are agreed to begin wedded life, As we mean to goa throo it, wi pleasure.

Then we'll donce an be gay, An we'll laff care away, An we'll nivver sit broodin o'er sorrow, An mi Dolly an me, Ax yo all to a spree; Come an donce at awr weddin to-morrow.

Awst be bashful awm sewer, aw wor ne'er wed befoor, An aw feel rayther funny abaat it; But Dolly aw guess can drag me aght o'th' mess, An if ther's owt short we'll do baat it. Mi mother says "Sol, if tha'll leave it to Doll, Tha'll find shoo can taich thee a wrinkle, Shoo's expectin some fun befoor it's all done Aw can tell, for aw saw her e'en twinkle."

Then we'll donce &c.

We've a haase to step in, all as smart as a pin, An we've beddin an furnitur plenty; We've a pig an a caah, an aw connot tell ha Monny paands, but aw think abaat twenty. We've noa family yet, but ther will be aw'll bet, For true comfort aw think ther's nowt licks it An if they dooant come, aw'll just let it alooan, An aw'll leave it for Dolly to fix it.

Then we'll donce &c.



Their Fred.

"He's a nowt! If ther's owt At a child shouldn't do, He mun try, Or know why, Befoor th' day's getten throo. An his dad, Ov his lad Taks noa nooatice at all, Aw declare It's net fair For Job's patience he'd stall. Awm his mam,— That aw am, But awm ommost worn aght, A gooid lick Wi a stick, He just cares nowt abaght. Thear he goes, Wi a nooas Like a chaneller's shop! Aw may call, Or may bawl, But th' young imp willn't stop. Thear's a cat, He spies that, Nah he's having a race!— That's his way Ivvery day If a cat's abaght th' place. But if aw Wor near by, Awd just fotch him a seawse! Come thee here! Does ta hear? Come thi ways into th' haase! Who's that flat? What's he at? If he touches awr Fred, If aw live Aw'll goa rive Ivvery hair off his head! What's th' lad done? It's his fun! Tried to kill yor old cat? Well suppooas At he does! Bless mi life! What bi that? He's mi own, Flesh an' booan, An aw'll net have him lickt; If he's wild, He's a child, Pray what can yo expect! Did um doy! Little joy! Let's ha nooan o' them skrikes Nowty man! Why he can Kill a cat if he likes. Hush a bee, hush a bye, Little Freddy munnot cry."



Love an' Labor.

Th' swallows are buildin ther nests, Jenny, Th' springtime has come with its flowers; Th' fields in ther greenest are drest, Jenny, An th' songsters mak music ith' bowers. Daisies an buttercups smile, Jenny, Laughingly th' brook flows along;— An awm havin a smook set oth' stile, Jenny, But this bacca's uncommonly strong.

Aw wonder if thy heart like mine, Jenny, Finds its love-burden hard to be borne; Do thi een wi' breet tears ov joy shine, Jenny, As they glistened an shone yestermorn? Ther's noa treasure wi' thee can compare, Jenny, Aw'd net change thi for wealth or estate;— But aw'll goa nah some braikfast to share, Jenny, For aw can't live baght summat to ait.

Like a nightingale if aw could sing, Jenny, Aw'd pearch near thy winder at neet, An mi choicest love ditties aw'd bring, Jenny, An lull thi to rest soft an sweet. Or if th' wand ov a fairy wor mine, Jenny, Aw'd grant thi whate'er tha could wish;— But theas porridge are salty as brine, Jenny, An they'll mak me as dry as a fish.

A garland ov lillies aw'd twine, Jenny, An place on thy curls golden bright, But aw know 'at they quickly wod pine, Jenny, I' despair at thy brow's purer white. Them angels 'at fell bi ther pride, Jenny, Wi' charms like thine nivver wor deckt;— But yond muck 'at's ith' mistal's to side, Jenny, Aw mun start on or else aw'st get seckt.

Varry sooin aw shall mak thi mi wife, Jenny, An awr cot shall a paradise be; Tha shall nivver know trubble or strife, Jenny, If aw'm able to keep 'em throo thee. If ther's happiness this side oth' grave, Jenny, Tha shall sewerly come in for thi share;— An aw'll tell thi what else tha shall have, Jenny, When aw've a two-or-three moor minnits to spare.



Nooan so Bad.

This world is net a paradise, Tho' railly aw dooant see, What fowk should growl soa mich abaat;— Its gooid enuff for me. It's th' only world aw've ivver known, An them 'at grummel soa, An praich abaat a better land, Seem varry looath to goa.

Ther's some things 'at awm apt to think, If aw'd been th' engineer, Aw might ha changed,—but its noa use,— Aw connot interfere. We're foorced to tak it as it is; What faults we think we see; It mayn't be what it owt to be,— But its gooid enuff for me.

Then if we connot alter things, Its folly to complain; To hunt for faults an failins, Allus gooas agean my grain. When ther's soa monny pleasant things, Why should we hunt for pain, If troubles come, we needn't freeat, For sunshine follows rain.

If th' world gooas cruckt,—what's that to us? We connot mak it straight; But aw've come to this conclusion, 'At its th' fowk 'at isn't reight. If ivverybody 'ud try to do Ther best wi' th' means they had, Aw think 'at they'd agree wi' me,— This world is nooan soa bad.



Th' Honest Hard Worker.

It's hard what poor fowk mun put up wi'! What insults an snubs they've to tak! What bowin an scrapin's expected, If a chap's a black coit on his back. As if clooas made a chap ony better, Or riches improved a man's heart; As if muck in a carriage smell'd sweeter Nor th' same muck wod smell in a cart.

Give me one, hard workin, an' honest, Tho' his clooas may be greasy and coorse; If it's muck 'at's been getten bi labor, It doesn't mak th' man onny worse. Awm sick o' thease simpering dandies, 'At think coss they've getten some brass, They've a reight to luk daan at th' hard workers, An' curl up their nooas as they pass.

It's a poor sooart o' life to be leadin, To be curlin an partin ther hair; An seekin one's own fun and pleasure, Nivver thinkin ha others mun fare. It's all varry weel to be spendin Ther time at a hunt or a ball, But if th' workers war huntin an doncin, Whativer wod come on us all?

Ther's summat beside fun an frolic To live for, aw think, if we try; Th' world owes moor to a honest hard worker Nor it does to a rich fly-bi-sky. Tho' wealth aw acknowledge is useful, An' awve oft felt a want on't misen, Yet th' world withaat brass could keep movin, But it wodn't do long withaat men.

One truth they may put i' ther meersham, An smoke it—that is if they can; A man may mak hooshuns o' riches, But riches can ne'er mak a man. Then give me that honest hard worker, 'At labors throo mornin to neet, Tho' his rest may be little an seldom, Yet th' little he gets he finds sweet.

He may rank wi' his wealthier brother, An rank heigher, aw fancy, nor some; For a hand 'at's weel hoofed wi' hard labor Is a passport to th' world 'at's to come. For we know it's a sin to be idle, As man's days i' this world are but few; Then let's all wi' awr lot be contented, An continue to toil an to tew.

For ther's one thing we all may be sure on, If we each do awr best wol we're here; 'At when th' time comes for reckonin, we're called on, We shall have varry little to fear. An at last, when we throw daan awr tackle, An are biddin farewell to life's stage, May we hear a voice whisper at partin, "Come on, lad! Tha's haddled thi wage."



Peevish Poll.

Aw've heeard ov Mary Mischief, An aw've read ov Natterin Nan; An aw've known a Grumlin Judy, An a cross-grained Sarah Ann; But wi' all ther faults an failins, They still seem varry tame, Compared to one aw'll tell yo on, But aw dursn't tell her name.

Aw'll simply call her Peevish Poll, That name suits to a dot; But if shoo thowt 'twor meant for her, Yo bet, aw'st get it hot. Shoo's fat an fair an forty, An her smile's as sweet as spice, An her voice is low an tender When shoo's tryin to act nice.

Shoo's lots ov little winnin ways, 'At fit her like a glove; An fowk say shoo's allus pleasant,— Just a woman they could love. But if they nobbut had her, They'd find aght for a start, It isn't her wi' th' sweetest smile At's getten th' kindest heart.

Haivver her poor husband lives An stands it,—that licks doll! Aw'st ha been hung if aw'd been cursed Wi' sich a wife as Poll! Her children three, sneak in an aght As if they wor hawf deead They seem expectin, hawf ther time, A claat o'th' side o'th' heead.

If they goa aght to laik, shoo storms Abaat her looanly state; If they stop in, then shoo declares They're allus in her gate. If they should start to sing or tawk Shoo tells 'em, "hold yor din!" An if they all sit mum, shoo says, "It railly is a sin To think ha shoo's to sit an mope, All th' time at they're away, An when they're hooam they sit like stoops Withaat a word to say."

If feelin cold they creep near th' fire, They'll varry sooin get floored; Then shoo'll oppen th' door an winder Declarin shoo's fair smoored. When its soa swelterin an hot They can hardly get ther breeath, Shoo'll pile on coils an shut all cloise, An sware shoo's starved to deeath.

Whativver's wrang when they're abaat, Is their fault for bein thear; An if owt's wrang when they're away, It's coss they wornt near. To keep 'em all i' misery, Is th' only joy shoo knows; An then shoo blames her husband, For bein allus makkin rows.

Poor chap he's wearin fast away,— He'll leeav us before long; A castiron man wod have noa chonce Wi' sich a woman's tongue. An then shoo'll freeat and sigh, an try His virtues to extol; But th' mourner, mooast sincere will be That chap 'at next weds Poll.



The Old Bachelor's Story.

It was an humble cottage, Snug in a rustic lane, Geraniums and fuschias peep'd From every window-pane;

The dark-leaved ivy dressed its walls, Houseleek adorned the thatch; The door was standing open wide,— They had no need of latch.

And close besides the corner There stood an old stone well, Which caught a mimic waterfall, That warbled as it fell.

The cat, crouched on the well-worn steps, Was blinking in the sun; The birds sang out a welcome To the morning just begun.

An air of peace and happiness Pervaded all the scene; The tall trees formed a back ground Of rich and varied green;

And all was steeped in quietness, Save nature's music wild, When all at once, methought I heard The sobbing of a child.

I listened, and the sound again Smote clearly on my ear: "Can there,"—I wondering asked myself— "Can there be sorrow here?"—

I looked within, and on the floor Was sat a little boy, Striving to soothe his sister's grief By giving her a toy.

"Why weeps your sister thus?" I asked; "What is her cause of grief? Come tell me, little man," I said, "Come tell me, and be brief."

Clasping his sister closer still, He kissed her tear-stained face, And thus, in homely Yorkshire phrase, He told their mournful case.

———

"Mi mammy, sir, shoos liggin thear, I' th' shut-up bed i'th' nook; An' tho aw've tried to wakken her, Shoo'll nawther spaik nor look.

Mi sissy wants her porridge, An its time shoo had 'em too; But th' foir's gooan aght an th' mail's all done— Aw dooant know what to do.

An O, my mammy's varry cold— Just come an touch her arm: Aw've done mi best to hap her up, But connot mak her warm.

Mi daddy he once fell asleep, An nivver wakken'd moor: Aw saw 'em put him in a box, An tak him aght o'th' door.

He nivver comes to see us nah, As once he used to do, An let mi ride upon his back— Me, an mi sissy too.

An if they know mi mammy sleeps, Soa cold, an white, an still, Aw'm feeard they'll come an fotch her, sir; O, sir, aw'm feeard they will!

Aw happen could get on misen, For aw con work a bit, But little sissy, sir, yo see, Shoo's varry young as yet.

Oh! dunnot let fowk tak mi mam! Help me to rouse her up! An if shoo wants her physic, See,—it's in this little cup.

Aw know her heead wor bad last neet, When putting us to bed; Shoo said, 'God bless yo, little things!' An that wor all shoo sed.

Aw saw a tear wor in her e'e— In fact, it's seldom dry: Sin daddy went shoo allus cries, But nivver tells us why.

Aw think it's coss he isn't here, 'At maks her e'en soa dim; Shoo says, he'll nivver come to us, But we may goa to him.

But if shoo's gooan an left us here, What mun we do or say?— We connot follow her unless, Somebody 'll show us th' way."

——

My heart was full to bursting, When I heard the woeful tale; I gazed a moment on the face Which death had left so pale;

Then clasping to my heaving breast The little orphan pair, I sank upon my bended knees, And offered up a prayer,

That God would give me power to aid Those children in distress, That I might as a father be Unto the fatherless.

Then coaxingly I led them forth; And as the road was long, I bore them in my arms by turns— Their tears had made me strong.

I took them to my humble home, Where now they may be seen, The lad,—a noble-minded youth,— His "sissy,"—beauty's queen.

And now if you should chance to see, Far from the bustling throng, An old man, whom a youth and maid Lead tenderly along;—

And if you, wondering, long to know The history of the three,— They are the little orphan pair— The poor old man is me:

And oft upon the grassy mound 'Neath which their parents sleep, They bend the knee, and pray for me; I pray for them and weep.



Did yo Ivver!

"Gooid gracious!" cried Susy, one fine summer's morn, "Here's a bonny to do! aw declare! Aw wor nivver soa capt sin th' day aw wor born! Aw neer saw sich a seet at a fair.

Here, Sally! come luk! There's a maase made its nest Reight i'th' craan o' mi new Sundy bonnet! Haivver its fun its way into this chist, That caps me! Aw'm fast what to mak on it!

It's cut! Sithee thear! It's run reight under th' bed! An luk here! What's these little things stirrin? If they arn't some young uns 'at th' gooid-for-nowt's bred, May aw be as deead as a herrin!

But what does ta say? 'Aw mun draand 'em?' nooan soa! Just luk ha they're seekin ther mother; Shoo must be a poor little softheead to goa; For awm nooan baan to cause her noa bother.

But its rayther to bad, just to mak her hooam thear; For mi old en's net fit to be seen in; An this new en, awm thinkin, 'll luk rayther queer After sich a rum lot as that's been in.

But shut up awr pussy, an heed what aw say; Yo mun keep a sharp eye or shoo'll chait us; Ah if shoo sees th' mother shoo'll kill it! An pray What mun become o' these poor helpless crayturs?

A'a dear! fowk have mich to be thankful for, yet, 'At's a roof o' ther own to cawer under, For if we'd to seek ony nook we could get, Whativver'd come on us aw wonder?

We should nooan on us like to be turned aght o' door, Wi' a lot o' young bairns to take care on; An altho' awm baght bonnet, an think misen poor, What little aw have yo'st have't share on.

That poor little maase aw dooant think meant me harm, Shoo ne'er knew what that bonnet had cost me; All shoo wanted wor some little nook snug an warm An a gooid two-o'-three shillin its lost me.

Aw should think as they've come into th' world born i' silk, They'll be aristocratical varmin; But awm wasting mi time! awl goa get 'em some milk, An na daat but th' owd lass likes it warmin.

Bless mi life! a few drops 'll sarve them! If we try Awm weel sure we can easily spare 'em, But as sooin as they're able, awl mak 'em all fly! Nivver mind if aw dooant! harum scarum!"



A Quiet Tawk.

"Nah, lass, caar thi daan, an let's have a chat,— It's long sin we'd th' haase to ussen; Just give me thi nooations o' this thing an that, What tha thinks abaat measures an men. We've lived a long time i' this world an we've seen, A share of its joys an its cares; Tha wor nooan born baght wit, an tha'rt net varry green, Soa let's hear what tha thinks of affairs."

"Well, Jooany, aw've thowt a gooid deal i' mi time, An aw think wi' one thing tha'll agree,— If tha'd listened sometimes to advice sich as mine, It mud ha been better for thee. This smookin an drinkin—tha knows tha does booath, It's a sad waste o' brass tha'll admit; But awm net findin fault,—noa indeed! awd be looath! But aw want thi to reason a bit."

"Then tha'rt lawse i' thi tawk, tho' tha doesn't mean wrang, An tha says stuff aw darnt repeat; An tha grumels at hooam if we chonce to be thrang, When tha comes throo thi wark of a neet. An if th' childer are noisy, tha kicks up a shine, Tha mud want 'em as dummy as wax; An if they should want owt to laik wi' 'at's thine, They're ommost too freetened to ax."

"An they all want new clooas, they're ashamed to be seen, An aw've net had a new cap this year; An awm sewer it's fair cappin ha careful we've been, There's nooan like us for that onnywhear." "Come, lass, that's enuff,—when aw ax'd thi to talk, It worn't a sarmon aw meant, Soa aw'll don on mi hat, an aw'll goa for a walk, For dang it! tha'rt nivver content!"



Lines, on Startling a Rabbit.

Whew!—Tha'rt in a famous hurry! Awm nooan baan to try to catch thi! Aw've noa dogs wi' me to worry Thee poor thing,—aw like to watch thi. Tha'rt a runner! aw dar back thi, Why, tha ommost seems to fly! Did ta think aw meant to tak thi? Well, awm fond o' rabbit pie.

Aw dooan't want th' world to misen, mun, Awm nooan like a dog i'th' manger; Yet still 'twor happen best to run, For tha'rt th' safest aght o' danger. An sometimes fowks' inclination Leads 'em to do what they shouldn't;— But tha's saved me a temptation,— Aw've net harmed thi, 'coss aw couldn't.

Aw wish all temptations fled me, As tha's fled throo me to-day; For they've oft to trouble led me, For which aw've had dear to pay. An a taicher wise aw've faand thi, An this lesson gained throo thee; 'At when dangers gether raand me, Th' wisest tactics is to flee.

They may call thi coward, Bunny, But if mine had been thy lot, Aw should fail to see owt funny, To be stewin in a pot. Life to thee, awm sewer is sweeter, Nor thi flesh to me could prove; May thy lot an mine grow breeter, Blest wi' liberty an love.



Nivver Heed.

Let others boast ther bit o' brass, That's moor nor aw can do; Aw'm nobbut one o'th' workin class, 'At's strugglin to pool throo; An if it's little 'at aw get, It's little 'at aw need; An if sometimes aw'm pinched a bit, Aw try to nivver heed.

Some fowk they tawk o' brokken hearts, An mourn ther sorry fate, Becoss they can't keep sarvent men, An dine off silver plate; Aw think they'd show more gradely wit To listen to my creed, An things they find they connot get, Why, try to nivver heed.

Ther's some 'at lang for parks an halls, An letters to ther name; But happiness despises walls, It's nooan a child o' fame. A robe may lap a woeful chap, Whose heart wi' grief may bleed, Wol rags may rest on joyful breast, Soa hang it! nivver heed!

Th' sun shines as breet for me as them, An' th' meadows smell as sweet, Th' larks sing as sweetly o'er mi heead, An th' flaars smile at mi feet. An when a hard day's wark is done, Aw ait mi humble feed; Mi appetite's a relish fun, Soa hang it, nivver heed.



Gronfayther's Days.

'A, Johnny! A'a, Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee! But come thi ways to me, an sit o' mi knee; For it's shockin to hearken to th' words 'at tha says;— Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronfayther's days.

When aw wor a lad, lads wor lads, tha knows, then; But nahdays they owt to be 'shamed o' thersen; For they smook, an they drink, an get other bad ways; Things wor different once i' thi gronfayther's days.

Aw remember th' furst day aw went cooartin a bit,— An walked aght thi gronny;—aw'st nivver forget; For we blushed wol us faces wor all in a blaze;— It wor noa sin to blush i' thi gronfayther's days,

Ther's noa lasses nah, John, 'at's fit to be wed; They've false teeth i' ther maath, an false hair o' ther heead; They're a mak-up o' buckram, an waddin, an stays,— But a lass wor a lass i' thi gronfayther's days.

At that time a tradesman dealt fairly wi' th' poor, But nah a fair dealer can't keep oppen th' door; He's a fooil if he fails, he's a scamp if he pays; Ther wor honest men lived i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's chimleys an factrys i' ivvery nook nah, But ther's varry few left 'at con fodder a caah; An ther's telegraff poles all o'th' edge o'th' highways, Whear grew bonny green trees i' thi gronfayther's days.

We're tell'd to be thankful for blessin's 'at's sent, An aw hooap 'at tha'll alius be blessed wi' content; Tha mun mak th' best tha con o' this world wol tha stays, But aw wish tha'd been born i' thi gronfayther's days.



Awr Dooad.

Her ladyship's getten a babby,— An they're makkin a famous to do,— They say,—Providence treated her shabby— Shoo wor fairly entitled to two. But judgin bi th' fuss an rejoicin, It's happen as weel as it is; For they could'nt mak moor ov a hoilful, Nor what they are makkin o' this.

He's heir to ther titles an riches, Far moor nor he ivver can spend; Wi' hard times an cold poverty's twitches, He'll nivver be called to contend. Life's rooad will be booarded wi' flaars, An pleasur will wait on his train, He can suck at life's sweets, an its saars Will nivver need cause him a pain.

Aw cannot help thinkin ha diff'rent It wor when awr Dooady wor born; Aw'd to tramp fifteen mile throo a snow storm, One bitterly, cold early morn. Aw'd to goa ax old Mally-o'th'-Hippins, If shoo'd act as booath doctor an nurse;— An God bless her! shoo sed, "Aye, an welcome," Tho' aw had'nt a meg i' mi purse.

'Twor hard scrattin to get what wor needed, But we managed someha, to pool throo'; An what we wor short we ne'er heeded, For that child fun us plenty to do. But we'd health, an we loved one another, Soa things breetened up after a while; An nah, that young lad an his mother, Cheer mi on wi' ther prattle an smile.

Them at th' Hall, may mak feeastin an bluster, An ther table may grooan wi' its looad; But ther's one thing aw know they can't muster,— That's a lad hawf as grand as awr Dooad. For his face is like lillies an rooases, An his limbs sich as seldom are seen; An just like his father's his nooas is, An he's getten his mother's blue een.

Soa th' lord an his lady are welcome, To mak all they like o' ther brat; They may hap him i' silk an i' velvet,— He's net a bit better for that. I' life's race they'll meet all sooarts o' weather, But if they start fair on th' same rooad, They may run pratty nearly together, But aw'll bet two to one on awr Dooad.



Whear Natur Missed it.

As Rueben wor smookin his pipe tother neet, Bi th' corner o'th' little "Slip Inn;" He spied some fowk marchin, an fancied he heeard A varry queer sooart ov a din. As nearer they coom he sed, "Bless mi life! What means all this hullaballoo? If they dooant stop that din they'll sewer get run in, An just sarve 'em reight if they do."

But as they approached, he saw wi' surprise, They seemed a respectable lot; An th' hymn at they sung he'd net heeard for soa long, Wol he felt fairly rooited to th' spot. I'th' front wor a woman who walked backards rooad, Beatin time wi' a big umberel, An he sed, "Well, aw'll bet, that licks all aw've seen yet, What they'll do next noa mortal can tell."

On they coom like a flood, an shoo saw Rueben stood,— An her een seemed fair blazin wi' leet; "Halt!" shoo cried, an shoo went an varry sooin sent Rueben's pipe flyin off into th' street. "Young man," shoo began, "if yo had been born To smoke that old pipe, then insteead, Ov a nice crop o' hair Natur wod a put thear A chimly at top o' thi heead."

Rueben felt rather mad, for 'twor all th' pipe he had, An he sed, "Well, that happen mud be; But aw'm nobbut human, an thee bein a woman Has proved a salvation to thee. If a chap had done that aw'd ha knocked him daan flat, But wi' yo its a different thing; But aw'm thinkin someha, th' same law will allaa Me too smook, at allaas yo to sing."

Shoo gloored in his face an went back to her place, As shoo gave him a witherin luk; An swung her umbrel,—ovverbalanced, an fell An ligg'd sprawlin her length amang th' muck. All her army seemed dumb, an th' chap wi' th' big drum, Turned a bulnex, an let on her chest; Wol th' fiddles an flute wor ivvery one mute, An th' tamborines tuk a short rest.

Then Rueben drew near, an he sed in her ear, As he lifted her onto her feet; "Sometimes its as wise when we start to advise, To be mindful we're net indiscreet. If yo'd been intended to walk backardsway, To save yo from gettin that bump, Dame Natur, in kindness, aw'll ventur to say, Wod ha planted a e'e i' yor bustle."



That's All.

Mi hair is besprinkled wi' gray, An mi face has grown wrinkled an wan;— They say ivvery dog has his day, An noa daat its th' same way wi a man. Aw know at mi day is nah passed, An life's twileet is all at remains; An neet's drawin near varry fast,— An will end all mi troubles an pains.

Aw can see misen, nah, as a lad, Full ov mischief an frolic an fun;— An aw see what fine chonces aw had, An regret lots o' things at aw've done. Thowtless deeds—unkind words—selfish gains,— Time wasted, an more things beside, But th' saddest thowt ivver remains,— What aw could ha done, if aw'd but tried.

Aw've had a fair share ov life's joys, An aw've nivver known th' want ov a meal; Aw've ne'er laiked wi' luxuries' toys, Nor suffered what starvin fowk feel. But aw'm moor discontented to-day, When mi memory carries me back, To know what aw've gethered is clay, Wol diamonds wor strewed on mi track.

Aw can't begin ovver agean, (Maybe its as weel as it is,) Soa aw'm waitin for th' life 'at's to be, For ther's nowt to be praad on i' this. When deeath comes, as sewerly it will, An aw'm foorced to respond to his call; Fowk'll say, if they think on me still,— "Well, he lived,—an that's abaat all."



Mary Hanner's Peanner.

When aw cooarted Mary Hanner, Aw wor young an varry shy; An shoo used to play th' peanner Wol aw sheepishly sat by. Aw lang'd to tell her summat, But aw railly hadn't th' pluck, Tho' monny a time aw started, Yet, somha aw allus stuck.

Aw'm sewer shoo must ha guess'd it, But shoo nivver gave a sign; Shoo drummed at that peanner;— A'a! aw wish it had been mine! Aw'd ha chopt it into matchwood,— Aw'd ha punced it into th' street, It wor awful aggravatin, For shoo thumpt it ivvery neet.

Aw'd getten ommost sickened, When one day another chap Aw saw thear, an he'd getten Mary Hanner on his lap. Aw didn't stop to argyfy,— But fell'd him like an ox; An Mary Hanner tried to fly On top o'th' music box.

But he wor gam,—an sich a job Aw'd nivver had befor, We fowt, but aw proved maister, An aw punced him aght o'th' door. Then like a Tigercat, at me Flew ragin Mary Hammer;— Yo bet! shoo could thump summat else, Besides her loud peanner!

Aw had to stand an tak her blows, Until shoo'd geeten winded; "Tha scamp!" shoo says, "tha little knows What bargainin tha's hindered! Awr Jack had nobbut coom to pay, Becoss he's bowt th' peanner, An nah tha's driven him away!" "Forgie me, Mary Hanner."

Aw ran aghtside an sooin fan Jack, An humbly begged his parden;— "All reight,"—he sed, "aw'm commin back," He didn't care a farden. He paid her th' brass, then fetched a cart, An hauled away th' peanner;— We're wed sin then, an nowt shall part, Me an mi Mary Hanner.



Grondad's Lullaby.

Sleep bonny babby, thi grondad is near, Noa harm can touch thee, sleep withaat fear; Innocent craytur, soa helpless an waik, Grondad wod give up his life for thy sake, Sleep little beauty, Angels thee keep, Grondad is watchin, Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Through the thick mist of past years aw luk back, Vainly aw try to discover the track Buried, alas! for no trace can aw see, Ov the way aw once trod when as sinless as thee, Sleep little beauty, Angels thee keep, Grondad is watchin, Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Smilin in slumber,—dreamin ov bliss, Feelin in fancy a fond mother's kiss; Richer bi far nor a king on his throne, Fearlessly facing a future unknown. Sleep little beauty, Angels thee keep, Grondad is watchin, Sleep, beauty, sleep.

What wod aw give could aw once agean be, Innocent, spotless an trustin as thee; May noa grief give thee occasion to weep, Blessins attend thee!—Sleep, beauty, sleep. Sleep little beauty, Angels thee keep, Grondad is watchin, Sleep, beauty, sleep.



Sixty, Turned, To-day.

Aw'm turned o' sixty, nah, old lass, Yet weel aw mind the time, When like a young horse turned to grass, Aw gloried i' mi prime. Aw'st ne'er forget that bonny face 'At stole mi heart away; Tho' years have hurried on apace:— Aw'm sixty, turned, to-day.

We had some jolly pranks an gams, E'en fifty year ago, When sportive as a pair o' lambs, We nivver dreeamed ov woe. When ivvery morn we left us bed, Wi' spirits leet an gay,— But nah, old lass, those days have fled:— Aw'm sixty, turned, to-day.

Yet we've noa reason to repine, Or luk back wi' regret; Those youthful days ov thine an mine, Live sweet in mem'ry yet. Thy winnin smile aw still can see, An tho' thi hair's turned grey; Tha'rt still as sweet an dear to me, Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.

We've troubles had, an sickness too, But then in spite ov all, We've somha managed to pool throo, Whativver might befall. Awr pleasurs far outweighed the pain We've met along life's way; An losses past aw caant as gain,— When sixty, turned, to-day.

Awr childer nah are wed an gooan, To mak hooams for thersels; But we shall nivver feel alooan, Wol love within us dwells. We're drawin near awr journey's end, We can't much longer stay; Yet still awr hearts together blend, Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.

Then let us humbly bow the knee, To Him, whose wondrous love, Has helpt an guided thee an me, On th' pathway to above. His mercies we will ne'er forget, Then let us praise an pray, To Him whose wings protect us yet; Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.



That Lad Next Door.

Aw've nowt agean mi naybors, An aw wod'nt have it sed 'At aw wor cross an twazzy, For aw'm kind an mild asteead. But ther's an end to patience, E'en Job knew that aw'm sewer;— An he nivver had noa dealins Wi' that lad 'at lives next door.

It wod'nt do to tell 'em What aw think abaat that lad, One thing aw'm sarten sewer on, Is, he's ivverything 'at's bad. He's nivver aght o' mischief, An he nivver stops his din,— He's noa sooiner aght o' one scrape, Nor he's another in.

If he wor mine aw'd thresh him, Wol th' skin coom off his back; Aw'd cure him teein door-snecks, Then givin th' door a whack. Aw'd leearn him to draw th' shape o' me Wi' chalk on th' nessy door, An mak mud pies o' awr front steps An leeav 'em thear bi th' scooar.

He's been a trifle quieter For this last day or two; He's up to some new devilment,— Aw dooant know what he'll do. But here's his father comin, He's lukkin awful sad,— Noa wonder,—aw'st be sad enuff If aw had sich a lad.

Aw nivver thowt 'at aw could feel Sich sorrow, or should grieve, But little Dick is varry sick, They dunnot think he'll live. Aw'd nivver nowt agean him! Aw liked that lad aw'm sure! Pray God, be merciful, an spare That lad 'at lives next door.



A Summer Shaar.

It nobbut luks like tother day, Sin Jane an me first met; Yet fifty years have rolled away, But still aw dooant forget. Th' Sundy schooil wor ovver, An th' rain wor teemin daan An shoo had nowt to cover Her Sundy hat an gaan. Aw had an umberella, Quite big enuff for two, Soa aw made bold to tell her, Shoo'd be sewer to get weet throo, Unless shoo'd share it wi' me. Shoo blushed an sed, "Nay, Ben, If they should see me wi' thi, What wod yo're fowk say then?" "Ne'er heed," says aw, "Tha need'nt care What other fowk may say; Ther's room for me an some to spare, Soa let's start on us way." Shoo tuk mi arm wi' modest grace, We booath felt rayther shy; But then aw'm sewer 'twor noa disgrace, To keep her new clooas dry. Aw tried to tawk on different things, But ivvery thowt aw'd had, Seem'd to ha flown as if they'd wings, An left me speechless mad. But when we gate cloise to her door, Aw stopt an whispered, "Jane, Aw'd like to walk wi' thee some moor, When it doesn't chonce to rain." Shoo smiled an blushed an sed, "For shame!" But aw tuk courage then. Aw cared net if all th' world should blame, Aw meant to pleas misen, For shoo wor th' grandest lass i'th' schooil An th' best,—noa matter what;— Aw should ha been a sackless fooil, To miss a chonce like that. Soa oft we met to stroll an tawk, Noa matter, rain or shine; An one neet as we tuk a walk, Aw ax't her to be mine. Shoo gave consent, an sooin we wed:— Sin' then we've had full share Ov rough an smooth, yet still we've led A life ov little care. An monny a time aw say to Jane, If things luk dull an bad;— Cheer up! tha knows we owe to th' rain All th' joys o' life we've had.



Awr Lad.

Beautiful babby! Beautiful lad! Pride o' thi mother and joy o' thi dad! Full ov sly tricks an sweet winnin ways;— Two cherry lips whear a smile ivver plays; Two little een ov heavenly blue,— Wonderinly starin at ivverything new, Two little cheeks like leaves of a rooas,— An planted between em a wee little nooas. A chin wi' a dimple 'at tempts one to kiss;— Nivver wor bonnier babby nor this. Two little hands 'at are seldom at rest,— Except when asleep in thy snug little nest. Two little feet 'at are kickin all day, Up an daan, in an aght, like two kittens at play. Welcome as dewdrops 'at freshen the flaars, Soa has thy commin cheered this life ov awrs. What tha may come to noa mortal can tell;— We hooap an we pray 'at all may be well. We've other young taistrels, one, two an three, But net one ith' bunch is moor welcome nor thee. Sometimes we are tempted to grummel an freeat, Becoss we goa short ov what other fowk get. Poverty sometimes we have as a guest, But tha needn't fear, tha shall share ov the best. What are fowks' riches to mother an me? All they have wodn't buy sich a babby as thee. Aw wor warned i' mi young days 'at weddin browt woe, 'At labor an worry wod keep a chap low,— 'At love aght o' th' winder wod varry sooin flee, When poverty coom in at th' door,—but aw see Old fowk an old sayins sometimes miss ther mark, For love shines aght breetest when all raand is dark. Ther's monny a nobleman, wed an hawf wild, 'At wod give hawf his fortun to have sich a child. Then why should we envy his wealth an his lands, Tho' sarvents attend to obey his commands? For we have the treasures noa riches can buy, An aw think we can keep 'em,—at leeast we can try; An if it should pleeas Him who orders all things, To call yo away to rest under His wings,— Tho' to part wod be hard, yet this comfort is giv'n, We shall know 'at awr treasures are safe up i' Heaven, Whear no moth an noa rust can corrupt or destroy, Nor thieves can braik in, nor troubles annoy. Blessins on thi! wee thing,—an whativver thi lot, Tha'rt promised a mansion, tho' born in a cot, What fate is befoor thi noa mortal can see, But Christ coom to call just sich childer as thee. An this thowt oft cheers me, tho' fortun may fraan, Tha may yet be a jewel to shine in His craan.



Bonny Mary Ann.

When but a little toddlin thing, I'th' heather sweet shoo'd play, An like a fay on truant wing, Shoo'd rammel far away; An even butterflees wod come Her lovely face to scan, An th' burds wod sing ther sweetest song, For bonny Mary Ann.

Shoo didn't fade as years flew by, But added day bi day, Some little touch ov witchery,— Some little winnin way. Her lovely limbs an angel face, To paint noa mortal can; Shoo seemed possessed ov ivvery grace, Did bonny Mary Ann.

To win her wod be heaven indeed, Soa off aw went to woo; Mi tale o' love shoo didn't heed, Altho' mi heart spake too. Aw axt, "what wants ta, onnyway?" Shoo sed, "aw want a man," Then laffin gay, shoo tript away,— Mi bonny Mary Ann.

Thinks aw, well, aw'll be man enough To leeav thi to thisen, Some day tha'll net be quite as chuff, Aw'll wait an try thi then. 'Twor hard,—it ommost braik mi heart To carry aght mi plan; But honestly aw played mi part, An lost mi Mary Ann.

For nah shoo's wed an lost yo see, But oh! revenge is sweet; Her husband's less bi th' hawf nor me, His face is like a freet; An what enticed her aw must own, To guess noa mortal can; For what it is, is nobbut known,— To him an Mary Ann.



That Christmas Puddin.

Ha weel aw remember that big Christmas puddin, That puddin mooast famous ov all in a year; When each lad at th' table mud stuff all he could in, An ne'er have a word ov refusal to fear. Ha its raand speckled face, craand wi' sprigs o' green holly Seem'd sweeatin wi' juices ov currans an plums; An its fat cheeks made ivvery one laff an feel jolly, For it seem'd like a meetin ov long parted chums, That big Christmas pudding,—That rich steamin puddin,— That scrumptious plum puddin, mi mother had made.

Ther wor father an mother,—awr Hannah an Mary, Uncle Tom an ont Nancy, an smart cussin Jim; An Jim's sister Kitty, as sweet as a fairy,— An Sam wi' his fiddle,—we couldn't spare him. We'd rooast beef an mutton, a gooise full o' stuffin, Boil'd turnips an taties, an moor o' sich kind; An fooamin hooam brewed,—why,—aw think we'd enuff in, To sail a big ship if we'd been soa inclined. An then we'd that puddin—That thumpin big puddin— That rich Christmas puddin, mi mother had made.

Sam sat next to Mary an Jim tuk awr Hannah, An Kitty ov coorse had to sit next to me,— An th' stuff wor sooin meltin away in a manner, 'At mi mother declared 't wor a pleasur to see. They wor nowt could be mended, we sed when it ended, An all seem'd as happy as happy could be; An aw've nivver repented, for Kitty consented, An shoo's still breet an bonny an a gooid wife to me. An aw think o' that puddin,—That fateful plum puddin,— That match makkin puddin mi mother had made.



A Bad Sooart.

Aw'd rayther face a redwut brick, Sent flyin at mi heead; Aw'd rayther track a madman's steps, Whearivver they may leead; Aw'd rayther ventur in a den, An stail a lion's cub; Aw'd rayther risk the foamin wave In an old leaky tub. Aw'd rayther stand i'th' midst o'th' fray, Whear bullets thickest shower; Nor trust a mean, black hearted man, At's th' luck to be i' power.

A redwut brick may miss its mark, A madman change his whim; A lion may forgive a theft; A leaky tub may swim. Bullets may pass yo harmless by, An leeav all safe at last; A thaasand thunders shake the sky, An spare yo when they've past. Yo may o'ercome mooast fell disease; Mak poverty yo're friend; But wi' a mean, blackhearted man, Noa mortal can contend.

Ther's malice in his kindest smile, His proffered hand's a snare; He's plannin deepest villany, When seemingly mooast fair. He leads yo on wi' oily tongue, Swears he's yo're fastest friend; He get's yo once within his coils, An crushes yo i'th' end. Old Nick, we're tell'd, gooas prowlin aght, An seeks whom to devour; But he's a saint, compared to some, 'At's th' luk to be i' power.



Fairly Weel-off.

Ov whooalsum food aw get mi fill,— Ov drink aw seldom want a gill; Aw've clooas to shield me free throo harm, Should winds be cold or th' sun be warm.

Aw rarely have a sickly spell,— Mi appetite aw'm fain to tell Ne'er plays noa scurvy tricks on me, Nowt ivver seems to disagree.

Aw've wark, as mich as aw can do,— Sometimes aw laik a day or two,— Mi wage is nobbut small, but yet, Aw manage to keep aght o' debt.

Mi wife, God bless her! ivvery neet Has slippers warmin for mi feet; An th' hearthstun cleean, an th' drinkin laid, An th' teah's brew'd an th' tooast is made.

An th' childer weshed, an fairly dressed, Wi' health an happiness are blest; An th' youngest, tho' aw say't misen, Is th' grandest babby ivver seen.

Aw've friends, tho' humble like misen, They're gradely, upright, workin-men, They're nooan baght brains oth' sooart they're on;— They do what's reight as near's they con.

Aw tak small stock i' politics, For lib'ral shams an tooary tricks, Have made me daat 'em one an all;— Ther words are big, but deeds are small.

Aw goa to th' chapil, yet confess Aw'm somewhat daatful, moor or less, For th' chaps at cracks up gloory soa, Ne'er seem in onny haste to goa.

To me, religion seems quite plain;— Aw cause noa fellow-mortal pain, Aw do a kind act when aw can, An hooap to dee an honest man.

Aw hooap to live till old an gray, An when th' time comes to goa away, Aw feel convinced some place ther'll be, Just fit for sich a chap as me.

Green fields, an trees, an brooks, an flaars, Are treasures we can all call awrs, An when hooam is earth's fairest spot One should be thankful for his lot.

Aw'm nooan contented,—nay, net aw! Aw nivver con be tho' aw try; But aw enjoy th' gooid things aw have, An if aw for moor blessins crave, It's more for th' sake o'th' wife an bairns, To spare them my life's ups an daans.

Well, yo may laff, an sneerin say, Aw'm praad an selfish i' mi way;— Maybe aw am,—but yo'll agree, Ther's few fowk better off nor me.



A Warnin.

A'a dear, what it is to be big! To be big i' one's own estimation, To think if we shake a lawse leg, 'At th' world feels a tremblin sensation. To fancy 'at th' nook 'at we fill, Wod be empty if we worn't in it, 'At th' universe wheels wod stand still, If we should neglect things a minnit.

To be able to tell all we meet, Just what they should do or leeav undone; To be crammed full o' wisdom an wit, Like a college professor throo Lundun. To show statesmen ther faults an mistaks,— To show whear philosifers blunder; To prove parsons an doctors all quacks, An strike men o' science wi' wonder.

But aw've nooaticed, theas varry big men, 'At strut along th' streets like a bantam, Nivver do mich 'at meeans owt thersen, For they're seldom at hand when yo want 'em. At ther hooam, if yo chonce to call in, Yo may find 'em booath humble an civil, Wol th' wife tries to draand th' childer's din, Bi yellin an raisin the devil.

A'a dear, what it is to be big! But a chap 'at's a fooil needn't show it, For th' rest o'th' world cares net a fig, An a thaasand to one doesn't know it. Consait, aw have often heeard say, Is war for a chap nor consumption, An aw'll back a plain chap onny day, To succeed, if he's nobbut some gumpshun.

My advice to young fowk is to try To grow honestly better an wiser; An yo'll find yor reward by-an-by,— True merit's its own advertiser. False colors yo'll seldom find fast, An a mak-believe is but a bubble, It's sure to get brussen at last, An contempt's all yo'll get for yor trouble.



To W. F. Wallett. The Queen's Jester. Born at Hull, November, 1806. Died at Beeston, near Nottingham, March 13th, 1892.

Wallett, old friend! Thy way's been long;— Few livin can luk farther back; But tha has left, bi jest an song, A sunny gleam along thy track. Aw'm nursin nah, mi childer's bairns, Yet aw remember when a lad, Sittin an listnin to thy yarns, An thank thi nah, for th' joys aw had.

Full monny a lesson, quaintly towt, Wi' witty phrase, sticks to me still; Nor can aw call to mind ther's owt Tha sed or did, to work me ill! Noa laff tha raised do aw regret,— Wit mixed wi' wisdom wor thy plan, Which had aw heeded, aw admit, Aw should ha been a better man.