 | Poems and Songs |  |
91
LANCASHIRE SONGS.
93
Lilter.
I
When Lilter comes to th' end o'th fowd,An' touches th' tremblin' string, oh,
He tickles up both young an' owd,
An' sets their limbs a-swing, oh;
His music mends their scanty fare,
An' softens every pain, oh;
It soothes the weary heart o' care,
An' makes it hutchin'-fain, oh!
Bonny Lilter's here again,
Here again, here again;
Bonny Lilter's here again,
Wi'th merry bit o' timber!
94
II
The childer o' come buzzin' out,Like humma-bees a-swarmin',
Wi' clappin' hands an' merry shout,
To Lilter's tuneful charmin'!
He makes 'em marlock up an' down,
An' sets their een a-blazing';
He makes 'em frolic through the town,
An' step to th' tune he plays in!
Bonny Lilter's here again,
Here again, here again;
Bonny Lilter's here again,
Wi'th merry bit o' timber!
III
At th' sound o'th fiddle's witchin' glee,My breeches dance to th' tune, oh;
An' it makes me caper shoulder-hee,
Wi'th music i' my shoon, oh!
It clears away my care an' frets,
An' lifts me out o'th gutter;
It brings back happy days, an' sets
My heart i' merry flutter!
Lilter, pray tho, come again,
Come again, come again;
Lilter, pray tho, come again,
Wi'th bonny bit o' timber!
95
IV
When Lilter played his merry lay,At th' end of harvest time, oh,
Lame Robin threw his crutch away,
His mettle grew so prime, oh!
He cracked his thumbs, an' danced to th' sound
O'th ditty blithe an' free, oh;
He cried, “There's nought on mortal ground
Shall ever conquer me, oh!”
Lilter, pray tho, come again;
Come again, come again;
Lilter, pray tho, come again,
Wi'th merry bit o' timber!
V
Good Lilter howd thy hond a bit,An' let me dry my een, oh;
Some angel made that meltin' fit,
It touches me to the keen, oh!
It's surely groves above they hear
That soft bewitchin' strain in;
There's not a heart below can bear
Its tender, fond complainin'!
Bonny Lilter, come again,
Come again, come again;
Bonny Lilter, come again,
Wi'th tuneful bit o' timber!
96
VI
Oh, music, it's a lovely thing,For man's delight invented;
To ease the heart of sorrowing,
The God of Heaven sent it!
Then blest is he whose spirit moves
To sweet celestial glee, oh;
And happy is the heart that loves
The sound of harmony, oh!
Oh, Lilter, come again, an' bring
That tuneful bit o' timber!
97
Th' Factory Bell.
I
Come, Billy, come; dost yer yon bell?Thou'll ha' yon mill agate
Afore thou'rt up! Do stir thisel',
Or else thou'll be too late:
I know thou'rt tire't, my lad—I know;
What can a body do?
It's very cowd; but, frost or snow,
Thou knows thou'll ha' to goo!
II
An' th' north woint's blowin' keen an' shrill;It's bin a stormy neet;
Thou'll ha' to run o' th' gate to th' mill;
It's thick wi' drivin' sleet:
There's not a candle left i'th house;
Thou'll don thisel' i'th dark;
Come, come, my lad; jump up at once,
An' hie tho to thi wark!
98
III
I can hardly keep up on my feet;I'm full o' aches and pains;
An' I's ha' to wesh from morn to neet,
For very little gains.
It looks hard fortin' for us both,
But it's what we han to dree;
We mun do as weel's we con, my lad;
There's nobbut thee an' me!
IV
Come, come; I have thi stockin's here,An' thi breeches, an' thi shoon;
Thou'll find thi jacket on yon cheer;
An' thi dinner's upo' th' oon.
I'll lock yon dur, an' I'll tak' th' keigh;
I think we's find o' reet;
So manage th' best thou con, my lad,
Till I come whoam at neet!”
V
Then not another word wur said;But Billy, like a mon,
Geet up out of his little bed,
An' poo'd his stockin's on;
An' off he went, through sleet and snow,
With his dinner in a can;
He'd a bit o' oon-cake in his mouth,
An' he donned him as he ran.
99
VI
Some folk can lie till th' clock strikes eight;Some folk may sleep till ten,
Then rub their e'en, an' yawn a bit,
An' turn 'em o'er again;
Some folk can ring a bell i' bed,
Till th' sarvant brings some tay;
But, weet or dry, a factory lad
Mun jump at break o' day!
100
Cradle Song.
I
Th' child cries i'th cradle;Th' cake bruns o'th stone;
Th' cow moos i'th milkin' gap,
At th' end o'th loan.
II
The cat purs o'th hearthstone;Th' clock ticks i'th nook;
Th' kettle sings o'th hob; an'
Th' pon hangs o'th hook.
101
III
Th' woint roars i'th chimbley;Brings down the soot;
Mam knits, an' sings, an'
Rocks with her fuut.
IV
Nan's off a-churnin';Dick's gone to th' barn;
Lap little Billy up,
To keep him warm.
V
Round Billy's curly yed,Good fairies play;
Tentin' his little bed,
Till break o' day.
VI
One day brings sunshine;Th' next day brings rain;
No day brings Billy's dad
Back here again.
102
VII
Sleep, little darlin', sleep;God watch o'er thee!
Thou'rt o' that's left i'th world,
To comfort me!
103
Owd Robin o' Quifter's.
I
Owd Robin o' Quifter's wur shaky an' thin;He lived by his sel' up at th' Wyndy Bonk Steele;
He'd cramp in his fist, an' he're raither leet-gi'n,
Though threescore an' seven, an' never quite weel:
His white thatch geet scant; an' as time fleeted by,
He'd mony a chance of a daicent owd lass;
But cranky owd Robin wur greedy an' sly—
He wanted to catch one wi' plenty o' brass.
II
Says Robin one day, as he rubbed his owd pate,“I'm weary o' lyin' in bed by mysel':
It's time to be pikein' a bit of a mate;
Though where I'm to find her it's hard for to tell:
104
Afore I get down into th' winter o' life;
There's a spark in me yet, an' afore it goes out,
I'll don my best duds an' look round for a wife.
III
“If hoo's winsome and bonny, a penniless lassMay tickle a young lover's fanciful e'e;
But a good-lookin' owd un, wi' plenty o' brass,
Would do very weel for the likin's o' me:
But whether hoo's youngish or whether hoo's owd,
Wi' bonny love-locks, or with yure gettin' grey,
If hoo's ought in her pocket, I'll try to have howd—
I'll ha' one o' some mak', let 't leet as it may!”
IV
His owd crony Tummas, that keawer't at th' hob-end,Cried, “What ails yon wench up at th' Whittaker Fowd?
Hoo's just meet the woman for thee, my owd friend,
For hoo's very weel off, an' hoo's forty year owd:
Hoo's a house of her own, an' a nice bit o' lond;
Hoo's a honsome, an' clivver, an' mettlesome lass;
An' hoo'll jump at thee yet; thou looks weel when thour't donned;
Hoo's seventeen stone weight,—thou'll ha' lots for thi brass!”
105
V
Says Robin to Tummas, “Thou's hit it, bi th' mass!I'll goo an' see Matty, at th' Whittaker Fowd;
It's just as thou says; hoo's a farrantly lass,
An' her faither has laft her a poke-full o' gowd!”
Then he trimmed hisse!' up. T'wur a winterly day
When th' owd craiter started to crapple up the broo;
An' he stopt mony a time to tak' woint upo' th' way;
But he londed at last, with a great deal ado.
VI
“Lord bless us o', Robin; what's brought yo up here?This weather's enough for to gi one their deeoth!
Come nearer to th' fire, mon, and tak' yon arm-cheer;
Yo'n come'd a rough road, an' yo're quite out o' breath.
Our lasses are weshin', an' I'm up to th' neck;
An' which gate to turn me I hardly can tell;
But th' wark mun be done, or else o' goes to wreck:
Here's th' papper to read while yo're restin' yorsel'.
VII
“Eh, Matty, lass; th' papper's o' no use to me!There's al'ays a some'at one's temper to vex;
But th' truth on it is, that, wi' thinkin' o' thee,
I've come'd off fro' whoam an' forgotten mi specks;
106
Or some mak o' down-fo', before set o' sun;
For i'th' smo' o' mi back I've a terrible pain;
I know very weel there's a change comin' on.”
VIII
Then, hour after hour, he sat coughin i'th nook,An' his bleary owd e'en followed Matty about;
An' hoo now an' then dropt him a comical look,
Or a bit of a joke, as hoo went in an' out.
At last he said, “Matty, thou'rt full o' thi wark;
I could like to look at tho, my lass, now an then;
But I'd better be gooin' afore it gets dark;
An' when mun I come up an' see tho again?”
IX
“Eh, Robin,” said Matty, “be guided by me,An' bother no more about trailin' so far;
It's a greight way to come for an owd chap like thee,
An' it's but a lost gate, for it brings tho no nar:
It's o' very weel for a man to get wed
To a suitable mate, if he'll tak' her i' time;
But it's raither too late when he's nearly hauve deeod,
An' his frosty pow glitters wi' winterly rime.
107
X
“A chap that lies gruntin' o' day on a couch,With a broken-down carcase, fro' pain never free,
Th' weather-glass in his back, an' his e'en in his pouch'
Mun try someb'dy else, for he'll not do for me:
Go an' say thi prayers, Robin; thou needs no moore wife
Than a pig needs a pouch, or a duck an umbrell;
Look out for a nurse for thi last bit o' life,
And wind up thi days in a bed bi thisel!”
108
Noather Cobs nor Sleck.
I
Good mornin', folk! What's o' this din?Hello; it's th' weshin' day!
I couldn't help but just look in,
As I coom by this way:
Nanny; how are yo comin' on?
I see yo're up to th' neck:”
“Nay; I can hardly tell you, John;
I'm noather cobs nor sleck.”
II
“But come an' tak' this corner cheer,Till I can get my breath;
An', pray yo, shut that window, theer;
It's givin' me mi deeoth:
109
This is a weary pleck:
An' then our childer drives one mad—
They're noather cobs nor sleck.
III
“An' we'n some nasty neighbours, too;They're noan o'th sort for me—
A tattlin', two-faced, borrowin' crew;
This doorstep's never free:
If I'd my will wi' sich like folk,
They'd very soon ha'th seck;
An' I cannot bide to yer their talk—
It's noather cobs nor sleck.”
IV
“I'll tell tho what it is, owd lass—Thou's let ill o' thi feet;
Or else thou'rt badly hipped, bi th' mass;
For nought i'th world seems reet:
But what, thou's nought again yor Jem;
He's noan i'th dirty peck?”
“Eh, pray tho, John, don't mention him—
He's noather cobs nor sleck.”
110
V
“Nanny, said he, “if I wur theeI'd go straight off to bed;
For, if I've ony sense i' me,
Thou'rt noan reet i' thi yed!”
Then, gatherin' up his limbs, he said,
As he geet howd o'th sneck,
“Good day! I've had enough o' this—
It's noather cobs nor sleck.”
111
Dinner-Time.
[The wife comes running into the house.
Heigh, Mary; run for the fryin'-pon;An' reitch that bit o' steak;
I see thi faither comin', yon;
Be sharp; for goodness sake!
He's as hungry as a hunter;
An' there'll be a bonny din
If he finds o' out o' flunter,
An' nought cooked, when he comes in!
II
“Lord, bless my life; why, th' fire's gone out!Whatever mun I do?
Here, bring a match, an' a greasy clout,
An' a bit o' chip or two:
112
They're upo' th' couch, I think;
Or else they're hanged a-back o'th dur;
Or else they're under th' sink.
III
“An' tak' thoose dish-clouts off that cheer;An' shift yon dirty shoon;
An' th' breakfast things are stonnin' theer;
Put 'em a-top o'th oon;
Be sharp; an' sweep this floor a bit:
I connot turn my back
To speighk to folk, but o' goes wrang,
An' th' house runs quite to wrack.
IV
“These chips are damp: oh, Lord o' me!I'm sure they'n never brun:
There's no poor soul's warse luck than me
That's livin' under th' sun!
Now then; what keeps tho stonnin' theer;
Hangin' thy dirty thumbs?
Do stir thy shanks; an' wipe that cheer;
It's no use; here he comes!”
113
[The husband comes in from work.
“By th' mass; this is a bonny hole,As ony i' this town!
No fire; no signs o' nought to height (eat);
Nowheer to sit one down!
I have to run whoam for a meal,
When th' bell rings at noontide,
An' I find th' house like a dog-kennel:
Owd lass, it's bad to bide!
VI
“Thou's nought to do, fro' morn to neet,But keep things clean an' straight,
An' see that th' bits o' cloas are reet,
An' cook one's bit o' meight;
But thou's never done it yet, owd lass:
How is it? Conto tell?
Thou mends noan, noather; an', by th' mass,
I doubt thou never will!
VII
“It's quite enough to have to slaveFro' soon i'th day to dark;
An' nip, an' scrat, an' try to save,
An' no thanks for one's wark:
114
Should feel inclined to roam
For comfort to an alehouse nook,
When they han noan at whoam.
VIII
“I'm fast: I don't know what to say;An' I don't know what to do;
An' when I'm tired, at th' end o'th day,
I don't know where to goo:
It makes me weary o' my life
To live i' sich a den:
Here, gi's a bit o' cheese an' loaf;
An' I'll be off again!”
115
Howd Thi Tung!
Married Daughter:I
Here, mother, tak this choilt a bit,While I go look for Jem;
An' if I find out where he's sit,
I'll make it warm for him!
He'll oather have to mend his ways,
Or else I'll let him see
That he shall not have a quiet hour
By neet nor day, wi' me!
Mother:
II
Eh, Matty, lass, do howd thi tung,An' keep thi temper still;
I connot bide to yer sich talk,
It makes me down-reet ill!
116
Wi' thi tormentin' clack,
I wonder that he doesn't flee,
An' never ventur back.
Daughter:
III
Well, let him goo, an' welcome too,If he can mend his shop;
I wouldn't stir th' length o' my shoe
To get him for to stop!
But while he's here there's one thing clear,
An' that he'll quickly see,—
There's never mon that steps a-floor
Shall ever conquer me!
IV
So reitch my bonnet down fro' th' hook,An' I'll be off to th' town;
An' when I find his drinkin'-nook,
That's where I'll plant me down:
An' if he likes to stop a while,
Well, I'll just stop as lung;
But while I'm there I'll let him yer
A sample o' mi tung!
117
Mother:
V
My lass, that tung 'll toll thy knell:Do mind what thou'rt about:
Thou'rt breedin' trouble for thysel',
An' that thou'll soon find out:
Thou'rt nearly eight-an'-twenty now;
It's time to ha' some wit;
Do keep thi tung between thi teeth,
An' bridle it a bit!
VI
When th' lad comes whoam, at th' edge o' dark,Do let him have a rest;
A mon that's weary with his wark
Should find his own nook th' best:
An' don't go camplin' up an' down,
Like a wanderin' parish bell;
For while thou makes a foo o' Jem,
Thou'rt ruinin thisel'!
Daughter:
VII
Ay, there yo are; I'm wrong again;I knew yo'd howd with him;
I think I've quite enough to do
To feight a chap like Jem!
118
That's a nice come off, by th' mon!
Why, th' biggest foos i'th world han sense
To stick up for their own!
Mother:
VIII
Stick up, be hanged! Lord bless my lifeI want a thing that's reet;
An' it grieves my heart to see a wife
That darkens her own leet!
Thou sulks and looks as feaw as sin;
An' thou snaps and snarls about:
Sich wark may drive the devil in,
But it'll never bring him out!
IX
Thou knows I've had my troubles, lass,An' I've been sorely tried;
I've gone through many a bitter pass,
An' had to grin an' bide;
But if I'd said one hauve as much
As thou's said here to-neet,
Thi faither would ha' turn't me out;
An' he'd ha' sarv't me reet!
119
X
Now, Matty, thou'rt my own, thou knows:I wouldn't tell tho wrong;
There's nought i'th world more dang'rous than
A sharp unruly tung:
Thou talks a deal o' foolish talk,—
Just as it comes i'th yed;
An' there's mony a thing—when it's too late—
Thou'll wish thou'd never said!
Daughter:
XI
Here, mother, gi' me howd o'th choilt;I'll sit me down a bit;
I feel as if I're goin' to have
Another cryin' fit:
There's nought but trouble i' this world,
As far as I can see:
I sometimes think he doesn't care
For this poor thing an' me!
Mother:
XII
Thou foolish wench, come dry thi e'en,An' put thi house i' trim;
An' make thi fireside sweet an' clean,
Both for thisel' and Jem:
120
I wish thou'd ponder well,—
There's nob'dy short o' trouble
That makes trouble for theirsel'!
121
The Little Doffer.
I
Amerry little doffer ladCoom down to Shapper's mill,
To see if he could get a shop;
He said his name wur “Bill.”
II
“Bill what, my lad?” th' o'erlooker said;“Arto co'de nought beside?”
“Oh, yigh,” said th' lad; “they co'n me things—
Sometimes,—'at's bad to bide!”
III
“But what's thi faither's name, my lad?Thou'll surely tell me that!”
Said th' lad, “Some co'n him ‘Apple Dad,’—
His gradely name's ‘Owd Hat.’
122
IV
“My uncle Joe's co'de ‘Flopper Chops!’An' sometimes ‘Owd Betide!’
They co'n him thoose at th' weighvin'-shops;
An' I know nought beside.”
V
Said th' o'erlooker, “I know owd Joe,—He weighvs for Billy Grime;
But, what dun they co' thee, my lad,
When they co'n at dinner-time?”
VI
Th' lad grinned, an' said, “They never hanTo co' me then,—no fear!”
Said th' o'erlooker, “How's that, my lad?”
Said th' lad, “I'm al'ays theer!”
VII
“My lad, thou looks a lively cowt;Keen as a cross-cut saw;
Short yure, sharp teeth, a twinklin e'e,
An' a little hungry maw!
VIII
“But, wheer hasto bin wortchin at?What's brought tho down our way?”
Said th' lad, “I wortched for Tommy Platt;
He's gan me th' bag, to-day.”
123
IX
‘Thou's brought thi character, I guess?”Says th' lad, “yo're wrang, I doubt:”
Says th' o'erlooker to th' lad, “How's this?”
Says th' lad, “I'm better bowt!”
X
Said th' o'erlooker, “I never seeSich a whelp sin I wur born!
But, I'll try what I can make o' thee:
Come to thi wark to-morn!”
124
The Mower's Song.
I
Th' layrocks i'th welkin;An' throstles fro' tree to tree co'in!
Oh, the bright day;
Oh, the sweet hay;
An' a snatch of owd song helps the mowin'!
II
Mash-tubs an' barrels;A mon connot al'ays be sober;
A mon connot sing
To a bonnier thing
Than a pitcher o' stingin' October!
125
III
Ladles an' galkers;An' spiggits, an' forcits, an' coolers;
Foamin' quart pots,
An' little brown tots;
Delf bottles, an' wooden maut-shoolers!
IV
Owd shoon an' stockin's;An' slippers that's made o' red leather!
My wife an' me
Can al'ays agree
To creep on a cowd neet together.
V
Blankets an' hippins;A mon that lives single's a rover!
A little gowd ring's
A fanciful thing;
An' a mon that's weel wed lives i' clover!
VI
Neet-caps an' bowsters;An' snug beds for tired folk to creep in!
We mun feight it out here;
So we'n lap it up theer;
For the life of a mon ends i' sleepin'!
126
VII
Heigh, jolly mowers;It's dry wark to keep a scythe swinging';
Let's whet, lads; an' then
We'n at it again;
To the tune of the merry lark singin'!
127
Owd Bumper's Courtship.
I
Owd Bumper's frame wur seldom reet;He're short o' breath; he'd failin' seet;
An' he're very shaky on his feet,
An' cranky in his motions:
But when he drew a fortnit's pay,
He couldn't rest by neet nor day;
For though his yed had long bin grey,
He'd bits o' youthful notions.
II
When th' pay-day coom, fro top to toeHe made his sel' a weary show;
With a tulip in his breast an' o,
To put an extra flash on:
A cauve-skin vest, a coat o' frieze,
Green fustian breeches; an' at th' knees,
Red ribbins flutterin' in the breeze—
An' owd tup drest lamb-fashion!
128
III
An' when he looked i'th seemin'-glass,He said, “I think I's do, by th' mass!
An' now I'll goo an' see yon lass
At th' sign o'th Rompin Kitlin'!”
He looked like some'at in a play;
Or someb'dy that had gone astray;
An' every soul i'th fowd made way
For th' poor owd crazy witlin'.
IV
Now Mally wur a buxom dame;A widow, full o' lively game;
An' her temper wur so hard to tame
That very few could guide her.
Hoo talked so pert, an' looked so bowd,
An' stept so freely through the fowd,
That hoo wur known to yung an' owd
By th' name o' “Pratty Strider.”
V
“Eh dear,” cried Mall, “is that yorsel'?I'll tell yo what, yo're lookin' well!
I thought it wur, but couldn't tell,—
Yo're sich a blazin' dandy!
129
Are yo boun' a-morris-dancin', Joe?
Or yo're for actin' in a show,
That yo're donned up so grandly?”
VI
Th' owd craiter winked his bleary e'e,An' said, “I've come a-seein' thee,
My lass!” said Mall, “Good Lord o' me,
This is a stroke o' fortin'!”
An' there he sat the livelong day,
An' wouldn't let no mortal pay
Till he'd squander't every rap away
That he'd brought with him a-courtin'!
VII
His brass wur done, an' he'd had enoo;But Mally tinkled th' poor owd foo
Till he thought he'd nought i'th world to do
But come an' hang his hat up:
So he whisper't with a drunken grin,
“Mally, my love, I'm short o' tin;
But bring another gallon in,
I know thou'll chalk me that up!”
130
VIII
“Nay, nay,” cried Mall; “down wi' thi dust!I never sell my ale o' trust;
If thou'rt spent up, thou'd better just
Be gooin while it's dayleet:
Thou's lost what little wit thou had;
Another gill would drive tho mad;
So tak thi grey yed whoam, owd lad—
An' come again o'th' pay-neet!”
131
Heigh, Lads, Heigh!
I
Oh, I're fidgin' fain to drop my warkWhen gloamin' shades coom softly down;
An' off I went, at th' edge o' dark,
To th' bonniest lass i' Rachda' town.
I're i' sich a flutter to tak the gate
That I'd hardly time to tee my shoon;
For my heart beat wild, with love elate,
An' my tinglin' feet kept time to th' tune.
Sing heigh, lads, heigh; sing ho, lads, ho;
What's to betide us who can know?
132
II
On wings of bliss, away I flew,O'er moor, an' moss, an' posied lea;
I started mony a brid fro th' bough,
But never a brid as blithe as me:
An' when I coom to th' foamin' bruck,
Bonk-full o' wayter, spreadin' wide,
I took a sprint, went o'er like woint,
An' let a yard o' tother side.
Sing heigh, lads, heigh; sing ho, lads, ho;
What's to betide us who can know?
III
At seet o'th gable-end o'th cotI rubbed my honds and marlocked round;
An' I trimmed my clooas fro yed to foot,
For I felt mysel' o' fairy ground:
But when I met wi' fickle Kate,
Hoo lost no time to let me see
That hoo'd set her cap another gate,
An' hoo wanted no more truck wi' me.
Sing heigh, lads, heigh; sing ho, lads, ho;
What's to betide us who can know?
IV
I hung about a while, an' ICoom trailing whoam by th' leet o'th moon;
An' at every step I hove a sigh,
For my heart had sunk into my shoon:
133
I sat me down by th' owd draw-well,
An' I felt i' sich a doleful state
That I'd hauve a mind to drown mysel'.
Sing heigh, lads, heigh; sing ho, lads, ho;
What's to betide us who can know?
VI
“What ails yon lad?” my faither said;“There's summat has ta'en him sadly down;
For he sits i'th nook, an' he hangs his yed;
An' I doubt he's lost his gate to th' town.
Come, Robin; don't tak' thy luck so ill;
Keep up thy heart, and caper round;
For if one love winnot another will,
An' there's plenty o' lasses left o'th ground!”
Sing heigh, lads, heigh; sing ho, lads, ho;
What's to betide us who can know?
134
Jamie Raddle's Dog.
I
Oh, Jamie Raddle lost his dogI'th thrang o' Turton fair,
While he wur dancin' in his clogs
To win a bran new pair;
But when he found poor Laddie gone,
He swore by th' leet o'th moon,
He'd find the chap that stoole his dog,
An let him feel his shoon.
II
“My dog, my dog! Through good an' ill,An mony a journey dree,
Through swelterin' sun an' wintry chill,
Poor Laddie's gone wi' me!
135
That's taen my dog away;
An' if that thief I chance to meet,
I'll make him rue the day!”
III
But Jamie's search had no avail,His anger was in vain;
He never met wi' top nor tail
Of his good dog again;
For he chanced to spy a bonny lass,
That brought him to the floor;
An' he cried, “Yon woman's mine, by th' mass!
I'll look for th' dog no moore.”
IV
Then off he went, in hungry chase;Through country an' through town,
He kept her track, fro' place to place,
Until he ran her down;
But Nanny didn't run so fast,
If I may tell yo plain,
For hoo wanted catchin'; so at last,
Hoo're very soon o'ertaen.
136
V
It wur just a week fro' MichaelmasWhen Jamie took a wife,
But afore it coom to Candlemas
He're weary of his life.
At harvest-time he quaked wi' fear
At th' fate he had to dree;
An' when it geet to th' end o'th year
He're quite content to dee.
VI
“Oh, parson, parson, yo did wrongTo tether us so fast;
For now we's snap an' snarl as long
As ever life may last!
I paid yo four white shillin' when
Yo teed me to our Nan;
But I'll gi' yo th' price o' my best cow
To let me loose again!
VII
“Oh, my good dog; I went astray,Like a fither-pated foo!
I wish I'd followed thee that day,
An' let this craiter goo:
137
It's useless to repine;
But I'd raither ha' th' warst whelp i'th town
Than sich a mate as mine!”
138
Toothsome Advice.
I
Eh, Nanny; thou'rt o' out o' gear;Do, pray tho, go peep into th' glass;
Thou looks dirty, an' deawly, an' queer;
Whatever's to do witho lass?”
“Bless yo, Mary; if folk nobbut knew
The trouble I have wi' yon lad!—
He's at th' alehouse again, wi' th' owd crew:
It's enough to drive ony mon mad!”
II
“Eh, my wench I'm mich owder than thee,An' it grieves me to see tho like this;
So, pray tho, now, hearken to me;
An' don't go an' tak it amiss:
Thou once wur nice-lookin', an' mild,
An' tidily donned, too, as well;
But, now, thou'rt quite sluttish an' wild
About both thi house, an' thisel'.
139
III
“It's hard to keep things reet with aughtThat a body can manage to do;
But, a mon's sure to stray when he's nought
But dirt an' feaw looks to come to:
If thou wants to keep Jamie i'th house,
Thou mun bait th' trap wi' comfort, my lass;
Or, there's lots o' nooks, canty an' crouse,
Where he'll creep with his pipe an' his glass.
IV
“Thou mun keep his whoam pleasant an' sweet;An everything fit to be seen;
Thou mun keep thi hearth cheerful an' breet;
Thou mun keep thisel' tidy an' clean;
A good-temper't wife will entice
To a fireside that's cosy an' trim;
Men liken to see their wives nice;
An' I'm sure that it's so wi' yor Jem.
V
“Thou mun have his meals cooked to his mind,At th' reet time, an' daicently laid;
Tak pains; an' thou'll very soon find
How nice a plain dish can be made:
Good cookin' keeps likin' alive,
With a woman that's noan short o' wit;
An' there's never a craiter i'th hive
But's fond of a toothsome tit bit!'
140
VI
“Eh, Mary; I'm nought of a cook,But just rough an' ready, yo known;
As for roastin' an' boilin' bi th' book,—
I'm o' little more use than a stone!”
“Don thi bonnet; an' hie tho wi' me;
I'll soon put tho reet, if thou'll come;
An' I'll larn tho some cookin', thou'll see,
That'll help to keep Jamie at whoam!”
141
Cock Robin.
I
Cock Robin coom o' daicent folk;He was the village pride,—
The tightest, sweetest, soundest lad
That stept the moorlan' side:
Fro top to toe he stood six feet;
His voice was loud and clear;
But he could whisper low an' sweet
When a bonny lass was near.
II
Cock Robin had a witchin' tongue,It made folk laugh an' cry;
An' he won the hearts of owd an' young
Wi'th love-leet in his eye:
142
He made the valley ring;
An' th' country lasses pricked their ears
To yer young Robin sing.
III
Young Robin was the blithest cowtThat frolicked on the green;
The king of o' the lads i'th fowd,
The darlin' of the scene:
With happy heart, in nature's lap,
He wandered wild and free,
Though mony a sweet lass set her cap
To catch his twinklin' e'e.
IV
But there was one dear lass that boreFrom all the world the bell,
An' touched his heart for evermore
With love's delightful spell:
With modest charms, unknown to guile,
She made her conquest sweet,
An' brought the roving minstrel down
To warble at her feet.
143
V
Now Robin feels the mystic powerOf true love here below,
An' Robin owns the richest dower
That angels can bestow!
He flits no more from bough to bough;
His soarings wild have ceased;
His songs are all for Mally now,
An' th' little brids i'th neest!
144
Ill Life—Ill Luck.
I
As I coom trailin' whoam fro th' town,I co'de at th' sign o'th Saddle,
To weet my whistle, an' keawer me down
For a crack wi' Jamie Raddle.
Th' owd lad wur talkin' like a book,
Wi' some neighbour lads to mind him;
So I crept close by, i'th chimbley nook,
Where I seldom fail to find him.
145
II
Said he: Yo known owd Bill at Kay's—I never could abide him;
He's bin a wastrel o' his days,
An' wastrel luck betide him!
He's ta'en a job i' hond at last
That'll knock him into flinders,
For they say'n he's boun' to buckle fast
Wi' buxom Mall o' Pinder's.
III
Mall's fresh an' strong, an' warm an' young,An' frisky as a kitlin';
Billy's grey an' owd, an' worn an' cowd,
An' dwindled to a thwitlin'.
While th' fire o' life burns breet an' strong
I' bouncin' Mall o' Pinder's,
It's flickered down i' poor owd Bill
To nought but wanin' cinders.
146
IV
He's done a deal o' careless wark,An' never tried to mend it;
But he'll ha' to leave this cut i'th dark.
For want o' leet to end it.
Both warp an' weft are rough an' strong,
An' off a mangy fleece, oh;
An' he'll be weary of his weighvin' long
Afore he downs his piece, oh.
V
He's shaked a free leg in his prime,An' kicked at o' afore him;
He's flirted through his summer time,
Till winter's creepin' o'er him.
He's ta'en no kind mate to his breast
To make a life-long friend on;
He's run his sands of life to waste,
An' he's nought left to depend on.
147
VI
Ill folk should tak ill fortin' well,An' noather pout nor cry on't;
For a mon that makes his bed his sel'
Should never grudge to lie on't.
Then, lads, tak this last hint fro me—
As through life's wood yo're wendin',
Don't run by every bonny tree,
An' tak to th' scrunt at th' endin'!
148
Moorland Nell.
I
Oh, Jenny's lithe an' leet,An' Mally's e'en are breet
As dewdrops on a sweet bluebell;
Nan's worth her weight i' gowd;
But there's not a lass i'th fowd
Like bonny little Moorlan' Nell, Nell, Nell,
Like bonny little Moorlan' Nell!
My love's a little posy,
Sweet an' shy an' rosy;
There's never mortal tongue can tell
How it thrills my heart wi' glee
To think hoo's fond o' me,
My winsome little Moorlan' Nell, Nell, Nell,
My darlin' little Moorlan' Nell!
Sweet an' shy an' rosy;
149
How it thrills my heart wi' glee
To think hoo's fond o' me,
My winsome little Moorlan' Nell, Nell, Nell,
My darlin' little Moorlan' Nell!
II
Some don't know how to talk,Some han to larn to walk,
Yet they never seem to do it well;
But Nell wur born complete
In everything that's sweet,
Oh, my bonny little Moorlan' Nell, Nell, Nell,
My darlin' little Moorlan' Nell!
Chorus—My love's a little posy,
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
III
One sunny summer's day,As Dame Natur sat at tay,
Hoo began to unbethink hersel';
An' hoo said, “I'll try my hond
At th' nicest lass i'th lond,
An' I'll have her christent Moorlan' Nell, Nell, Nel
I'll have her christent Moorlan' Nell!”
Chorus—My love's a little posy,
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
150
IV
An' when Nelly coom to th' leet,Dame Natur's e'en grew breet,
An' hoo clapped her honds and cried, “Well, well!
Hoo's very sweet an' smo',
But hoo's boun' to lick 'em o,
My pratty little Moorlan' Nell, Nell, Nell,
My bonny little Moorlan' Nell!”
Chorus—My love's a little posy,
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
V
Th' owd craiter laughed an' cried,For it touched her heart wi' pride;
An' hoo said, “It makes me hutchin'-fain!
This wench is th' topmost mark
Of o' my bonny wark,
An' I's never do the like again, again,
I's never do the like again!”
Chorus—My love's a little posy,
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
Sweet an' shy an' rosy.
151
Down Again!
I
Twur on a bitter winter neet,When th' north wind whistled cowd;
When stars i'th frosty sky shone breet,
An' o' wur still i'th fowd;
I'd getten curl't up snug i' bed,
An' sleepin' like a top,
When Betty nudged my ribs, an' said,
“Oh, Jamie; do get up!”
II
I yawned, an' rubbed my e'en, an' said,“Well, lass, what's th' matter now?”
Then Betty rocked hersel' i' bed,
An' said, “Get up, lad; do!”
“It's woint that troubles tho,” said I;
Thou'd better have a pill.”
“Oh, Jem,” said hoo; don't be a foo;
Thou knows what makes me ill!”
152
III
“Howd on, my lass,” said I; “howd on!”An', bouncin' out o' bed,
I began to poo my stockin's on:
“Oh, do be sharp!” hoo said;
But, my things had gone astray i'th dark;
An', as I groped about,
Hoo said, “Oh, this is weary wark;
Thou'll ha' to goo without!”
IV
“Goo wheer? Wheer mun I goo?” said I,As I rooted upo' th' floor:
“Goo wheer?” said hoo; “thou leather-yed;
For th' doctor, to be sure!”
“Eh, aye,” said I; “thou'rt reet, by th' mass!
An' if thou'll make a shift
To tak thi time a bit, owd lass,
Thou's have him in a snift!”
V
I donned my things, an' off I wentLike shot, through th' frosty neet;
Wi' nought astir but th' wintry woint,
An' nought but stars for leet:
153
My clatterin' gate I took,
I spied owd Clem, crept out o'th cowd,
With his lantron, in a nook.
VI
“What's o' thi hurry, Jem?” said he,As I went runnin' by:
“I connot stop to talk to thee;
We'n someb'dy ill,” said I.
“Who is it this time?” cried owd Clem;
“Is it Nan, or little Ben?”
“Nawe, nawe,” said I, “it's noan o' them;
Our Betty's down again!”
VII
“Well done,” cried Clem, “well done, owd lad!Why, that makes hauve a score!”
“It does,” said I; that's what we'n had;
An', we's happen ha' some moore.”
“Never thee mind, my lad,” cried Clem;
“It's a rare good breed, owd mon;
An', if yo han a hundred moore,
God bless 'em every one!”
154
VIII
Th' doctor wur up in hauve a snift;An' off I scutter't back,
Like a red-shank, through the wintry drift,
Wi' th' owd lad i' my track.
Th' snow wur deep, an' th' woint wur cowd
An' I nobbut made one stop,
At th' little cot at th' end o'th fowd,
To knock her mother up.
IX
I never closed my e'en that neet,Till after break o' day;
For they kept me runnin' o' my feet,
Wi' gruel, an' wi' tay:
Like a scopperil up an' down i'th hole,
I're busy at th' owd job,
Warmin' flannels, an' mendin' th' fires,
An' tentin' stuff o'th hob.
X
It wur getten six or theerabout;I're thrang wi' th' gruel-pon;
When I dropt mi spoon, an' shouted out,
“How are yo gettin' on?'
155
“Thou'd better come an' see;
There's a fine young chap lies here i' bed;
An' he wants to look at thee!”
XI
I ran up i' my stockin'-feet;An' theer they lay! By th' mon;
I thought i' my heart a prattier seet
I ne'er clapt e'en upon!
I kissed our Betty; an' I said,—
Wi' th' wayter i' my e'en,—
God bless yo both, my bonny lass,
For evermoore, Amen!
XII
“But do tak care; if aught went wrangI think my heart would break;
An' if there's aught i'th world thou'd like,
Thou's nought to do but speak:
But, oh, my lass, don't lie too long;
I m lonesome by mysel';
I'm no use without thee, thou knows;
Be sharp, an' do get weel!
156
Owd Roddle.
I
Owd Roddle wur tattert an' torn,With a bleart an' geawly e'e;
He're wamble, an' slamp, an' unshorn;
A flaysome cowt to see:
Houseless, without a friend,
The poor owd wand'rin slave
Crawled on to his journey's end,
Wi' one of his feet i'th grave:
Poor owd Roddle!
157
II
Owd Roddle wur fond of ale,Fro' tap to tap went he;
An' this wur his endless tale,
“Who'll ston a gill for me?”
He crept into drinkin'-shops
At dawnin' o' mornin' leet;
He lived upo' barmy slops,
An' slept in a tub at neet:
Poor owd Roddle!
III
As Roddle one mornin'-tideWur trailin' his limbs to town,
A twinkle i'th slutch he spied,
“Egad, it's a silver crown!”
“Now, Roddle, go buy a shirt—
A shirt an' a pair o' shoon!”
“A fig for yor shoon an' shirts;
My throttle's as dry's a oon!”
Poor owd Roddle!
158
IV
“Come, bring us a weel-filled quart;I connot abide a tot;
To-day I've a chance to start
With a foamin', full-groon pot!
This crown has a jovial look;
I'm fleyed it'll melt too fast;
But I'll live like a king i'th nook
As long as my crown'll last!”
Poor owd Roddle!
V
But he met with a friendly touchThat ended his mortal woes;
For he fell in a fatal clutch,
That turned up his weary toes:
Though they missed him i' nooks o'th own
Where penniless topers meet,
Nob'dy knew how he'd broken down,
Nor where he'd crept out o' seet:
Poor owd Roddle!
159
VI
In a churchyard corner lone,Under a nameless mound,
Where the friendless poor are thrown,
Roddle lies sleepin' sound:
And the kind moon shines at night
On the weary wanderer's bed,
And the sun and the rain keep bright
His grassy quilt o'erhead.
Poor owd Roddle!
160
My Gronfaither, Willie.
I
My gronfaither, Willie,Wur born o'th moorside,
In a cosy owd house
Where he lived till he died;
He wur strong-limbed an' hearty,
An' manly, an' kind;
An' as blithe as a lark, for
He'd nought on his mind.
Derry down.
161
II
His wife wur th' best craiterThat ever wur made;
An' they'd three bonny lasses
As ever broke brade;
An' five strappin' lads—
They looked grand in a row,
For they'rn six feet apiece—
That makes ten yards in o'!
Derry down.
III
My gronfaither's houseWur a cosy owd shop,
An' as sweet as a posy
Fro' bottom to top;
Parlour, loom-house, an' dairy;
Bedrooms, greight an' smo';
An' a shinin' owd kitchen,—
The best nook of o'!
Derry down.
162
IV
He'd cows in a pastur,An' sheep o'th moorside;
An' a nice bit o' garden
Wur th' owd fellow's pride;
With his looms an' his cattle,
He'd plenty o' wark
For his lads an' his lasses,
Fro' dayleet to dark.
Derry down.
V
A gray-yedded layrockO' three-score an' twelve,
He'd weave an' he'd warble,
He'd root an' he'd delve
Fro' daybreak to sunset,
Then creep to his nook,
At the sweet ingle-side,
For a tot an' a smooke.
Derry down.
163
VI
An' fro th' big end o' PendleTo Robin Hood's Bed;
Fro Skiddaw to Tandle's
Owd grove-tufted yed;
Fro th' Two Lads to Tooter's,
There's never a pot
That's sin as much glee
As my gronfaither's tot.
Derry down.
VII
Fro' Swarthmoor i' Furness,Where th' dew upo' th' fells
Keeps twinkle to th' tinkle
Of Ulverston bells;
Fro Black Coombe to Blacks'nedge,
No cup mon could fill,
Did moore good an' less harm
Than my gronfaither's gill.
Derry down.
164
VIII
As I journey through lifeMay this fortin be mine,
To be upreet an' downreet
Fro youth to decline:
An' walk like a mon,
Through whatever betide,
Like my gronfaither, Willie,
That live't o'th moorside.
Derry down.
165
Come to your Porritch.
I
Come lads, an' sit down to yor porritch;I hope it'll help yo to thrive;
For nob'dy con live as they should do
Beawt some'at to keep 'em alive:
We're snug; with a daicent thatch o'er us,
While round us the winter winds blow;
Be thankful for what there's afore us;
There's some that han nothing at o'.
Chorus—
Then, come, an' sit down to yor porritch;I hope it'll help yo to thrive;
For nob'dy can live as they should do
Beawt some at to keep 'em alive.
166
II
Sometimes I've a pain i' my stomachThat's common to folk that are poor;
But I've mostly a mouthful o' some'at
That suits my complaint to a yure:
Come beef, suet-dumplin', or lobscouse,
Come ale, or cowd wayter, I'll sing;
An' a lump o' good cheese an' a jannock,
It makes me as proud as a king.
Chorus—
Then, come, an' sit down to yor porritch;I hope it'll help yo to thrive;
For nob'dy can live as they should do
Beawt some'at to keep 'em alive.
III
There's mony poor craiters are dainty,An' wanten their proven made fine;
But if it be good, an' there's plenty,
I'm never so tickle wi' mine:
It's aitin' that keeps a man waggin',
An' hunger that butters his bread;
An' when a lad snighs at his baggin',
It's time for to send him to bed.
Chorus—
Then, come, an' sit down to yor porritch;I hope it'll help yo to thrive;
For nob'dy can live as they should do
Beawt some'at to keep e'm alive.
167
IV
Some folk are both greedy an' lither;They'n guttle, —but wortch noan at o';
An' their life's just a comfortless swither,
Bepowlert an' pown too an' fro;
Then, wortch away, lads, till yo're weary:
It helps to keep everything reet;
Yo'n find the day run very cheery,
An' sleep like a peg-top at neet.
Chorus—
Then, come, an' sit down to yor porritch;I hope it'll help yo to thrive;
For nob'dy can live as they should do
Beawt some'at to keep 'em alive.
168
Heigh, Jone, Owd Brid!
I
Heigh, Jone, owd brid, bring in some ale;I'm fain to see tho wick an' weel.
We'n make this cote ring like a bell
Wi' jolly-hearted sound, lads!
We're just come liltin', full o' glee,
Fro' th' moorlan' tops, so wild an' free;
Come, clear this floor, an' let 'em see
Us dance a Cheshire round, lads!
II
There's Jonathan can sing a songThat's four-an'-twenty verses long,
An' twitterin' Ben caps owd an' young
For merry country cracks, mon!
169
He'll wrostle aught i'th town an' fo';
Come cut an' long tail, he licks o',
An' lays 'em o' their backs, mon!
III
There's Ned wi'th pipes, an' curly Bill,An' Tum o' Nell's fro' Wardle Hill,
An' moorlan' Dan fro' the Blue Pots rill,
An' fither-fuuted Dick, mon!
Thou may wander far, an' pick an' choose,
Where rindles run an' heather groos;
Thou'll find no blither cowts than thoose
Fro' here to Windle Nick, mon!
IV
We're brown as hazel-nuts wi'th sun,For th' harvest's o'er, an' th' hay's weel won;
An' every heart runs o'er wi' fun,
An' every lad's i' prime, mon!
Their e'en are wick wi' merry leet;
We'n trip it round wi' nimble feet;
With reet good will we'n blithely greet
This bonny summer time, mon!
170
V
Then bring a foamin' tankard in,An' weet yo'r whistles an' begin;
This roof shall ring with jovial din,—
It's haliday to-day, lads!
God bless owd England's hearts of oak,
Her toilin' swarms, an' sturdy folk;
May they never yield to tyrant's yoke,
I will both sing an' pray, lads!
171
Eh, Dear, what a Bother!
I
Eh, dear, what a bother;My faither an' mother
Are makin' me tired o' my life!
Jem wants me to marry;
They say'n we mun tarry
A while, till I'm fit for a wife.
II
My lad's brave an' bonny;He's mine, if I've ony;
He's loved me an' courted me long.
He're seventeen last Monday;
I'm sixteen o' Sunday;
An' yet they both think us too young.
172
III
Said my faither, when JamieAxed if he might ha' me,
“My lad, it's too soon to get wed!
Thou's no yure o' thi chin, mon;
Thi wages are thin, an'
Thou's never a roof for thi yed.
IV
“Thou's no housin' nor beddin';Thou's nought saved for weddin'—
I don't think thou's price of a sark!
If thou waits till hoo's twenty,
It's soon enough, plenty;
So go thi ways back to thi wark!”
V
But oh, as time passes,These dainty young lasses
May wile my lad's fancy fro' me;
For there's witchery in him,
An' if they should win him,
I think i' my heart I should dee!
173
VI
Oh, Jamie, my darlin';My darlin', my darlin';
How happy thy kind wife I'd be!
To wander together,
Through life's hardest weather,
How gladly I'd struggle for thee!
174
Maut-Worm.
I
Last neet I went swaggerin' downTo Robin o' Pinder's brew;
This mornin' I reel't through th' town,
As fuddle't as David's sow:
Buttle, buttle;
Guttle, guttle;
A maisterful throttle's a foo!
II
I con noather ston, lie, nor sit;I dither like mad i' my shoon;
My yed feels as if it would split,
My gullet's as dry as a oon:
Buttle, buttle;
Guttle, guttle;
This wark'll be th' end on me soon!
175
III
But fill up; an' let it run o'er;For, whether I live or I dee,
I mun just have another tot moore,
O' this bubblin' barley-bree!
Buttle, buttle;
Guttle, guttle;
Barm-broth's bin the ruin o' me!
IV
I once had a wife o' my own,An' three bonny lads an' o';
But they're gone; an' I'm left alone,
Wanderin' too an' fro;
Buttle, buttle;
Guttle, guttle;
An' I wish I wur lyin' low.
V
I'm tatter't fro' th' hat to th' clogs;My pockets are drain't for swill;
I'm goin' yed-long to th' dogs;
But, I'll just have another gill;
Buttle, buttle;
Guttle, guttle;
If a warkhouse coffin I fill!
176
VI
An' when this wild fire grows cool,An' my racklesome journey's past;
Happed up with a sexton's shool;
In a pauper nook laid fast;
Th' owd delver may say.
As he walks away,
“Poor Bill; he's at rest at last!”
177
God Bless Thee, Nan!
I
God bless thee, Nan, it does one goodTo see that face o' thine!
It sends a tingle through my blood,
And warms this heart o' mine!
I cannot tell how fain I feel;
It makes me fit to cry:
I could like to clip an' kiss tho weel,
For th' sake o' days gone by!
II
“What strange things come into one's yed!I fancy, day by day,
My bits o' friends are oather deeod
Or driftin' out o'th way;
But bless us, I've no room to talk,
For here and there I see
A deal o' very decent folk
That's far worse off than me.”
178
III
“I've th' childer round about my knees;Our Jem an' me's had four;
An' there's no tellin', lass, thou sees,
There'll happen be some more:
But let 'em come—like twitterin' brids,—
God bless 'em, let 'em come!
There's nought i'th world like little kids
For makin' folk at whoam!”
IV
“Eh, Nanny, lass, I wish thou'd yoke!Mon, time keeps creepin' on;
An' it's useless gettin' wed to folk
That's owd, an' cowd, an' done.
Get sattle't; an' thou'd find it, Ann,
Far nicer pooin through,
If thou'd a daicent husban', an'
A little choilt or two.”
V
“Lord bless us, how thou does goo on;I know thou's let on well;
But thou needn't fancy every one
As lucky as thisel';
I see no chance for me to yoke;
My single life's no crime;
I'm willin'; but they don't wed folk
An odd un at a time!”
179
VI
“Yor Jem an' thee's like weel-pair't shoon,Easy to don an' doff;
An' where there's tone, yo'n very soon
Find tother noan far off:
But I'm a poor lone soul, an' odd,
An limpin' th' wide world through,
Wi' one foot bare, an' one foot shod,
Lookin' for th' marrow shoe!”
VII
“Come, howd thi din lass, for I've yerdThou'rt courting very strong;
An' I nobbut want to say one word,—
Don't put it off too long!
But, bless us, thou keeps stonnin' theer;
An' thou looks rare an' weel!
Come, doff thi things, an' tak a cheer,
An' do look like thisel'!”
VIII
“Mary, I haven't time to-day;I mun be gooin' fur;
I've nobbut peeped in upo' th' way,
A-seein' how yo wur:
I'll come when I can stop a bit;
It'll nobbut be a walk;
An' I'll bring a bit o' stuff to knit;
Then we can wortch an' talk.”
180
IX
“That's reet, owd lass! An' mind thou does;Now th' weather's gettin' fine;
Slip o'er; an' come a-seein' us,—
An' bring yon chap o' thine;
An' don't thee let this May-time pass
Afore thou'rt here again:
An', now, God bless thee, Nanny, lass,
For ever more, Amen!”
181
Our Jem an' Me.
I
What, Matty, lass, it's never thee!Come in, an' keawer tho down;
Thou'rt just i' time to get thi tay;
Our Jamie's off i'th town.
Eh, dear, I'm fain to see tho here;
I wanted tho to come;
So, doff thi things, an' tak this cheer,
An' make thisel' a-whoam.
II
Eh, if our Jamie had bin in,He would ha' bin some fain;
He'd nearly jump out of his skin
To see thee here again!
182
They're gradely fond o' thee;
But I al'ays think thou'rt like one's own,—
An' Jamie's same as me.
III
How am I? Why, I'm th' best side out,An' th' childer are o' reet:
It would make thee stare at meal-times
What they putten out o' seet.
Eh, lass, they are a hungry lot;
An' they're hearty, an' they're rough:
Thank God, we're never short o' meight,
So I let 'em have enough.
IV
These childer! Bless thi life, owd lass—Our Jem an' me's had six,—
They keepen one alive, bi th' mass,
Wi' their bits o' mankin tricks.
There's three at schoo', an' two i'th town;
An this is little Jem;
He's just th' spit of our Jamie,—
An' he's christent after him.
183
V
Eh, dear, those two blue e'en of his,Like bits o' April sky!
I sometimes look into his face
Till it nearly makes me cry.
Come here, thou little curly lout,—
Thou rosy, rompin' limb!
His faither were a roughish cowt,—
An' he'll be th' same as him.
VI
It's not to tell what folk con ston',—But we're a hardish breed;
Our physic's made i'th porritch-pon—
It's o' we ever need.
An' how it comes I connot tell—
Thou'll think it quare I know,—
But if ever I'm not weel mysel'
Our Jamie's ill an' o'.
VII
Now then, poo up, an' buckle to,An' try these bits o' chops;
It puzzles me how folk can do
To live o' nought but slops.
184
But to tell yo truth, owd dame,
I'm raither fond o' butchers' chips,—
An' Jamie's just the same.
VIII
Eh dear o' me; I'm fain I'm wick!An' it's o' long o' Jem;
He sometimes says, “Owd lass, we're thick!”
For he sees I'm fond of him.
An' yet, thou knows, life's flittin' by;
But when I come to dee,
It doesn't matter where I lie,
Our Jamie'll lie wi' me!
185
It's Hard to Tell which Gate to Goo.
I
It's hard to tell which gate to gooI' sich a world as this;
An' do the best that one can do,
It sometimes runs amiss.
I stocked some trouble for mysel'
While I wur down at th' fair,
For now I know what 'tis full well
To love an' to despair.
Chorus—
It's heaven's delight to be in love,When those we love are kind;
But oh, how hard it is to move
Hearts of another mind!
186
II
Ill fortin took me down that way,When Lizzie met my e'e;
It wur a bonny summer's day,
But a weary day for me.
Hoo knows I'm racked with hopeless care,
An' yet, wi dainty wile,
For me hoo finds it hard to spare
A little wintry smile.
Chorus—
It's heaven's delight to be in love.When those we love are kind!
III
I'm dwindlin' down like runnin' sond;There's nought left i' my skin;
I could read a ballit through my hond,
My limbs are groon so thin.
It's a weary life for one to dree;
I'm shot,—dee when I will;
An' when deeoth comes a-seekin' me,
He'll not find much to kill.
Chorus—
It's heaven's delight to be in love.When those we love are kind!
187
IV
Fro mornin' dawn to th' edge o' darkMy wits are o' astray;
I am not worth, for gradely wark,
Aboon a groat a day.
Yo may burn my clooas in a rook,—
I's never want 'em moore;
An' I'll creep into a quiet nook,
An' maunder till its o'er.
Chorus—
It's heaven's delight to be in love.When those we love are kind!
V
Oh, Lizzie, darlin', be my wife;Thou'rt all the world to me;
An' if thou wilt not save my life,
I'll lap it up and dee!
An' when deeoth stills this achin' breast,
Oh, spare one tender sigh
For the poor lad that's laid at rest,—
An' make a shift to cry.
Chorus—
It's heaven's delight to be in love,When those we love are kind;
But oh, how hard it is to move
Hearts of another mind!
188
Going to the Fair.
I
Eh, Nan, Lord bless an' save us o;Whatever's up to-day?
Arto boun a-dancin in a show,
Or arto th' Queen o' May?
Thou looks a bonny pictur, wench—
I don't know how thou feels,—
Wi' thi ribbins an' thi top-knots,
An' thi fithers down to th' heels!
II
Eh, Sarah, mon, I'm welly done!Six week an' never out
Fro break o' day till set o' sun;
It's knocked me up, I doubt!
Fro wark to bed, fro bed to wark;
I've had aboon mi share;
But I've broken out at last, thou sees;
An' now I'm oft to th' fair.
189
III
Thou never says! Well, I declare!It brings back to mi mind
What happened th' last time I wur theer;
An' I feel hauve inclined,—
If I can find a cheer that's fit,
An' if thou'll shut that dur,
An' come an' keawer tho down a bit,—
To tell tho how it wur.
IV
Thou recollects our weddin'-day?Eh, dear, I wur a swell!
I'm sure thou's not forgotten that,
For thou wur theer thisel'.
Eh, what a day we had that day!
How they did dance and sing!
An' I kept howdin' out my hond,
To let folk see mi ring.
V
Well, we'd just bin a fortnit wed,When Jamie comes to me—
I could see he'd some'at in his yed
Bi th' twinkle of his e'e,—
An' he chuckt me under th' chin an' said,
Come, lay thi knittin' down;
Yon's Knott Mill Fair agate like mad,
Let's have a look at th' town!
190
VI
Eh, Jem, I said, thou knows reet weelI've lots o' things to do;
But if thou wants to go to th' town,
I guess I'm like to goo.
So I dropt mi wark, an' off we went,
Donned up i' Sunday trim:
Our Jem seemed tickle't up wi' th' change,—
An' I're as fain as him.
VII
An' when we coom to th' fairin' ground,An' geet i'th thick o'th throng,
For stalls, an' shows, an' haliday folk,
We could hardly thrutch along;
An' th' drums an' shouts' an' merry din,—
Thou never yerd the like!
An' there nob'dy laughed much moore than me,
It fairly made me skrike!
VIII
But a dirty pouse coom up to Jem,An' whispert in his ear;
An' he said, “I've made my market, lass
Thou'm talk to th' mistress here!”
That nettle't me aboon a bit;
An', as hoo're hutchin' nar,
I grope my fist, an' said, “He's mine,
An' touch him if thou dar!”
191
IX
Our Jem wur trouble't when he seedI took it so amiss;
So he said, “Here, Sally, let's go whoam;
We'n had enough o' this!”
An' fro that day, now ten year gone,
We'n poo'd through thick an' thin;
But that wur th' last o' Knott Mill Fair;
For I've never bin there sin'.
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