 | Poems and Songs |  |
195
Jack Swaddle.
I
Jack Swaddle wur a lurcher,Though he wur young an' stark;
For he're fond o' meight an' drink,
But never liked his wark;
He'd guttle o' before him,
An' when he'd taen his fill,
He'd poo his blankets o'er him,
To make folk think he're ill.
II
His wife felt mischief brewin'Afore they'd long bin wed;
Hoo'd to slave to keep him gooin',
While he lay snug i' bed;
An, at what th' owd lad wur aimin'
Hoo couldn't justly tell,
For, hoo sometimes thought he're schamin
When he reckon't to be ill.
196
III
“What's th' matter with our Jack, yon?I wonder how he feels;
Though he's lyin' on his back, yon,
He's ready for his meals.
I's be like to have a doctor;
He's gettin' past my skill;
An' there's nob'dy but a doctor
Can find out where he's ill.”
IV
When th' doctor coom to sound him,—His tongue, his pulse, an' o',
He're puzzled, for he found him
O reet, fro top to toe.
“Thou eats weel; an' thou sleeps weel;
An' thi een are clear an' breet;
But, I think I know what ails tho;
An' I'll try to put tho reet.”
V
“Matty; yo'n ha' some troubleWi' yon ailment o' yor John's;
It'll tak a deal o' curin',
For its sattle't in his bwons;
But, trate him as I've towd yo;
Though he'll think his physic strange;
If he taks it, I'll uphowd yo,
It'll bring some mak o' change.”
197
VI
“John; th' doctor say thy illnessIs of a serious natur;
Thou'rt to lie i' bed a fortnit,
An' live o' toast an' wayter;
Thou'rt to have no other meat nor drink,
But tak some pills he'll send tho;
If it doesn't put tho reet, he thinks
That it may happen end tho.”
VII
“The dule may tak sich doctors!I'll try to cure mysel'.
He may gi' thee th' toast an' wayter,
An' tak his pills his sel'!
Here; reitch my clooas; I'll get up!
It comes into my yed,
That I'd rayther dee upo' my feet
Than clem to deeoth i' bed!”
| Poems and Songs | |