 | Poems and Lancashire Songs |  |
OWD ENOCH.
I
Owd Enoch o' Dan's laid his pipe deawn o' th' hob,And his thin fingers played i'th white thatch of his nob;
“I'm gettin' done up,” to their Betty he said;
“Dost think thae could doff mo, an' dad me to bed?”
Derry down, &c.
II
Then hoo geet him to bed, an' hoo happed him up weel,An' hoo said to him, “Enoch, lad; heaw doesto feel?”
“These limbs o' mine, Betty,—they're cranky an' sore;
It's time to shut up when one's getten fourscore.”
Derry down.
III
As hoo potter't abeawt his poor winterly pate,Th' owd crayter looked dreawsily up at his mate,—
But th' cratchinly frame o' what once wur a mon.”
Derry down.
IV
Then he turn 't his-sel' o'er, like a chylt tir 't wi' play,An' Betty crept reawnd, while he're dozin' away;
As his e'e-lids sank deawn, th' owd lad mutter't “Well done!
I think there's a bit o' seawnd sleep comin' on.”
Derry down.
V
Then hoo thought hoo'd sit by till he'd had his nap o'er,—If hoo'd sit theer till then, hoo'd ha' risen no more;
For he cool't eawt o'th world, an' his e'en lost their leet,
Like a cinder i'th fire-grate, i'th deeod time o'th neet.
Derry down.
VI
As Betty sit rockin' bith' side of his bed,Hoo looked neaw an' then at owd Enoch's white yed;
Iv ever th' owd prop of her life should give way.
Derry down.
VII
Then, wond'rin' to see him so seawnd an' so still,Hoo touched Enoch's hond,—an' hoo fund it wur chill;
Says Betty, “He's cowd; I'll put summat moor on!”
But o' wur no use, for Owd Enoch wur gone!
Derry down.
VII
An' when they put Enoch to bed deawn i'th greawnd,A rook o' poor neighbours stoode bare-yedded reawnd;
They dropt sprigs o' rosemary; an' this wur their text:—
“Th' owd crayter's laid by, —we may haply be th' next!”
Derry down.
IX
So, Betty wur left to toar on bi hersel';An' heaw hoo poo'd through it no mortal can tell;
When hoo're rockin' bith' side of an odd cup o' tay.
Derry down.
X
“Well, Betty,” said th' doctor, “heaw dun yo get on?I'm soory to yer 'at yo'n lost yo'r owd mon:
What complaint had he, Betty?” Says hoo, “I caun't tell;
We ne'er had no doctor; he dee'd of his-sel'.”
Derry down.
XI
“Ay, Betty,” said th' doctor; “there's one thing quite sure;Owd age is a thing that no physic can cure:
When th' time's up, we's ha' to sign o'er, an' be gone.”
Derry down.
XII
“Both winter an' summer th' owd mower's at wark,Sidin' folk eawt o' seet, both bi dayleet an' dark?
He's slavin' away while we're snorin' i' bed;
An' he'd slash at a king, if it coom in his yed.”
Derry down.
XIII
“These sodiurs, an' parsons, an' maisters o' lond,He lays 'em i' th greawnd, wi' their meawths full o' sond,
Rags or riches, an' owd greasy cap, or a creawn—
He sarves o' alike,—for he switches 'em deawn.”
Derry down.
XIV
“The mon that's larn't up, an' the mon that's a foo—It mays little odds, for they both han to goo;
If yo'n root amung th' swathe, yo'n find doctors an' o.”
Derry down.
Dad me, help me by the hand, as a “dad,” or father does a little child in its first efforts to walk.
There's nought on me laft, lass,—do o' at tho con,—there's nothing of me left, lass,—do all that thou can'st.
He turn't his-sel' o'er, like a chylt tir't wi' play, he turned himself over, like a child tired with play.
He cool't eawt o 'th world, an' his e'en lost their leet, he cooled out of this world,—he died,—and his eyes lost their light.
He's cowd; aw'll put summat moor on, he is cold; I will put something more, or more clothing, upon him.
Th' owd crayter's laid by, the old creature is laid aside. The words “owd crayter,” are commonly used as a phrase of affection.
We ne'er had no doctor; he dee'd ov his-sel', we never had any doctor to him; he died of himself, or, without the aid of medicine.
We's ha' to sign o'er, an' be gone, we shall have to consign, or hand over our worldly affairs, and be gone.
The mon that's larnt-up, an' the mon that's a foo, the man that is learned-up to the height of possibility, or, that knows everything,—and the man that is a fool.
| Poems and Lancashire Songs | |