University of Virginia Library

DIALOGUES IN THE LANCASHIRE DIALECT.

I. A LANCASHIRE DIALOGUE, OCCASIONED BY A CLERGYMAN PREACHING WITHOUT NOTES.

James.
Wus yo at Church o' Sunday Morning, John?

John.
Ay, Jeeams, I wus, and wou'd no' but ha' gone
For ne'er so mich. What, wur no' yo theer then?

James.
Nou; and I ha' no' mist, I know no' when.

John.
Whoy, yo had e'en faoo Luck on't.

James.
So I hear;
'At maes me ask ye, whether yo wur theer.
They tell'n me that a Pairson coome, and took
His Text bi Hairt, and preacht withaoot a Book.

John.
He did, for sartin, and hauf freeten'd mee,
And moor besoide; but he soon leet us see
He wanted noane.

James.
Whoy, could he do withaoot?

John.
Yoi, better, Mon, bi hauf, for being baoot.
It gan me sich a Notion: for my Pairt,
I think 'at aw true Preaching is by Hairt.
Sich as we han I do not meean to bleeame,
But conno' caw it, fairly, bi that Neeame.
A Book may do at Whooam for Larning seeake,
But in a Pilpit, wheer a Mon shid speeake,
And look at th' Congregation i' their Feeace,
He conno' do't for Pappers in a Keease.
He ta'es fro' them what he mun say, and then
Just looks as if he gan it 'um again.
It is i'th Church; or one cou'd hairdly tell
But he wur conning summat to himsel.
Monny a good Thing, theer, I ha' hard read oo'er,
But never knew what Preeaching wus befoor.

James.
And prei ye, John, haoo done ye know it naoo?

John.
Lukko, this Mon has tou't it me, sumhaoo.

James.
A ready Scholar!

John.
“Scholar?” Whoy, a Dunce
May see, beloike, what's shown him aw at wunce.

James.
It ma'es me think,—yo're allivated soa—
O' one that's gloppen'd, 'at has seen a Shoa.

John.
Wou'd yo had seen and hard as weel as I,—
And if I shid say “felt,” I shid no' lie—
Whot it wus moy good Luck to hyear, and see!
Yo'd a bin gloppen'd too, as weel as me.

James.
Happen, I meeght; but con I understond
Onny thing on't, good John, at second Hond?
Yo han this preeaching Seeacret at a Hit:
Con yo remember haoo it wus, a Bit?

John.
“Con yo remember?” Comes into mi Hyead
Yoar telling once o' whot yoar Lowyer said
Agen ou'd Hunks, the Justice o'the Peeace
'At wou'd ha' ta'en away yoar Faither's Leease:
Haoo yo discroib'd him,—what a Mon o'th Lows!
What a fine Tungue! and haoo he geet the Coaze:
Haoo thooas 'at wur not at the 'Soizes too
Cou'd no' believe t'one hauf o' whot wus true!

James,
“Remember?” Ay! and shall do, while I'm whick,
Haoo bravely he fund aoot a knavish Trick.
He seeav'd my Faither monny a Starling Paoond,
And bu' for him I had no' bin o'th' Graoond.
That wus a Mon worth hyearing; if yoar Mon
Cou'd tauk loike him, I shid be gloppen'd, John.
But, lukko' me, theeas Lowyers are aw tou't
To speeak their Nomminies, as soon as thou't:
Haoo done yo think wou'd Judge and Jury look,
If onny on 'um shid go tak a Book
Aoot of his Pockett—and so read away?
They'd'n soon think, he had no' mich to say.
Aoor honest Lowyer had my Faither's Deed;
But, Mon, he gan it th' Clark o'th' Coort to read,
And then—he spooak! and if yo had bu' seen,
Whoy, th' Judge himsel cou'd ne'er keep off his Een;
The Jury gaupt agen,—and weel they meeght;
For e'ry Word 'at he had said wus reeght.

John.
Weel, Jeeams; and if a Mon shid be as wairm
Abaoot his Hev'n, as yo abaoot yoar Fairm,
Dunno' yo think, he'd be as pleeast to hear
A Pairson mak his Reeght to houd it clear,
And show the De'el to be as fause a Foe
As that ou'd Rogue the Justice wus to yo?

James.
Naoo, John, I see what you been droiving at,
And I'm o' yoar Oppinion as to that.
I shid no' grutch at takking a lung Wauk
To hyear a Clargyman, that cou'd bu' tauk
As that Mon did, cou'd sarch a Thing to th' Booan,
And in good yarnest mak the Coaze his ooan.
I seeldom miss a Sunday hyearing thooas
'At preeachen weel enugh, as preeaching gooas;
But I ha' thou't, sometimes, haooever good,
A Sarmon meeght be better, if it wou'd;
'At, if it cou'd no' make Folks e'en to weep,
It sartinly mit keep 'um aw fro' Sleep.
Yet I ha' seen 'um nodding, Toimes enoo,
Not ooanly Childer, but Church-Wairdens too.
Cou'd yoar foine Preeacher — Morning wus too soon —
Ha' kept Folks wakken, John, i'th' Afternoon?

John.
I wish he wou'd ha' tried; — and, I dare say,
That Morning meeght have onswer'd for aw Day.
He must ha' ta'en a pratty Dose, I think,
'At could ha' gen that Afternoon a Wink.
Sich looking, and sich list'ning! One mit read
In e'ry Feeace: “Ay, heer's a Mon indeed!”
Some meeght ha' slept, if he had com'n agen,
Befoor he spooak;—I'm shure they could no' then.

James.
They wurn, its loike, whaint fond o' summut new.

John.
Nea, nea; that winno' hou'd a Sarmon throo.
Aw they that listen'd when he first begun,
Kept list'ning moor and moor till he had done.
Had he gone eend away, I gi' mi Word,
He had me fast bi th' Ears; I'd not ha' stirr'd.
Naoo, yo mun think 'at he taukt weel, at leeast,
And passing weel, 'at Eich-body wur pleeast.
They wou'd no', loikly, give him aw their Vooats
Ooanly becose o' Preeaching withaoot Nooats.

James.
Whoy, but according to my Thinking, John,
It gi's a hugeous Vontidge to a Mon
To preeach withaoot Book, if he con bu' do't,
And he mun needs be better hard to boot.
Aoor Lowyer had noane; and I hauf con feel,
It wus the Reeason whoy he spooak so weel.
Yet, as yo sen, “that ooanly winno' do;”
For th' Mon agen him praited like a Foo.

John.
Jeeams, its e'en haird upon a Lowyer's Tungue,
They hoirn it aoot to oather reeght or wrung.
A diff'rent Keease to that o' Pairsons woide:
They are,—or shid be,—aw o' the same Soide.
It makes, mayhap, aoor Lowyers reeadier far
To pleead withaoot Book, til aoor Pairsons are.

James.
It's loike it duz; for Folks will larn to speeak
Sannner bi hauf for Contradickshon seeak;
And specially, if when their Tale is tou'd
I' Truth or Loies, they mun be paid i' Goud.
Pairsons are paid; and, if they win, may pay
Thir Curates, John, to preeach for 'um, or pray;
And, then, they do not, when they ma'en a Raoot,
Tungue it so mich as fling thir Book abaoot.
Yet Word o' Maooth, if it be reeght, 's no Sin:
Whoy conno' Pairsons preeach by't, if they win?

John.
I know no'; Custom's druven to Extreeams:
This may be one 'at they han getten, Jeeams.
Some feeamous Fellies meeght, at first, begin,
And aw the rest han follow'd 'um e're sin.
When a Bell-Weather leeaps but o'er a Stray,
At that same Pleck aw th' rest mun jump away.

James.
Marry, I wish 'at Pairsons, one i' ten,
Wou'd bu' jump back into th' oud Way agen.
Some han great Books enoo to fill a Cairt;
Straunge 'at they conno' lay a Thing to Hairt,
Sich as they loiken best, and ha' the Paoor
To dray it fro' within, for one hauf Haoor!
Haoo coome this Mon to do't?

John.
I conno' tell.
Do it he did so yeeasy to himsel,
And yet wi' so mich Yarnestness, and Fooarce,
Of Tungue and Hond and Look, and good Discooarse,
Aw smooth and clear and, 'ery turn it took,
Still woinding to't like Weater in a Brook;
'At onny Mon o' Larning, takking Aiam,
Meeght ha' larnt fro' him to ha' done the saiame.

James.
“Larning!” when Preeachers first coome in, they sen,
They wurn no' monny on 'um larnèd Men,
Nor Gentry nooather,—

John.
Whoy, and they sen true;
But in aoor Days I daoot it woono' do,
To ha' thooas preeach 'at comn so meeghty short
O' th' first Beginners, so weel fitted for't.
Wou'd but aoor Gentlemen o' Larning troy
To preeach fro' th' Hairt, and lay their Pappers bye:
We shid no' think warse on 'um for thir Kin,
Nor loike 'um less, haooever larn'd they bin;
Aoor Folks i' Church Toime wou'd be moor devaoot,
And moin'd the Bus'ness 'at they wurn abaoot:
And thooas good Sarmons 'at mooast o'n 'em ma'en,
By aw good Folks wou'd be mich better ta'en.
Witness this Gentlemon, o' Sunday Morn,
The best 'at I e'er hard sin I wur born!
But come, I'll say no moor; yo'st hear him first:
I wish with au my Hairt he wur the worst.

James.
Ay, yo may wish;—but will he preeach agen?
Haoo ar yo shure o' that?

John.
Nay, soa they sen;
Yo're loike to tak yoar Chaunce, as weel as I.

James.
If onny comes, I'll tak it.—John, Good bye!

II. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR JOHN JOBSON AND HARRY HOMESPUN;

OCCASIONED BY THE MARCH OF THE HIGHLANDERS INTO LANCASHIRE IN THE YEAR 1745.

Sir John.
Was ye not sadly frighten'd, honest Harry,
To see those Highland Fellows?

Harry.
Not I, marry.

Sir J.
No? How comes that?

H.
Whoy, Sur, I conno' see
What theer wur in 'um that shid freeten me.

Sir J.
So many armèd Ruffians as came here,—
Was there not cause enough for all to fear?

H.
Aw whoa, Sur John? It, happen, mit be so
Wi' sich foine loardly Gentlemen as yo;
But we poor Foke—

Sir J.
Why, prithee, poor or rich,
Is it not much the same?

H.
Nou; not so mich.
We warken hard, as't iz, for meeat and clooas,
And connot eem to be so feert, God knooas.

Sir J.
But, Harry, to see Fire and Sword advance!
To have such Enemies as Rome and France!
Should not this move alike both Rich and Poor,
To drive impending Ruin from their Door?

H.
As for the Rich, Sur John, I conno' tell;
But for the Poor, I'll onser for mysel.
If Fire shid come, I ha' nout for it to brun,
Nor wark to find for oather “Swooard” or Gun;
For “France and Rome” my feering is no greater:
They lyen, I think, o'th' tother Side o'th' Weater.

Sir J.
You don't consider what may be the End
Of such a strange Indifference, my Friend.
Pray, whether you have more or less to lose,
Would you not guard your Country from its Foes?

H.
“My Country,” Sur? I have, yo' understond,
In aw the Country not one Inch o' Lond.
They that wood'n feight, and ha' Mon's Blood be spilt,
May, if they win;—but whoy mun I be kilt?

Sir J.
Your Country, Friend, is not the Ground alone;
There is the King that sits upon the Throne;
The Protestant Succession lies at Stake
That bloody-minded Papists want to shake.
Now, you have some Religion left, I hope,
And would not tamely give it to the Pope.

H.
He wou'd no' have it, happen, if I wou'd;
Th' oud Mon beloike mit think his ooan as gud;
And true Religion, Sur, if I have onny,
No Mon i'th' Ward con tak it fro' me, con he?

Sir J.
If you but knew, Friend Harry, what a Scene
Of Mischiefs happen'd in King James's Reign:
How, but for Orange's immortal Prince,
The Protestants had all been kill'd long since;
If I should tell you—

H.
Nay, we aw, Sur John,
Known weel enough that yo're a larnìd Mon;
So was my Gronfayther, and ore his Ale
Monny a Toime has toud another Tale;
And I darr say mi Gronfayther toud true;
For, lukko me, th' oud Felly wus no Foo,
Nor Rebbil noather,—

Sir J.
And what was't he toud?

H.
Whoy, moor a deeal than my Brainpon con houd.
Its like yo known as haoo, Sur, th' Oliverians
Cut off th' King's Hyead?

Sir J.
Yes.

H.
And haoo th' Presbyterians
Turnt aoot his Son, and maden a Rebelution?

Sir J.
They did it, Man, to save the Constitution;
'Twas Churchmen too that brought King William in
As well as they—

H.
Whoy, be they whoa they win,
One Egg, he sed, wus ne'er moor loike another
Than thooas two mak o' Foke wurn loike tone tother:
They wurn at aw toimes En'mies to th' blood Royal,
And naoo woud'n ha' it that none but hom are loyal:
Haoo con that be, Sur?

Sir J.
Why, I'll tell thee how—

H.
Nay, but yo connot.

Sir J.
Well, but hear me now,
Our Kings are Stewards—

H.
Sur, yo meean they wurn;
For Things, yo known, han tan another Turn:
The Stuarts' Race is—

Sir J.
Poh! thou takes me wrong.

H.
Haoo mun I tak o'reet?

Sir J.
I say, so long
As Kings are our Protectors,—

H.
Luk ye theer!
Oud Oliver agen—

Sir J.
Nay, prithee, hear,
And keep thy Nonsense in, till I have done,—

H.
Weel, Weel; I'zt hear yoars first then, if I mun.

Sir J.
The People, Harry, when they all agree—

H.
Aw, Sur?

Sir J.
Be quiet!—choose them a Trustee,
And call him King. Now, if he break his Trust,
They have a Right to turn him out, and must,
Unless they would be ruin'd: dost thou think
For one Man's swimming all the rest should sink?

H.
Yo lov'n a King, Sur, waintly; sink or swim,
No Mon, I foind, is to be draoont but him.
This chozzen King mit, happen, draoon yo furst;
Then yo mit sink him after, an yo durst.
If Folks may tak whot Kings they han a Moind,
Whot Faut wi' all theese Scotchmen con yo foind?

Sir J.
Hang 'em all!—Have they not a King already
That keeps his Contract with the People steady?
Rebels!

H.
Whoy, ay, that's reet, for they wur byetten;
They lost the Feight; but, haoo, if they had getten,
Wou'd yo ha' lik't it, Sur, if an Heelonder
Had toud oo,' Sauce for th' Goose wur Sauce for th' Gonder?

Sir J.
Thou'rt a sly Tyke; I'll talk with thee no more.

H.
Whoy, if yo pleeasen, then, Sur, ween give ore,
Wishing that e'ry Mon may have his Reet,
Feight as feight winn;—and so, Sur John, good Neet!

Sir J.
Thou'lt look, I find, to thy own Carcass still.

H.
Yoi, Sur, as lung as ere I con, I will.

III. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SAME, ABOUT COMPELLING A PERSON TO TAKE THE OATHS TO THE GOVERNMENT.

Sir John.
Why so grave, Harry? What's the matter, pray?
What makes thee look so sorrowful To-day?

Harry.
Whoy, Sur, I geet sore trubbl'd i' my Moind
At what yon Folk han tou'd me, wheer I doin'd.

Sir J.
Prithee, what's that?

H.
They touden me, Sur John,
That ye han sent a Summons to a Mon
To tak an Ooath, a meety long on' too;
An' they aw sen it's moore till he con doo.

Sir J.
Do, or not do, what Bus'ness is't of thine?

H.
“Bus'ness?” Whoy, he's a Naibor, Sur, o' mine;
An' ye han hard, beloike, aoor Pairson tell,
'At one mun love their Naibor as theirsel;—
Besoides 'at he's a sarviseable Felly
As onny 'at we han o'th' Bus'ness, welly.
And, then, an Ooath ye shanno' hyear come aoot
O' that Mon's Maooth, Sur John, the year abaoot;
An' if he be i'th' Moind 'at he has been,
Yo'n foind it mich ado to cram one in.

Sir J.
Harry, that Matter we shall soon discuss:
Trial of Skill is now 'twixt him and us.
We must, and will subdue him, if we can,
He's a seditious, réfractory Man.

H.
Nay, if ye bin for giving aoot o' Hond
Hard Words, Sur, 'at one connot understond,
I'll say no moor;—or else I ha' ta'en a Wauk,
That yo and I mit'n have a Bit o' Tauk.
But, happen, naoo yo're not i'th' Humour—

Sir J.
Yes;
Talk what thou wilt!

H.
And yo'n no' tak't amiss?

Sir J.
No.

H.
Then I'll tell 'oo, Mester, whot I think.

Sir J.
Sit thee down first; wilt have a little Drink?

H.
Nou; nor yo noather! We'n be soaber booath,
God willing, Sur, and tauk abaoot this Ooath.

Sir J.
What dost thou know about it?

H.
Whoy, no' mich;
That's true enough,—thank God! I'm no' so rich.
But I con guex abaoot it weel enough:
Foke 'at han tan it, sen it's weary tough.
There's monny a one that wou'd ha' gen a Craoon
With aw his Heart, he neer had leet it daoon.

Sir J.
But it shall cost this Fellow more than so,
If he don't take it;—that I'll let him know.

H.
Win ye, Sur?

Sir J.
Yes, I will.

H.
And if yo win,
Sur John, yo're guilty of a wicked Sin.

Sir J.
Am I? How so?

H.
Whoy, dunnot yo maintain
That Mon may tak God's Holy Name i' vain?

Sir J.
No, indeed, don't I; 'tis what I abhor.

H.
Then, pray ye, naoo, whot is this Summons for?
Is it not sent to make a Mon to swear
Summot abaoot the King, and his reet Heir?
And are not yo weel satisfy'd, to boot,
'At he mun tak God's Name i' vain to do't?

Sir J.
That's his Affair to look to, and not ours;
We act according to the legal Pow'rs.
If private Conscience slight the public Call,
It must e'en take the Consequence,—that's all!

H.
Marry, enough o' Conscience! And, good Feeake,
Too mich by hauf, if Consciences may speeak!
What mak' han yo', to mak' another Mon
T' swear agen his? What cawn ye that, Sur John?

Sir J.
We cannot make him, Man, unless he will.

H.
Sur, Sur! It comes to the same Mischief still,—
Or warse, if oather; for, if he fears God,
And winno' fwear, then yo tan up the Rod.
Here's a Commandment kept that God has spokken;
And he mun pay for one o' yo'rs that's brokken.
I say agen that, shift it haoo yo win,
Sur John, yo're guilty of a wicked Sin.

Sir J.
Harry, as Justice of the Peace, I'm tied
For public Peace and Safety to provide;
So are my Brethren. Now, with this Intent,
The Law directs our Summons to be sent.
If disaffected Persons will not give
The Constitution under which they live
Proper Security, they must be made
To feel the Force of what they would evade.
If we should suffer these non-juring Knaves,
We shall in Time be Papists all, and Slaves.

H.
“Papists and Slaves?” Whoy, good Sur John, the Pope, —
The Deel himsel, con do no moor, I hope,
Then tempt a Mon to utter with his Tung,
I'th' Name o' God whot he believes is rung.
Mun we be Papists, if we dunnot make
A Mon belie his Maker for aoor Sake?
Mun we be Slaves, except we forcen Foke
To come and put their Necks into aoor Yoke?

Sir J.
Thou dost, not, Harry, understand the laws.

H.
Whoy, han they, Sur, sich desperate lung Claws,
That a Mon's Conscience, hid within his Hairt,
Mun be scratch'd aoot on't by 'um? For my Pairt,
Laws or noa Laws, I'm sure we shidden do
As we aw wishen to be done unto.

Sir J.
Good Faith, thou preachest tolerably well;
But would'st thou have thy Neighbour to rebel?
To make Disturbances in Church and State,
And not be punish'd till it is too late?
Magistrates, Man, must have a Care in Time,
And in the Bud must nip the sprouting Crime.

H.
Nip it i'th' Bud? And so, it mun be doon,
Yo thinken then, by punishing too soon?
Magistrates, Sur, so haesty and so hard,
Ma'en aw th' Rebellions 'at thir ar i'th' Ward.
Let Foke be quiet; when they are so, Sur,
And noather Church nor State will mak a Stur.
But to be made to pay, or be forswaurn,
Vexes 'em booath, as sure as yo are baurn.
Whoy mun yo mak my Naibor pay sich Scores?
His Sowl is his, as weel as yoars is yoars.

Sir J.
The Law, not I, obliges him to pay.

H.
Whoy win yo tak that Law agen him, hay?
If yo mun do't, whether yo win or not,
Are yo a Papist, or a Slave, or whot?
Tell me, if this faoo Play be not yoar ooan,
Whot mun yo pay for letting him alooan?

Sir J.
I pay? No Law obliges me to that.
What is it, Harry, that thou would'st be at?

H.
Whoy, Sur, at this:—when Laws ma'en mich adoo,
Monny a wise Mon is made into a Foo;
Freeten'd, o'th' sudden, aoot of his reet Sense,
He'll sell his Wits and aw, to save his Pence.
But, pray, whot Mon, with hauf o' yoar good Thout,
Wou'd do his Naibor an ill Turn for Nout?
When he himsel gets nere a Farthing by't
But shaum of hurting aoot of arrant Spite?
This is the Wark, if yo'n consider weel,
Not of a Mon, Sur John, but of a Deel.
If one cud tak a Look i' that Mon's Breast,
We shudden see him what they cawn “possest.”

Sir J.
Thou mak'st a Devil of me;—very well!

H.
Nou, nou; it's yo that ma'en one o' yo'rsel.
I'd make a Mon o' ye, Sur, if I coud,—
A gradely Mon, that seeches to do good,
And not to labbor Books, and sarch a Cawse
For hately Doings in hard-favord Laws.

Sir J.
Thou “sarches” me, I'm sure! Where hast thou had
This same Book-searching Information, Lad?
We have, 'tis true, been studying in what Shape
We best might catch thy Neighbour in a Scrape;
But, by thy Talking, we might spare the Pains,
And better Bus'ness might employ our Brains.

H.
Ay, marry, meeght it! Thooas that letten aoot
Their Breeans to Mischief mit as weel be baoot;
Whoile they done so, it con be no greeat News
That Fokes shid caw 'um summat warse then Foos.

Sir J.
Harry, thou'rt got into a talking Cue.

H.
Yo gin me Leeaf, Sur, do not ye?

Sir J.
I do.—
Now, prithee, tell me then, and talk away,
Nor mince the Matter: what do People say?

H.
I'll tell o', Sur. “Aoor Justices,” they sen,
“That tan themsels to be sich loyal Men,
Makken moor Enemies to th' King and Craoon
Till onny Twenty Men besoide i'th' Taoon.
They praisen mich this Government of aoors,
Becose it has no ‘harbittary Paoors;’
For ‘Trade, Religion, Liberties enjoy'd,
It sheds aw th' Governments i'th' Ward besoide:
His ooan Oppinion e'ry Mon may take;
Noa Parsecution in't for Conscience' Sake:’
Monny sich Words they han, as smooth as Oyl,—
And Deeds as sharp as Alegar aw th' whoile.
They getten to a corner by 'umsels,
And there they done, i'th' Ward o' God, nowt elz
But tan their Books, their Bacco, and their Beer,
And conjurn up poor Fellows to appear;
And then the gost'ring—what'n ye caw it?—Corum,
Mun huff, and ding, and carry aw before 'um.”

Sir J.
A fine Description, truly, and quite free!
But, Harry, how did it appear to thee?
Could'st thou not find, where thou hast been to dine,
One Word to say for an old Friend of thine?

H.
Yoi, Sur, I said as mich as e'er I coud;
But whaint ado I had to mak it good.
This Summons, Sur, this Summons! fie upon't!
Whot argufi'd my Tung agen yoar Hondt?
Whene'er they thrutten that into my Dish,
It strick me dumb aootreet as onny Fish.
Had I gooan on,—I know, Sur, what I know,—
They'd soon ha' said I wur as bad as yo.
Yo conno' think,—if I may be believ'd,—
Yo conno' think, Sur, haoo my Heart wus griev'd!
I'd fain ha' yo belov'd, Sur, in yoar Turn,
As aw your Anciters before ye wurn;
And I believe that none o' th' Race before,
Be who they win, cou'd e'er desarve it moor;
If thooas good Qualities that God has gin ye,
Mit but appear withaoot, as they are in ye.
But i' this one faoo Pleck, I need mun say,
Yo generaten fro' 'um quite away.
I hope you tan it i' good Part, Sur John;
I meean to sarve ye,—

Sir J.
Honest Lad, go on!
I think thou dost; thee I shall sooner heed
Than twenty prating Wiseacres. Proceed!

H.
Whoy then, Sur John, if I may be so boud,
Good-Will, when getten, is as good as Goud.
Yoar Faither left ye here a foine Estate,
He sout his Naibors Love, and not their Hate;
His Principles wurn of another Mak'
From thooas 'at yo han been advois'd to tak'.
This greeat lung Ooath he ne'er coud understond;
If yo bin wiser, naoo yo han his Lond,
Better for yo; and yet I conno' skill
Haoo it shid happen;—but be that as't will,
Yet for yoar Faither's Seeake 'at's deead and gone,
Yo shid'n consider wi' yoar sel, Sur John,
Whether it's hondsom for his Son and Heir
To foorce loike-moinded Men to come and swear.
Monny han said that seen ye so behave:
“Sur John here tramples on his Faither's Grave.”
If, when th' oud Mester wur alive himsel,
The Justices, for Fear he shid rebel,
Had usen'd him as yo done other Foke,
Yoar Wheels had wanted monny a pratty Spoke!
Had he been made, agen his ooan Consent,
A Papish, Sur, by Act o' Parliament,
Yo woud'n ha' caw'd 'um by their proper Name
That did the Thing, tho naoo yo done the same.
Th' oud Mon's hard yoozitch woud ha' raisd yoar Blood—

Sir J.
So really, Harry, I believe it would;
I should not quietly have sitten still,
Had any of 'em us'd my Father ill.

H.
Whoy, Sur, and conno' yo think at it, then,
And show some Marcy naoo to other Men?
Suppose this Mon, becose he conno' think
Just as yo done, had nooather Meeat nor Drink;
Coud no', becose 'at Laws ma'en sich a Paoose,
Wark in his Bus'ness and maintain his Haoose;
But aw his Children wurn to beg i'th' Street,—
Wouden yo think it sich a blessèd Seet?
Woud no' yo say, at seeing Rags and Ruin:
“The Deel wus in me! What wus I adoing?”—
Yo gan me Leeaf to tauk, Sur,—

Sir J.
So I did,
And must confess that I am fairly chid.
Thy honest Bluntness oft has made me smile,
Harry, but I ne'er hed thee all the while;
Now, I believe that thou hast gain'd thy End
And I, a better Temper tow'rds thy Friend.

H.
Eh, Sur? God send it! If yoar Heart wur oppen'd
To loving Thouts, haoo Naibors wou'd be gloppen'd!
Before this Justicing made sich a Pother,
Haoo naiburly we liven'd with t'one t'other!
But naoo,—

Sir J.
Well, Harry, thou hast said enough;
I hope, I shan't hereafter be so rough;
Nor sharpen, when they come within my Sphere,
Laws of themselves sufficiently severe.
When thou shalt see him, tell thy Friend from me,
If he'll be quiet, quiet he shall be.
Tell all thy Neighbours that the Thing is done:
The Father's Memory shan't reproach the Son.
Tho' all his Thoughts and mine were not the same,
His Worth and Virtues shall direct my Aim.
And, now I have confest to thee, Friend Harry,
We'll call another Cause, if thou canst tarry;
This thou hast richly merited to win.—
Here! Who's in waiting? bring a Tankard in!

H.
Nay, Sur, yo mun excuse me, if yo pleeasen;
Yoar Kindness here in harkening to Reeason
Has made my Hairt (dry as a Kex, Sur John),
Weeter and leeter till good Likkor con.
I'll go my Ways, Sur, whooam afore it's dark,
And let aoor Naibors know o' this Day's Wark;
I lung to see 'um feeling whot I feel,
At present, Sur, God bless ye, and farewell!