 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
228
NEW FANGLEDY WAÄYS.
She.
I haätes the new-fangledy waäys!
Ya can hardlings git hoaver the raäil
Wi'owt the blessed owd traäin
Coomin' bustin' aback o' the cart;
And toimes when it's silin o' raäin,
The chap at the gaäte-house saäys,
“Tha mun just waäit theer fur the maäil!”
I haätes 'em wi' all my 'art.
Ya can hardlings git hoaver the raäil
Wi'owt the blessed owd traäin
Coomin' bustin' aback o' the cart;
And toimes when it's silin o' raäin,
The chap at the gaäte-house saäys,
“Tha mun just waäit theer fur the maäil!”
I haätes 'em wi' all my 'art.
Theer's not haäfe the corn as wur sown,
It's moostard fur moiles i' the fen,
Yaller as gowd, but howdaäcious
Fur robbin' the naäter o' land.
And miller 'es gotten oop town,
A steämer and bit o' band,
Wind's nowt now; my graäcious!
Where will it stop and when?
It's moostard fur moiles i' the fen,
Yaller as gowd, but howdaäcious
Fur robbin' the naäter o' land.
And miller 'es gotten oop town,
A steämer and bit o' band,
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Where will it stop and when?
He.
Not toaner
doänt trubble meä, wife,
Not steäm i' the raäil or the mill,
But gigs beänt belt so brooäd,
Doan't run i' the ruts as they shud;
One can't wi' a middlinish fill
Cum cumfrable saäme as one cud,
Thoff th' erse may quarter the roaäd,
One's amoäst shaäked owten one's life.
Not steäm i' the raäil or the mill,
But gigs beänt belt so brooäd,
Doan't run i' the ruts as they shud;
One can't wi' a middlinish fill
Cum cumfrable saäme as one cud,
Thoff th' erse may quarter the roaäd,
One's amoäst shaäked owten one's life.
Fwoäks 'es grawed soa deshedly fine,
Whoy, Squoire's oänsèn i' howr daäys,
Thoff 'is missus wur maäzin' smart,
Went hoäm i' a “booby-hutch.”
Now hall the wheeals 'es a line,
And the dooär 'es a beeäst i' a smutch,
It's dog-cart not market-cart!
I haätes the new-fangledy waäys!
Whoy, Squoire's oänsèn i' howr daäys,
Thoff 'is missus wur maäzin' smart,
Went hoäm i' a “booby-hutch.”
Now hall the wheeals 'es a line,
And the dooär 'es a beeäst i' a smutch,
It's dog-cart not market-cart!
I haätes the new-fangledy waäys!
230
It's not nobbut gigs 'es gone proud,
It's gells is altered an' all,
Brooäches atop o' theer gowns
And bonnets wi' fancicul wings.
I'll up'owd it them lassies at Brown's
Nivver hentered a milkin' stall,
Plaäys the pianner, poor things,
And sings like laädies aloud.
It's gells is altered an' all,
Brooäches atop o' theer gowns
And bonnets wi' fancicul wings.
I'll up'owd it them lassies at Brown's
Nivver hentered a milkin' stall,
Plaäys the pianner, poor things,
And sings like laädies aloud.
And look at the work i' the choorch,
It's minister's moäst to blaäme,
Sich minchin' and graäcin' ways
Wi' petticuts down to 'is toäs.
Theer's a halminak putten i' poorch
Wi' shillins and pence i' roäs,
And sarvice a heäp o' new days—
I doan't like noän o' the gaäme.
It's minister's moäst to blaäme,
Sich minchin' and graäcin' ways
Wi' petticuts down to 'is toäs.
Theer's a halminak putten i' poorch
Wi' shillins and pence i' roäs,
And sarvice a heäp o' new days—
I doan't like noän o' the gaäme.
He.
Naäy, naäy, let parson aloän,
I nivver wur parson-sweet,
But he's puttin' the gleëbe rent lower,
Wot's sarvice to likes o' hus?
Moäst men hes a fad o' theer oän;
Choorch bells maäs a sight o' fuss
And skeers the birds from the tower,
Them starnells the plaägue o' the wheat!
I nivver wur parson-sweet,
But he's puttin' the gleëbe rent lower,
Wot's sarvice to likes o' hus?
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Choorch bells maäs a sight o' fuss
And skeers the birds from the tower,
Them starnells the plaägue o' the wheat!
Not but wot it wur summat sivver,
When we went one daäy owt o' seven
In a hat and owr Soondaäy cloäs,
Them daäys it wur gooin' to choorch;
Workadaäys beänt nothink to Heaven,
But wife, I contend, them as goäs
Toä sarvice a workadaäy nivver
Shud leäve theer guns i' the poorch.
When we went one daäy owt o' seven
In a hat and owr Soondaäy cloäs,
Them daäys it wur gooin' to choorch;
Workadaäys beänt nothink to Heaven,
But wife, I contend, them as goäs
Toä sarvice a workadaäy nivver
Shud leäve theer guns i' the poorch.
She.
Then “braämes,”
one hes 'em to buy,
And shops 'low nowt fur good luck,
And threäd, theer's nobbut no moor
Nor haäfe of a skein o' the reëls.
Fwoäks dresses and goäs to choorch high,
And 'es silver spoons to theer meäls,
But they maäs not a mossel o' “pluck”
To be gi'en at the Christmas door.
And shops 'low nowt fur good luck,
And threäd, theer's nobbut no moor
Nor haäfe of a skein o' the reëls.
Fwoäks dresses and goäs to choorch high,
And 'es silver spoons to theer meäls,
But they maäs not a mossel o' “pluck”
To be gi'en at the Christmas door.
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And as fur a pig-feäst daäy,
Ya can scarce git one fur ya swill,
We 'ed used to beä axed fur miles
Wi'owt once naämin' the stuff;
And we'd yeät the whoäle pig thruff,
Fro' his head to his hocks, as they saäy;
Sich drinkin' o' healths, sich smiles,
And “Be sewer tha cooms when we kill!”
Ya can scarce git one fur ya swill,
We 'ed used to beä axed fur miles
Wi'owt once naämin' the stuff;
And we'd yeät the whoäle pig thruff,
Fro' his head to his hocks, as they saäy;
Sich drinkin' o' healths, sich smiles,
And “Be sewer tha cooms when we kill!”
He.
I doän't soa much moind fur the feäst,
We got moor nor wur good fur the gittin',
Noä soort o' kind o' use
Next daäy, a-feeäld or a-fowd;
Fur a belly bangful's the deuce,
And what wi' the hot an' the cowd
One got blowed owt like a beäst,
And the pig gone cleän at a sittin'.
We got moor nor wur good fur the gittin',
Noä soort o' kind o' use
Next daäy, a-feeäld or a-fowd;
Fur a belly bangful's the deuce,
And what wi' the hot an' the cowd
One got blowed owt like a beäst,
And the pig gone cleän at a sittin'.
But samples they beänt the saäme,
Things is grawed fra wuss to wuss
Sin' toime o' the Roosian war,
When the chaps coomed cadgin' around,
When farmers, which wur fur a shaäme,
Maäde weight wi' a hiron bar
Or a deäd lamb hid i' the truss,
And haäy bein' selled by the pound.
Things is grawed fra wuss to wuss
Sin' toime o' the Roosian war,
When the chaps coomed cadgin' around,
233
Maäde weight wi' a hiron bar
Or a deäd lamb hid i' the truss,
And haäy bein' selled by the pound.
She.
Ay, and choorchin's different done:
When I wur a noorsin', fwoäk
As 'ud goä upo' weëk daäy dobbut
Got “liberty” hunawares;
But now the parson he nobbut
'Lows Sundaäy afoor the prayers,
Wi' quolity lookin' hon,
And the clerk's paäy put i' a poäke.
When I wur a noorsin', fwoäk
As 'ud goä upo' weëk daäy dobbut
Got “liberty” hunawares;
But now the parson he nobbut
'Lows Sundaäy afoor the prayers,
Wi' quolity lookin' hon,
And the clerk's paäy put i' a poäke.
And sarvice beä altered quite,
Wi' his dancin' hither and thither,
And kneelin' fur Litany theer,
And the Lessons aback ov a bird!
I'm all of a sweät and dither
Wi' 'is oops and 'is downs; and heär?—
Hummin' but nivver a word!
And boys in theer bedgowns white!
Wi' his dancin' hither and thither,
And kneelin' fur Litany theer,
And the Lessons aback ov a bird!
I'm all of a sweät and dither
Wi' 'is oops and 'is downs; and heär?—
Hummin' but nivver a word!
And boys in theer bedgowns white!
234
He maäy minch and graäce as 'e likes,
But I howds to a pew wi' a door;
It's sa blaämedly cowd fur one kneäs
And neckhole, as things is now;
And as fur the singin'—it's moor
Like a fair-daäy branglement row;
One can't git a noäte th' orgin strikes,
And the psalm 's like a swarmin' o' beäs.
But I howds to a pew wi' a door;
It's sa blaämedly cowd fur one kneäs
And neckhole, as things is now;
And as fur the singin'—it's moor
Like a fair-daäy branglement row;
One can't git a noäte th' orgin strikes,
And the psalm 's like a swarmin' o' beäs.
When I wur a boy the clerk gaäve
The noäte wi' 'is pick-poipe plaäin:
Eh, dear! dost 'e moind that daäy
When he puffed and the whistle wur stuck?
And “John,” sed the parson, quoite graäve,
“Wot's 'oop?” an' we 'eard 'im saäy
Loud howt, “It's along o' the raäin,
Pick-poipe weant speäk fur the muck!”
The noäte wi' 'is pick-poipe plaäin:
Eh, dear! dost 'e moind that daäy
When he puffed and the whistle wur stuck?
And “John,” sed the parson, quoite graäve,
“Wot's 'oop?” an' we 'eard 'im saäy
Loud howt, “It's along o' the raäin,
Pick-poipe weant speäk fur the muck!”
She.
I'd nivver noä horgin pride,
And them munkeys i' white as sings
I can't abeer to see 'em,
It maäs 'em as peërt as daws;
And gells brings civigates
wi' 'em
To staäy to the Supper, tha knaws,
And goäs to the raäils alongside
O' theer missus, the himperent things!
And them munkeys i' white as sings
I can't abeer to see 'em,
It maäs 'em as peërt as daws;
235
To staäy to the Supper, tha knaws,
And goäs to the raäils alongside
O' theer missus, the himperent things!
Just look at the maäsk o' holly
They weär! The owd choorch beänt dressed
I' a weeäk: we did it in one daäy,
Stook hivvery pew hend wi' a bough:
And tunnops i' harvest, the folly!
Fur shaäme! but it's hall chaänged now,
Why fwoäks upo' funeral Sundaäy
Stands oop i' the praäyers wi' the rest!
They weär! The owd choorch beänt dressed
I' a weeäk: we did it in one daäy,
Stook hivvery pew hend wi' a bough:
And tunnops i' harvest, the folly!
Fur shaäme! but it's hall chaänged now,
Why fwoäks upo' funeral Sundaäy
Stands oop i' the praäyers wi' the rest!
He.
Yees, chaänges sewerloy theer beä:
Tha knaws when a man goäs deäd
We puts howr hats o' is coffin
I' choorch, to shew owr respec,
But t' parson he shaäkes 'is 'eäd,
'E objecs: whoy doant 'e objec
To the getherins coomin' soä offin
Fur the blackamoors hoaver the seä?
Tha knaws when a man goäs deäd
We puts howr hats o' is coffin
I' choorch, to shew owr respec,
But t' parson he shaäkes 'is 'eäd,
'E objecs: whoy doant 'e objec
To the getherins coomin' soä offin
Fur the blackamoors hoaver the seä?
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Parson he meäns noä harm,
Thoff he doänt knaw wots fro' the wheät;
I've nowt ageän my friend,
But his sarmon's soa deshedly quick
I can nivver git round whoäle farm
And back to the threeä-haäcre rick
Befoor he's gotten to hend,
And weä stannin' oop on howr feeät.
Thoff he doänt knaw wots fro' the wheät;
I've nowt ageän my friend,
But his sarmon's soa deshedly quick
I can nivver git round whoäle farm
And back to the threeä-haäcre rick
Befoor he's gotten to hend,
And weä stannin' oop on howr feeät.
She.
Ay, ay! but ya sooner back
Fur the baäcon and taätes, tha knaws,
And mebbe the chaänge is best,
And mebbe howrsens is to blaäme;
And as long as we're hunder the thack
What matters which waäy wind blaws,
If nobbut howr moinds is at rest
And howr 'arts is still the saäme.
Fur the baäcon and taätes, tha knaws,
And mebbe the chaänge is best,
And mebbe howrsens is to blaäme;
And as long as we're hunder the thack
What matters which waäy wind blaws,
If nobbut howr moinds is at rest
And howr 'arts is still the saäme.
And God O'mighty abuvv
Is o'mighty on herth as well,
And happen chaänges is fitten
Howrsens fur a chaänge o' staäte.
Howr John's a-coortin' the gell!
I reckons, like cat like kitten,—
We boäth on us knaw ony-raäte
One thing doänt chaänge, and that's luvv.
Is o'mighty on herth as well,
And happen chaänges is fitten
Howrsens fur a chaänge o' staäte.
237
I reckons, like cat like kitten,—
We boäth on us knaw ony-raäte
One thing doänt chaänge, and that's luvv.
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