 | Poems and Lancashire Songs |  |
174
GOD BLESS THESE POOR FOLK!
God bless these poor folk that are strivin'
By means that are honest an' true,
For some'at to keep 'em alive in
This world that we're scramblin' through:
As th' life ov a mon's full o' feightin',
A poor soul that wants to feight fair,
Should never be grudged ov his heytin',
For th' hardest o'th battle's his share.
Chorus.—
By means that are honest an' true,
For some'at to keep 'em alive in
This world that we're scramblin' through:
As th' life ov a mon's full o' feightin',
A poor soul that wants to feight fair,
Should never be grudged ov his heytin',
For th' hardest o'th battle's his share.
As th' life ov a mon.
175
This world's kin to trouble; i'th best on't,
There's mony sad changes come reawnd;
We wandern abeawt to find rest on 't,
An' th' worm yammers for us i'th greawnd,
May he that'll wortch while he's able,
Be never long hungry nor dry;
An' th' childer at sit at his table,—
God bless 'em wi' plenty, say I.
Chorus.—
There's mony sad changes come reawnd;
We wandern abeawt to find rest on 't,
An' th' worm yammers for us i'th greawnd,
May he that'll wortch while he's able,
Be never long hungry nor dry;
An' th' childer at sit at his table,—
God bless 'em wi' plenty, say I.
As th' life ov a mon.
An' he that can feel it a pleasur'
To leeten misfortin an' pain,—
May his pantry be olez full measur',
To cut at, and come to again;
May God bless his cup and his cupbort,
A theawsan' for one that he gives;
An' his heart be a bumper o' comfort,
To th' very last minute he lives!
Chorus.—
To leeten misfortin an' pain,—
May his pantry be olez full measur',
To cut at, and come to again;
176
A theawsan' for one that he gives;
An' his heart be a bumper o' comfort,
To th' very last minute he lives!
As th' life ov a mon.
An' he that scorns ale to his victual,
Is welcome to let it alone;
There's some can be wise with a little,
An' some that are foolish wi' noan;
An' some are so quare i' their natur,
That nought wi' their stomachs agree;
But, he that would liefer drink wayter,
Shall never be stinted by me.
Chorus.—
Is welcome to let it alone;
There's some can be wise with a little,
An' some that are foolish wi' noan;
An' some are so quare i' their natur,
That nought wi' their stomachs agree;
But, he that would liefer drink wayter,
Shall never be stinted by me.
As th' life ov a mon.
177
One likes to see hearty folk wortchin',
An' weary folk havin' a rest;
One likes to yer poor women singin'
To th' little things laid o' their breast:
Good cooks are my favourite doctors;
Good livers my parsons shall be;
An' ony poor craytur at's clemmin,
May come have a meawthful wi' me.
Chorus.—
An' weary folk havin' a rest;
One likes to yer poor women singin'
To th' little things laid o' their breast:
Good cooks are my favourite doctors;
Good livers my parsons shall be;
An' ony poor craytur at's clemmin,
May come have a meawthful wi' me.
As th' life ov a mon.
Owd Time,—he's a troublesome codger,—
Keeps nudgin' us on to decay,
An' whispers, “Yo're nobbut a lodger;
Get ready for goin' away;”
Then let's ha' no skulkin' nor sniv'lin',
Whatever misfortins befo';
God bless him that fends for his livin',
An' houds up his yed through it o'!
Chorus.—
Keeps nudgin' us on to decay,
An' whispers, “Yo're nobbut a lodger;
Get ready for goin' away;”
178
Whatever misfortins befo';
God bless him that fends for his livin',
An' houds up his yed through it o'!
As th' life ov a mon.
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