Awd Isaac The Steeplechase, and Other Poems; With a Glossary of the Yorkshire Dialect. By John Castillo |
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A STRANGE EFFUSION, OR WESLEYANISM AT EASBY, IN THE STOKESLEY CIRCUIT |
 | Awd Isaac |  |
A STRANGE EFFUSION, OR WESLEYANISM AT EASBY, IN THE STOKESLEY CIRCUIT
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Written when the Methodists were deprived of the place of worship in which they had been accustomed to meet.
Thof turn'd oot o' t' temple 'at used te belang 'em,
Anoother we whooap afoore lang 'll be beelt,
Whoor sinners thruff Christ may hev pardon for guilt.
T' Lord seems te oppen a way out afoore 'em,
Thof neybourin lions hev aim'd te devoor 'em.
When t'awd maister mariner fail'd at the helm,
They thowght it wad all the consarn owerwhelm;
An' when they appear'd ov all succour bereft,
They endeeavour'd te freeghten t' few 'at wur left.
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Te send 'em suppoort, an' gie 'em direction;
If nobbut, like monny, they wadden't betray him,
Bud stick te that text, beeath te luv an' obey him.
They can't be content wi' ther steeple opinions,
Bud they mun mack inrooads on others' dominions;
Thof theers be in gen'ral the fat an' the wealthy,
For t'want of gud physic, they seldom are healthy.
Hoo strange 'at they sud sike fair temples erect,
Te murder the sowls in—they're swoorn te proteet!
Bud stranger they'll finnd it o' yon side the fleead,
Wi' ther hands an' ther garments all stain'd i' ther bleead!
We needn't te wonder they mack sike a fuss,
Ther craft is i' danger fra' rebels like us:—
For God can mack preeachers—hoo feearful the thowght—
Fra' cobblers, or meeasons, or blacksmiths, or owght!
O yes! Dr. Pusey may whet his awd grinders,
An' put on his captives ther fetters an' blinders;
Ther's poor men iv Easby 'at ken his awd sang,
An' see the defect ov beeath him an' his gang.
He may scare 'em wi' taxes, wi' rates, an' oppression,
All thooase whea are oot o' the line o' succession,
Thof te prove 'at he's in't, he's a varry poor chance,
Unless he unite wi' the Romans at yance.
Then t' Romans wad help him, an' think it all reeght,
Te murder Dissenters, an' put oot ther leeght;
Te cut 'em i' pieces, te butcher an' bon 'em,
Bud till that's the keease they cannut owerton 'em!
Nur Stowsley, nur Yatton, ther frinds will invite,
Nur Skelton, nur Brotton, ther efforts unite;
They'll finnd te ther mortification an' pain,
They hev fowght wi' t' wind, an' hev labour'd i' vain!
| Awd Isaac | |