The Gardener and the RobinWhy! Bobbie, so thou’s coom agean!I’m fain to see thee here;It’s lang sin I’ve set een on thee,It’s ommost hauf a yeer.What’s that thou says? Thou’s taen a wifeAn’ raised a family.It seems thou’s gien ’em all the slipNow back-end’s drawin’ nigh.I mun forgi’e thee; we’re owd friends,An’ fratchin’s not for us;Blackbirds an’ spinks[1]I can’t abide,At doves an’ crows I cuss.But thou’ll noan steal my strawberries,Or nip my buds o’ plum;Most feather-fowl I drive away,But thou can awlus coom.Ay, that’s thy place, at top o’ t’ clod,Thy heead cocked o’ one side,Lookin’ as far-learnt as a judge.Is that a worrm thou’s spied?By t’ Megs! he’s well-nigh six inch lang,An’ reed as t’ gate i’ t’ park;If thou don’t mesh him up a bit,He’ll gie thee belly-wark.My missus awlus lets me knowI’m noan so despert thin;If I ate sausages as thouEats worrms, I’d brust my skin!Howd on! leave soom for t’ mowdiwarps[2]That scrats down under t’ grund ;Of worrms, an’ mawks,[3]an’ bummel-clocks[4]Thou’s etten hauf a pund.So now thou’ll clear thy pipes an’ sing:Grace after meat, I s’pose.Thou looks as holy as t’ owd saintI’ church wi’ t’ brokken nose.Thou’s plannin’ marlocks[5]all the time,Donned i’ thy sowdier coat;An’ what we tak for hymns o’ praiseIs just thy fratchin’ note.I’ve seen thee feightin’ theer on t’ lawn,Beneath yon laurel tree;Thy neb was reed wi’ blooid, thou lookedAs chuffy[6]as could be.Thou’s got no mense nor morals, Bob,But weel I know thy charm.Ay, thou can stand upon my spade.I’ll niver do thee harm.[1]Chaffinches.[2]Moles.[3]Maggots.[4]Beetles.[5]Tricks.[6]Haughty.
Why! Bobbie, so thou’s coom agean!I’m fain to see thee here;It’s lang sin I’ve set een on thee,It’s ommost hauf a yeer.What’s that thou says? Thou’s taen a wifeAn’ raised a family.It seems thou’s gien ’em all the slipNow back-end’s drawin’ nigh.I mun forgi’e thee; we’re owd friends,An’ fratchin’s not for us;Blackbirds an’ spinks[1]I can’t abide,At doves an’ crows I cuss.But thou’ll noan steal my strawberries,Or nip my buds o’ plum;Most feather-fowl I drive away,But thou can awlus coom.Ay, that’s thy place, at top o’ t’ clod,Thy heead cocked o’ one side,Lookin’ as far-learnt as a judge.Is that a worrm thou’s spied?By t’ Megs! he’s well-nigh six inch lang,An’ reed as t’ gate i’ t’ park;If thou don’t mesh him up a bit,He’ll gie thee belly-wark.My missus awlus lets me knowI’m noan so despert thin;If I ate sausages as thouEats worrms, I’d brust my skin!Howd on! leave soom for t’ mowdiwarps[2]That scrats down under t’ grund ;Of worrms, an’ mawks,[3]an’ bummel-clocks[4]Thou’s etten hauf a pund.So now thou’ll clear thy pipes an’ sing:Grace after meat, I s’pose.Thou looks as holy as t’ owd saintI’ church wi’ t’ brokken nose.Thou’s plannin’ marlocks[5]all the time,Donned i’ thy sowdier coat;An’ what we tak for hymns o’ praiseIs just thy fratchin’ note.I’ve seen thee feightin’ theer on t’ lawn,Beneath yon laurel tree;Thy neb was reed wi’ blooid, thou lookedAs chuffy[6]as could be.Thou’s got no mense nor morals, Bob,But weel I know thy charm.Ay, thou can stand upon my spade.I’ll niver do thee harm.
[1]Chaffinches.
[2]Moles.
[3]Maggots.
[4]Beetles.
[5]Tricks.
[6]Haughty.