 | Poems and Lancashire Songs |  |
185
CHIRRUP.
I
Young Chirrup wur a mettled cowt:His heart an' limbs wur true;
At foot race, or at wrostlin'-beawt,
Or aught he buckled to;
At wark or play, reet gallantly
He laid into his game:
An' he're very fond o' singin'-brids —
That's heaw he geet his name.
186
II
He're straight as ony pickin'-rod,An' limber as a snig:
An' th' heartiest cock o'th village clod,
At ony country rig:
His shinin' een wur clear an' blue;
His face wur frank an' bowd;
An' th' yure abeawt his monly broo
Wur crispt i' curls o' gowd.
III
Young Chirrup donned his clinker't shoon,An' startin' off to th' fair,
He swore by th' leet o'th harvest moon,
He'd have a marlock there;
187
That blossomed by the way;—
“Iv ony mon says wrang to me,
Aw'll tan his hide to-day!”
IV
Full sadly mony a lass would sigh,As wand'rin' slyly near,
They tooted at his een to spy
Iv love wur lurkin' theer;
So fair an' free he stept the green,
An' trollin' eawt a song,
Wi' leetsome heart, an' twinklin' een,
Went chirrupin' along.
V
Young Chirrup woo'd a village maid,—An' hoo wur th' flower ov o',—
188
An' whispers soft an' low;
I' Mally's ear twur th' sweetest chime
That ever mortal sung;
An' Mally's heart beat merry time
To th' music ov his tung.
VI
The kindest mates, this world within,Mun sometimes meet wi' pain;
But, iv this pair could life begin,
They'd buckle to again;
For, though he're hearty, blunt, an' tough,
An' Mally sweet an' mild,
For three-score year, through smooth an' rough,
Hoo lad him like a child.
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