John Castillo (1792-1845)Ya Kessmas neet, or then aboot,When measons all were frozzen oot,I went to see a country friend,An hospitable hoor to spend.For gains, I cut across o' t' moor,Whoor t' snaw sea furiously did stoor.(1)The hoose I gain'd an' enter'd in,An' were as welcome as a king.The storm agean t' windey patter'd,An' hail-steans doon t' chimley clatter'd.All hands were in, an' seem'd content,An' nean did frost or snaw lament.T' lasses all were at their sewing,Their cheeks wiv health an' beauty glowing.Aroond the hearth, in cheerful chat,Twea or three friendly neighbours sat,Their travels telling, whoor they'd been,An' what they had beath heeard an' seen.Till yan did us all mich amuse,An' thus a story introduce."I recollect lang saan,"(2) says he,"A story that were tell'd to me,At seems sea strange i' this oor dayThat true or false I cannot say.A man liv'd i' this neighbourhood,Nea doot of reputation good,An' lang taame strave wi' stiddy care,To keep his hoosehod i' repair.At length he had a curious dream,For three neets runnin' 't were the seame,At(3) if on Lunnon Brig he stood,He'd hear some news would dea him good,He labour'd hard, beath neet an' day,Tryin' to draave those thowts away;Yet daily grew mair discontentTill he at last to Lunnon went.Being quite a stranger to that toon,Lang taame he wander'd up an' doon,Till, led by some mysterious hand,On Lunnon Brig he teak his stand.An' there he waited day by day,An' just were boun(4) to coom away,Sea mich he thowt he were to bleameTo gang sea far aboot a dream,When thus a man, as he drew near,Did say, "Good friend, what seek you here,Where I have seen you soon and late?"His dream tiv him he did relate."Dreams," says the man, " are empty things,Mere thoughts that flit on silver'd wings;Unheeded we should let them pass.I've had a dream, and thus it was,That somewhere round this peopled ball,There's such a place as Lealholm Hall(5);Yet whether such a place there be,Or not, is all unknown to me.There in a cellar, dark and deep,Where slimy creatures nightly creep,And human footsteps never tread,There is a store of treasure hid.If it be so, I have no doubt,Some lucky wight will find it out.Yet so or not is nought to me,For I shall ne'er go there to see."The man did slyly twice or thriceThe Cockney thenk for his advice;Then heame agean withoot delayHe cherfully did tak his way.An' set aboot the wark, an' sped,Fun' ivvery thing as t' man had said;Were iver efter seen to flourishT' fanest gentleman iv all t' parish.Folks wonder'd sair, an' ,weel they might,Whoor he gat all his guineas bright.If it were true, i' spite o' fame,Tiv him it were a lucky dream."1. Drive. 2. Long ago. 3. That. 4. Ready.5. In the neighbourhood of Whitby.
J. H. Dixon (1803-1876)Meet me at the fowd at the milkin'-time,Whan the dusky sky is gowd at the milkin'-time;Whan the fog(1) is slant(2) wi' dew,An' the clocks(3) go hummin' thro'The wick-sets(4) an' the branches of the owmerin'(5) yew.Weel ye knaw the hour of the milkin'-time,The girt bell sounds frev t' tower at the milkin'-time;Bud as gowd sooin turns to gray,An' I cannot have delay,Dunnot linger by the way at the milkin'-time.Ye'll find a lass at's true at the milkin'-time,Shoo thinks of nane bud you at the milkin'-time;Bud my fadder's gittin' owd,An' he's gien a bit to scowd,Whan I's ower lang at the fowd at the milkin'-time.Happen ye're afeard at the milkin'-time;Mebbe loike ye've heerd at the milkin'-timeThe green fowk shak their feet,Whan t' moon on Heeside's breet,An' it chances so to-neet, at the milkin'-time.There's yan, an' he knaws weel whan it's milkin'-time;He'd feace the varra de'il at the milkin'-time.He'd nut be yan to waitTho' a barguest(6) war i' t' gate,(7)If the word I'd nobbud say 't at the milkin'-time.1. Aftermath. 2. Wet. 3. Beetles 4. Quick-sets. 5. Overshadowing6. The barguest is an apparition, taking usually the form of a bigblack dog with saucer eyes. 7. Way, road.
Ben Preston (1819-1902)I'm a weyver, ye knaw, an' awf deead,So I do all at iver I canTo put away aat o' my heeadThe thowts an' the aims of a man.Eight shillin' i' t'wick's what I arn,When I've varry gooid wark an' full time,An' I think it's a sorry consarnFor a fella at's just in his prime.Bud aar maister says things is as weelAs they have been or iver can be,An' I happen sud think so miselIf he'd nobbud swop places wi' me.Bud he's welcome ta all he can get,I begrudge him o' noan of his brass,An' I'm nowt bud a madlin(1) to fret,Or to think o' yon beautiful lass.I niver can call her my wife,My love I sal niver mak knawn,Yit the sarra that darkens her lifeThraws its shadda across o' my awn.When I knaw at her heart is at eease,Theer is sunshine an' singin' i' mine;An' misfortunes may come as they pleease,Yit they seldom can mak me repine.Bud that Chartist wor nowt bud a slope(2)—I were fooild by his speeches an' rhymes,For his promises wattered my hope,An' I leng'd for his sunshiny times;Bud I feel at my dearest desireWithin me 'll wither away;Like an ivy-stem trailin' i' t' mire,It's deein for t' want of a stay.When I laid i' my bed day an' neet,An' were geen up by t' doctors for deead,God bless her! shoo'd coom wi' a leetAn' a basin o' grewil an' breead.An' I once thowt I'd aat wi' it all,Bud so kindly shoo chatted an' smiled,I were fain to turn ovver to t' wall,An' to bluther an' roar like a child.An' I said, as I thowt of her een,Each breeter for t' tear at were in 't,It's a sin to be niver forgeen,To yoke her to famine an' stint;So I'll e'en travel forrad throo life,Like a man throo a desert unknawn;I mun ne'er have a home nor a wife,Bud my sorras 'll all be my awn.So I trudge on alone as I owt,An' whativer my troubles may be,They'll be sweetened, poor lass, wi' the thowtAt I've niver browt trouble to thee.Yit a bird has its young uns to guard,A wild beast a mate in his den,An' I cannot bud think at it's hardNay, deng it, I'm roarin' agen!1. Fool 2. Impostor.
Ben PrestonCome to thy gronny, doy, come to thy gronny,Bless thee, to me tha'rt as pratty as onny;Mutherlass barn of a dowter unwed,Little tha knaws, doy, the tears at I've shed;Trials I've knawn both for t' heart an' for t' heead,Shortness o' wark, ay, an' shortness o' breead.These I could bide, bud tho' tha'rt noan to blame,Bless thee, tha browt me both sorra an' shame;Gronny, poor sowl, for a two month or moreHardly could feshion to lewk aat. o' t' door;T' neighbours called aat to me, "Dunnot stand that,Aat wi' that hussy an' aat wi' her brat."Deary me, deary me! what could I say?T' furst thing of all, I thowt, let me go pray;T' next time I slept I'd a dream, do ye see,Ay, an' I knew at that dream were for me.Tears of Christ Jesus, I saw 'em that neet,Fall drop by drop on to one at His feet.After that, saw Him wi' barns raand His knee,Some on 'em, happen, poor crayturs like thee;Says I at last, though I sorely were tried,Surely a sinner a sinner sud bide;Neighbours may think or may say what they will,T' muther an' t' dowter sal stop wi' me still.Come on 't what will, i' my cot they sal caar,(2)Woe be to them at maks bad into waar(3);Some fowk may call thee a name at I hate,Wishin' fra t' heart tha were weel aat o' t' gate;Oft this hard world into t' gutter 'll shove thee,Poor little lamb, wi' no daddy to love thee.Dunnot thee freeat, doy, whol granny hods up,Niver sal tha want a bite or a sup;What if I work these owd fingers to t' boan,Happen tha'll love me long after I'm goan;T' last bite i' t' cupboard wi' thee I could share't,Hay! bud tha's stown(4) a rare slice o' my heart.Spite of all t' sorra, all t' shame at I've seen,Sunshine comes back to my heart throo thy een;Cuddle thy gronny, doy,Bless thee, tha'rt bonny, doy,Rosy an' sweet fra thy braa to thy feet,Kingdoms an' craans wodn't buy thee to-neet.1 Darling. 2. Cower, take shelter. 3. Worse. 4. Stolen.
Ben PrestonOwd Moxy wrowt hard for his morsil o' breead,An' to keep up his courage he'd sing,Tho' Time wi' his scythe hed mawn t' crop on his heeadAn' then puffed it away wi' his wing.Reight slavish his labour an' little his wage,His path tuv his grave were bud rough,Poor livin' an' hardships, a deal more nor age,Hed swealed(1) daan his can'le to t' snuff.One cowd winter morn, as he crept aat o' bed,T' owd waller felt dizzy an' sore:-"Come, frame(2) us some breykfast, Owd Duckfooit, he said,"An' I'll finish yond fence up at t' moor;"I'll tew(3) like a brick wi' my hammer an' mall,(4)An' I'll bring home my honey to t' hive,An' I'll pay t' bit o' rent an' wer(5) shop-score an' all,An' I'll dee aat o' debt if I live."So Peg made his pobs(6) an' then futtered(7) abaat,An' temm'd(8) him his tea into 't can,Then teed up some bacon an' breead in a claat,For dearly shoo liked her owd man.Then Moxy set aat on his wearisome way,Wadin' bravely throo t' snaw-broth i' t' dark;It's a pity when fellas at's wakely an' greyHes to walk for a mile to their wark.Bud summat that mornin' made Moxy turn back,Tho' he hardly knew what it could meean,So, cudlin' Owd Peggy, he gave her a smack,An' then started for t' common ageean.All t' day a wild hurricane wuther'd(9) throo t' glen,An' then rush'd like a fiend up to t' heeath;An' as Peggy sat knittin' shoo said tuv hersen,"Aw dear! he'll be starruv'd to t' deeath."An' shoo felt all that day as shoo'd ne'er felt afore,An' shoo dreeaded yit hunger'd for neet ;When harknin' an' tremlin' shoo heeard abaat t' doorA mutterin, an' shufflin o' feet.Five minutes at after,(10) Owd Peg, on her knees,Were kussin' a forehead like stone;An' to t' men at stood by her wi' tears i' their ees,Shoo said, "Go, lads, an' leave me alone."When they straightened his body, all ready for t' kist,(11)It were seen at he'd thowt of his plan;For t' shop-score an' t' rent war safe locked in his fist,So he deed aat o' debt, like a man.1. Melted. 2. Prepare. 3. Toil. 4. Mallet. 5. Our.6. Porridge. 7. Bustled. 8. Poured. 9. Roared.10. Afterwards, 11. Coffin.
Florence TweddellI went last week to Stowslay(1) Fair,My sweetheart for to see;She promis'd she would meet me there-Bud dean't mak gam o' me:Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!I rigg'd misel' all i' my best,As fine as fine could be;An' little thowt how things would to'n(2);Bud dean't mak gam o' me:Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!I walk'd to t' toon, an' bowt a cane,To cut a dash, ye see;An' how I swagger'd up an' doon!Bud dean't mak gam o' me:Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!I thowt, if nobbut Poll would come,How happy we sud be!I'd treat her into t' penny show,Bud dean't mak gam o' me :Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!At last I saw her coomin' in;Bud what else did I see?Jack Hodge was walkin' biv her saade!Bud dean't mak gam o' me:Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!Stright up I went, an' "Poll!" says I,"I's waiting, lass, for thee!""Then thoo mun wait!" was all she said,Bud dean't mak gam o' me:Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!She teak Jack's airm, an' there I steadQuite flabbergash'd, ye see:I thowt I sud hav dropt to t' grund,Bud dean't mak gam o' me:Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!Poor Nancy Green com seaglin'(3) up,"What's matter, Dick?" says she:"Jack Hodge is off wi' Poll!" says I,Bud dean't mak gam o' me:Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!"Why, niver maand her; let her gan ;She's better gean!" said she:Bud I thowt nut; an' then I cried,Bud dean't mak gam o' me :Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!I's nobbut a poor country ladAt's lost my heart, ye see:I'll gan nea mair to t' Pomesun Fair,(4)Sea dean't mak gam o' me :Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!1. Stokesley. 2. Turn out. 3. Sauntering.4. The fair held at Stokesley on theSaturday before Palm Sunday
Florence Tweddell"Coom, stop at yam(1) to-neet, Bob,Dean't gan oot onnywhere:Thoo gets thisel t' leeast vex'd, lad,When thou sits i' t' awd airm-chair."There's Keat an' Dick beath want theeTo stop an' tell a teale:Tak little Keatie o' thy knee,An' Dick 'll sit on t' steal."Let's have a happy neet, Bob,Tell all t' teales thoo can tell;For givin' pleeasure to the bairnsWill dea thee good thisel."I knaw it's sea wi' me, Bob,For oft when I've been sad,I've laik'd an' laugh'd wi' them, mon,Untel my heart's felt glad."An' sing that laatle sang, Bob,Thoo used to sing to me,When oft we sat at t' river saade,Under t' awd willow tree."What happy taames them was, Bob,Thoo niver left me thenTo gan to t' yal-hoose neet be neetAmang all t' drunken men."I does my best for thoo, Bob,An' thoo sud dea t' seame for me:Just think what things thoo promised meAsaade t' awd willow tree!""I prithee say nea mair, lass,I see I ain't dean reet;I'll think of all thoo's said to me,An' stop at yam to-neet.""I'll try to lead a better life-I will, an' that thoo'll see!Fra this taame fo'th I'll spend my neetsAt yam, wi' t' bairns an' thee!"1. Home.
J. H. Eccles (1824-1883)I like to see thy quaint owd faceLewk softly daan on me,E'en though I ne'er could find thy noseNor catch thy watchful ee.Full monny times I've seen thee rise,When busy day were done,When daan behint t' owd maantain topsHad passed t' breet evenin' sun.I like to see thee when sweet springCooms back to hill an' vale;When odours rise through t' hawthorn bush,An' float on t' evenin' gale.When lovers walk on t' primrose benks,An' whisper soft an' low;Dreamin' just same as me an' t' wifeDid monny years ago.I like to see thee when t' June roseIs wet wi' fallin' dew,When t' nightingale maks t' owd woods ringWi' music fresh an' newWhen fairies dance on t' top o' t' flaarsAn' roam through t' pleasant dells,Like monarchs i' their marble halls,I' t' lilies' virgin bells.I like to see thee when t' ripe cornIs wavin' to an' fro;When t' squirril goes a-seekin' nutsAn' jumps thro' bough to bough.When t' purple heather covers t' hills,An' t' hunters, tired and worn,Back through the fairy-haunted glensUnto their homes return.I like to see thee when all raandIs white wi' drivven snow,When t' streams are stopp'd by owd Jack FrostAn' foaks slip as they go.I like to see thee all t' year raand,When t' sky is fair an' breet,An' allus hail wi' fond delightThe noble queen o' t' neet.I used to think at I could reachUp to thy face wi' ease,If I had but a big long stick;For tha were but green cheese.But naa I've got far different thowts,An' learnt to understandAt tha art one o' t' wondrous worksFormed by t' gert Maker's hand.
J. H. EcclesAunt Nancy's one o' t' savin' sort,At niver lets t' chonce pass;Yet wouldn't do owt mean or lowFor t' sake o' gettin' t' brass.Her home's as clean as need be seen,Whoiver may go in;An' as for Nancy, dear-a-me!Shoo's like a new-made pin.Shoo's full o' thrift an' full o' sense,An' full o' love beside;Shoo rubs an' scrubs thro' morn to neetAn' maks t' owd haase her pride.Her husband, when his wark is doon,Sits daan i' t' owd arm chair ;Forgets his troubles as he owt,An' loises all his care.Wi' pipe an' book i' t' chimley nookTime flies on noiseless wing;Shoo sits an' knits wi' pleasant face,He's happy as a king.Wi' tattlin' folks shoo's niver seenI' alley, loin(1) or street,But goes her way wi' modest step,Exact an' clean an' neat.Her neighbours soomtimes watch her aat,An' say shoo's praad an' stiff;But all their gossip cooms to nowt,Aunt Nancy's reight enif.Wi' basket oft shoo walks abroadTo some poor lonely elf;To ivery one shoo knaws t' reight wayAt's poorer nor(2) herself.Shoo niverr speyks o' what shoo gives,Kind, gentle-hearted sowl;I' charity her hands find wark,Shoo's good alike to all.He niver tells her what he thinks,Nor flatters nor reproves;His life is baand wi' gowlden bandsTo t' woman at he loves.God bless her, shoo's a dimond breet,Both good i' mind an' heart;An angel spreeadin' light an' love,That plays a noble part.Shoo's worthy of a monarch's choice,Her worth can ne'er be towld ;Shoo cam to mak folks' hearts feel glad,Shoo's worth her weight i' gowld.1 Lane. 2 Than.
Thomas BlackahCoom, don on thy bonnet an' shawl,An' straighten thy cap an' thy hair;I's really beginnin' to stall(1)To see thee sit dazzin'(2) i' t' chair.Sea coom, let us tak a walk oot,For t' air is as warm as a bee;I hennot(3) a morsel o' dootIt'll help beath lile Willy an' thee.We'll gan reet throo t' Middle Toon,As far as to Reavensgill Heead(4);When thar, we can sit wersens doonOn t' crags close at side o' t' becksteead.An' then, oh! hoo grand it'll beTo pass a few minutes away,An' listen t' birds sing on each treeTheir carols for closin' the day.An' all aboot t' green nobby hills,T' lile daisies their beauties will show;An' t' perfume at Flora distilsLike breath o' the mornin' will blow.Then don on thy bonnet an' shawl,An' coom let's be walkin' away;I's fairly beginnin' to stallTo see thee sit dazzin' all t' day.1 Grow tired. 2. Dozing. 3. Have not.4. Near Pateley Bridge.
Thomas BlackahI'll wear thee yet awhile, awd hat,I'll wear thee yet awhile;Though time an' tempest, beath combined,Have changed thy shap an' style.For sin we two togither met,When thoo were nice an' new,What ups an' doons i' t' world we've had,Bud awlus braved 'em through.That glossy shade o' thine, awd hat,That glossy shade o' thine,At graced thy youthful days is gean,Which maks me noo repine.Fra monny a gleam an' monny a shoorThoo's sheltered my awd heead;Bud sean a smarter, tider hatWill shelter 't i' thy steead.Though friends have proved untrue, awd hat,Though friends have proved untrue,An' vanished in adversity,Like mist or mornin' dew;Yet when fierce storms or trials comI fand a friend i' thee;Sea noo, when thoo's far on, awwd hat,Thoo 'st finnd a friend i' me.Some nail or crook 'll be thy heameO' t' joists, or back o' t' door;Or, mebbe, thoo'l be bunched(1) abootWi' t' barns across o' t' floor.When t' rain an' t' wind coom peltin' throughThy crumpled, battered croon,I'll cut thee up for soles to wearI' my awd slender shoon.1. Kicked
John HarlandThis mworning as I went to wark,I met Curly just coomin' heame;He had on a new flannin sark(2)An' he saw at I'd just gitten t' seame."Whar's te been?" said awd Curly to me."I've been down to Reeth Bartle Fair.""Swat(3) te down, mun, sex needles,"(4) said he,An' tell us what seets te saw there.""Why, t' lads their best shoon had put on,An' t' lasses donn'd all their best cwoats;I saw five pund of Scotch wether muttonSell'd by Ward and Tish Tom for five grwoats.Rowlaway had fine cottons to sell,Butteroy lace an' handkerchers browt;Young Tom Cwoats had a stall tuv hissel,An' had ribbins for varra near nowt."Thar was Enos had good brandy-snaps,Bill Brown as good spice as could be;Potter Robin an' mair sike-like chapsHad t' bonniest pots te could see.John Ridley, an' awd Willy Walls,An' Naylor, an' twea or three mar,Had apples an' pears at their stalls,An' Gardener Joe tea was thar."Thar was scissors an' knives an' read(5) purses,An' plenty of awd cleathes on t' nogs,(6)An' twea or three awd spavin'd horses,An' plenty o' shoon an' new clogs.Thar was plenty o' good iron pans,An' pigs at wad fill all t' deale's hulls(7);Thar was baskets, an skeps, an' tin cans,An' bowls, an' wood thivles for gulls.(8)"Thar was plenty of all maks(9) o' meat,An' plenty of all sworts o' drink,An' t' lasses gat monny a treat,For t' gruvers(10) war all full o' chink.I cowp'd(11) my black hat for a white un,Lile Jonas had varra cheap cleath;Jem Peacock an' Tom talk'd o' feightin',But Gudgeon Jem Puke lick'd 'em beath."Thar was dancin' an' feightin' for ever,Will Wade said at he was quite griev'd;An' Pedlety tell'd 'em he'd neverForgit 'em as lang as he leev'd.They knock'd yan another about,Just warse than a sham to be seen,Charlie Will look'd as white as a clout,Kit Puke gat a pair o' black een."I spied our awd lass in a newk,Drinkin' shrub wi' grim Freesteane, fond lad;I gav her a varra grow(12) leuk;O, connies,(13) but I was just mad.Sea I went to John Whaites's to drink,Whar I war'd(14) twea an' seempence i' gin;I knaw not what follow'd, but thinkI paddl'd through t' muck thick an' thin."For to-day, when I gat out o' bed,My cleathes were all sullied sea sar,Our Peggy and all our fwoak saidTo Reeth Fair I sud never gang mar.But it's rake-time,(15) sea I mun away,For my partners are all gain' to wark."Sea I lowp'd up an bade him good day,An' wrowt at t' Awd Gang(16) tell 't was dark."1. The fair held at Reeth in Swaledale onSt. Bartholomew's Day, August 24.2. Shirt. 3. Sit.4. "Sex needles" is literally the interval of time duringwhich a knitter would work the loops off six needles.5. Red. 6. Pegs. 7. Sties.8. Sticks for stirring hasty puddings.9. Sorts. 10. Miners. 11. Bartered. 12. Ugly.13. Mates. 14. Spent. 15. Time for the next shift.16. A lead mine
Tom TwistletonWhen cowd December's sturdy breezeIn chimley-tops did grumble,Or, tearing throug'h the leafless trees,On lang dark neets did rumble,A lot o' young folks, smart an' gay,An' owds uns, free an' hearty,Agreed amang thersels at theyWould have a Christmas partyAt hame some neetThey kicked up sich a fuss an' spreead,An' made sich preparations;They baked grand tarts an' mixed their breeadWi' spices frae all nations.To drive away baith want an' cowdIt seem'd their inclination;An' t' neebours round, baith young an' owd,All gat an invitationTo gang that neet.
Smart sprigs o' spruce an' ivy greenWere frae the ceiling hinging,An' in their midst, conspicuous seen,The mistletoe was swinging.The lamp shone forth as clear as day,An' nowt was there neglected;An' t' happy, smiling faces say,Some company is expectedTo coom this neet.An' first com Moll wi' girt lang Jack,A strapping, good-like fella;An' following closely at their backCom Bob and Isabella.With "How's yoursel?" an' "How d'ye do?"They sit down i' their places,Till t' room sae big, all through an' through,Wi' happy smiling facesWas filled that neet.A merrier lot than this I nameNe'er met at onny party;All girt grand balls they put to shame,They were sae gay an' hearty.Here yan had made hersel quite fine,Wi' lace an' braid's assistance;An' there a girt grand crinoline,To keep t' lads at a distance,Stood out that neet.The lads draw up to t' fire their chairs,An' merrily pass their jokes off;The lasses all slip off upstairs,To pu' their hats an' cloaks off.Befoor a glass that hings at t' sideThey all tak up their station,An' think within theirsels wi' prideThey'll cause a girt sensation'Mang t' lads that neet.An' now the lusty Christmas cheerIs browt out for t' occasion;To pies an' tarts, an' beef an' beer,They git an invitation.An' some, i' tune to put it by,Play havoc on each dainty,Whal some there is, sae varra shy,Scarce let theirsels have plentyTo eat that neet.Against the host o' good things thereThey wage an awful battle;They're crying out, "A lile bit mair!"An' plates an' glasses rattle.Here, yan's nae time a word to pass,Thrang(1) supping an' thrang biting;There, simpering sits a girt soft lassThat waits for mich invitingAn' fuss that neet.An' when this good substantial fareHas gien 'em satisfaction,They side(2) all t' chairs, an' stand i' pairs,Wi' heels i' tune for action.See-sawing, t' fiddler now beginsThe best that he is able;He rosins t' stick an' screws up t' pinsAn' jumps up on to t' table,To play that neet.There, back an' forrad, in an' out,His elbow it gaas silting,(3)An' to an' fro, an' round about,The dancers they are lilting.Some dance wi' ease i' splendid style,Wi' tightly-fitting togs on,Whal others bump about all t' while,Like drainers wit their clogs on,Sae numb'd that neet.An' when they've reel'd an' danc'd their fling,Their chairs all round are ranged;They tell droll tales, they laugh, they sing,An' jokes are interchanged.A merry tune t' girt kettle sings,An' t' fire is blazing breetly ;Wi' cheerful din t' owd farmhouse rings,An' hours fly ower them sweetlyAn' swift that neet.T' owd women preach an' talk aboutTheir claes being owd an' rotten,An' still being forc'd to speck an' clout,(4)It's sich a price is cotton.T' owd men sit round, wi' pipe an' glass,In earnest conversation;On t' ways an' means o' saving brass,An' t' rules an' t' laws o' t' nation,They talk that neet.Now girt lang Jack, that lives on t' moor,Wi' cunning an' wi' caution,Is beckoning Moll to gang to t' doorWi' sly mischievous motion.Moll taks the hint, nor thinks it wrang,Her heart that way inclining;She says to t' rest she thinks she'll gangTo see if t' stars are shiningOut clear that neet.Then down a field they tak a walk,An' then they wend their way back;To have a bit o' pleasant talkThey shelter under t' haystack.She did not say "For shame!" not she,Though oft-times Johnny kiss'd her;She said she just would run an' seeIf t' other folks had missed herFrae t' room that neet.A chap that had two watchful een,Of which they waren't thinking,When peeping round that neet, had seenLong Jack at Molly winking.Says he, "Now's t' time to have a stir,Let's just gang out an' watch her;We's have some famous fun wi' her,If we can nobbut catch herWi' him this neet.Then two or three, bent on a spree,Out to the door gang thungein',(5)But hauf a yard they scarce could see,It was as dark as dungeon.Jack hears their footsteps coming slow,An' frae her side he slinks off;Runs round t' house-end, jumps ower a wa',An' up ower t' knee i' t' sink-troughHe splash'd that neet.Now, ye young men, be who ye may,That's bent on fun an' sportin',Whare'er ye be, by neet or day,Remember Jack's misfortin.Though things unlook'd for on ye creep,Don't do owt in a splutter;But learn to look befoor ye leap,Lest ye in some deep gutterStick fast some neet.1. Busily. 2. Clear away. 3. Rising up.4. Mend and patch. 5. Thumping.
John Hartley (1839-1915)Who is it at lives i' that cot on the lea,Joy o' my heart an' leet o' my ee?Who is that lass at's so dear unto me?Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.Who is it goes trippin' ower dew-spangled grass,Singin' so sweetly? Shoo smiles as I pass,Bonniest, rosy-cheek'd, gay-hearted lass!Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.Who is it I see i' my dreams of a neet ?Who lovingly whispers words tender an' sweet,Till I wakken to find shoo's nowheer i' t' seet?Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.Who is it at leads me so lively a donce,Yet to tawk serious ne'er gies me a chonce,An' niver replied when I begged on her once?Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.Who is it at ivery chap's hankerin' to get,Yet tosses her heead an' flies off in a pet,As mich as to say, "You've not getten me yet"?Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.Who is it could mak life a long summer's day,Whose smile would drive sorrow an' trouble away,An' mak t' hardest wark, if for her, seem like play?Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.Who is it I'll have if I've iver a wife,An' love her, her only, to th' end o' my life,An' nurse her i' sickness, an' guard her from strife?Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.Who is it at's promised, to-neet if it's fine,To meet me at t' corner o' t' mistal(1) at nine?Why, it's her at I've langed for so long to mak mine-Nelly o' Bob's o' t' Crowtrees.1. Cow-Shed
John HartleyAs I hurried through t' taan to my wark,-I were lat,(1) for all t' buzzers had gooan-I happen'd to hear a remarkAt 'ud fotch tears thro' th' heart of a stooan.It were rainin', an' snawin', an' cowd,An' th' flagstones were cover'd wi' muck,An' th' east wind both whistled an' howl'd,It saanded like nowt bud ill luck.When two little lads, donn'd(2) i' rags,Baat(3) stockin's or shoes o' their feet,Com trapsin' away ower t' flags,Boath on 'em sodden'd wi' t' weet.Th' owdest mud happen be ten,T' young un be haulf on't, no more;As I look'd on, I said to misen,"God help fowk this weather at's poor!"T' big un samm'd(4) summat off t' graand,An' I look'd just to see what 't could be,'T were a few wizen'd flaars he'd faand,An' they seem'd to hae fill'd him wi' glee.An' he said, "Coom on, Billy, may beWe sal find summat else by an' by;An' if not, tha mun share these wi' me,When we get to some spot wheer it's dry."Leet-hearted, they trotted away,An' I follow'd, 'cause t' were i' my rooad;But I thowt I'd ne'er seen sich a day,It wern't fit to be aat for a tooad.Sooin t' big un agean slipp'd away,An' samm'd summat else aat o' t' muck;An' he cried aat, "Look here, Bill, to-dayArn't we blest wi' a seet o' gooid luck?"Here's a apple, an' t' mooast on it's saand,What's rotten I'll throw into t' street.Wern't it gooid to lig theer to be faand?Naa boath on us can have a treat."So he wip'd it an' rubb'd it, an' thenSaid, "Billy, thee bite off a bit;If tha hasn't been lucky thisen,Tha sal share wi' me sich as I get."So t' little un bate off a touch,(5)T' other's face beam'd wi' pleasure all through,An' he said, "Nay, tha hasn't taen mich,Bite agean, an' bite bigger, naa do."I waited to hear nowt no more;Thinks I, there's a lesson for me;Tha's a heart i' thy breast, if tha'rt poor;T' world were richer wi' more sich as thee.Two pence were all t' brass at I had,An' I meant it for ale when com nooin ;Bud I thowt, I'll go give it yond lad,He desarves it for what he's been doin'.So I said, "Lad, here's twopence for thee,For thisen." An' they star'd like two geese;Bud he said, whol t' tear stood in his ee,"Naa, it'll just be a penny apiece.""God bless thee! do just as tha will,An' may better days speedily come;Though clamm'd(6) an' hauf donn'd,(7) my lad, stillTha'rt a deal nearer Heaven nor(8) some."1. Late. 2. Dressed. 3. Without. 4. Picked.5. Small piece. 6. Starved 7. Dressed 8. Than
John HartleyI know a workin' lad,His hands are hard an' rough,His cheeks are red an' braan,But I like him weel enough.His ee's as breet 's a bell,An' his curly hair is black,An' he stands six foot in his stockin' feet,An' his name is Rollickin' Jack.At morn, if we should meet,He awlus has a smile,An' his heart is gay an' leet,When trudgin' to his toil.He whistles, or he sings,Or he stops a joke to crack;An' monny a lass at he happens to passLooks shyly at Rollickin' Jack.His mother's old an' gray;His father's deead an' gooan;He'll niver move awayAn' leave her all alooan.Choose who(1) should be his wife,Shoo'll mak a sad mistak,For he's ivery inch a mother's lad,Is this rough an' rollickin' Jack.An' still I think sometimesTh' old woman wants a nurse;An' as for weddin' Jack,Why, there's monny a lass done worse.Of coorse it's not for meTo tell him who to tak,But there's one I could name, if I could but for shame,Just the lass to suit Rollickin' Jack.1. Whoever.