An' then he left it wol he went
His mucky clooas to doff.
It worn't long befoor he coom
To see ha matters stood;
He luk'd at th' troff, an' thear it wor,
Five simple bits o' wood,
As cleean scraped aat as if it had
Ne'er held a bit o' food;
"Tha slotch!" sed Bill, "aw do believe
Tha'd ait me if tha could."
Next day he browt a butcher,
For his patience had been tried,
An' wi a varry deeal to do,
Its legs wi rooap they tied;
An' then his shinin knife he drew
An' stuck it in its side—
It mud ha been a crockadile,
Bi th' thickness ov its hide.
But blooid began to flow, an' then
Its long legg'd race wor run;
They scalded, scraped, an' hung it up,
An' when it all wor done,
Fowk coom to guess what weight it wor,
And mony a bit o' fun
They had, for Billy's mother said
"It ought to weigh a ton."
Billy wor walkin up an' daan,
Dooin nowt but fume an' fidge!
He luk'd at th' pig—then daan he set,
I'th nook o'th' window ledge,
He saw th' back booan wor sticken aght,
Like th' thin end ov a wedge;
It luk'd like an' owd blanket
Hung ovver th' winterhedge.
His mother rooar'd an' th' wimmen sigh'd,
But th' chaps did nowt but laff;
Poor Billy he could hardly bide,
To sit an' hear ther chaff—
Then up he jumped, an' off he run,
But whear fowk niver knew;
An' what wor th' warst, when mornin' coom,
Th' deead pig had mizzled too.
Th' chaps wander'd th' country far an' near,
Until they stall'd thersen;
But nawther Billy nor his pig
Coom hooam agean sin then;
But oft fowk say, i'th' deead o'th' neet,
Near Shibden's ruined mill,
The gooast o' Billy an' his pig
May be seen runnin still.
Yo fowk 'ats tempted to goa buy
Be careful what yo do;
Dooant be persuaded coss "its
cheap
,"
For if yo do yo'll rue;
Dooant think its lowerin to yor sen
To ax a friend's advice,
Else like poor Billy's pig, 't may be
Bowt dear at ony price.
Gooid bye, lass, aw dunnot blame,
Tho' mi loss is hard to bide!
For it wod ha' been a shame,
Had tha ivver been the bride
Of a workin chap like me;
One 'ats nowt but love to gie.
Hard hoot'd neives like thease o' mine.
Surely ne'er wor made to press
Hands so lily-white as thine;
Nor should arms like thease caress
One so slender, fair, an' pure,
'Twor unlikely, lass, aw'm sure.
But thease tears aw cannot stay,
Drops o' sorrow fallin fast,
Hopes once held aw've put away
As a dream, an think its past;
But mi poor heart loves thi still,
An' wol life is mine it will.
When aw'm seated, lone and sad,
Wi mi scanty, hard won meal,
One thowt still shall mak me glad,
Thankful that alone aw feel
What it is to tew an'strive
Just to keep a soul alive.
Th' whin-bush rears o'th' moor its form,
An' wild winds rush madly raand,
But it whistles to the storm,
In the barren home it's faand;
Natur fits it to be poor,
An 'twor vain to strive for moor.
If it for a lily sighed,
An' a lily chonced to grow,
When it found the fair one died,
Powerless to brave the blow
Of the first rude gust o' wind,
Which had left its wreck behind.
Then 'twod own 'twor better fate
Niver to ha' held the prize;
Whins an' lilies connot mate,
Sich is not ther destinies;
Then 'twor wrang for one like me,
One soa poor, to sigh for thee.
Then gooid bye, aw dunnot blame,
Tho' mi loss it's hard to bide,
For it wod ha' been a shame
Had tha iver been mi bride;
Content aw'll wear mi lonely lot,
Tho' mi poor heart forgets thee not.
Th' mooin shone breet wi silver leet,
An' th' wind wor softly sighin,
Th' burds did sleep, an' th' snails did creep,
An' th' buzzards wor a flying;
Th' daisies donned ther neet caps on,
An' th buttercups wor weary,
When Jenny went to meet her John,
Her Rifleman, her dearie.
Her Johnny seemed as brave a lad
As iver held a rifle,
An' if ther wor owt in him bad,
'Twor nobbut just a trifle
He wore a suit o' sooity grey,
To show 'at he wor willin
To feight for th' Queen and country
When perfect in his drillin.
His heead wor raand, his back wor straight,
His legs wor long an' steady,
His fist wor fully two pund weight,
His heart wor true an' ready;
His upper lip wor graced at th' top
Wi mustache strong and bristlin,
It railly wor a spicy crop;
Yo'd think to catch him whistlin.
His buzzum burned wi' thowt's o' war,
He long'd for battles clatter.
He grieved to think noa foeman dar
To cross a sup o' watter;
He owned one spot,—an' nobbut one,
Within his heart wor tender,
An' as his darlin had it fun,
He'd be her bold defender.
At neet he donn'd his uniform,
War trials to endure,
An' helped his comrades brave, to storm
A heap ov horse manure!
They said it wor a citidel,
Fill'd wi' some hostile power,
They boldly made a breach, and well
They triumph'd in an hour.
They did'nt wade to th' knees i' blooid,
(That spoils one's breeches sadly),
But th' pond o' sypins did as gooid,
An' scented 'em as badly;
Ther wor noa slain to hug away,
Noa heeads, noa arms wor wantin,
They lived to feight another day,
An' spend ther neets i' rantin.
Brave Johnny's rooad wor up a loin
Where all wor dark an' shaded,
Part grass, part stooans, part sludge an' slime
But quickly on he waded;
An' nah an' then he cast his e'e
An luk'd behund his shoulder.
He worn't timid, noa net he!
He crack'd, "he knew few bolder."
But once he jumped, an' said "Oh dear!"
Becoss a beetle past him,
But still he wor unknown to fear,
He'd tell yo if yo asked him;
He couldn't help for whispering once,
This loin's a varry long un,
A chap wod have but little chonce
Wi thieves, if here amang em.
An' all at once he heeard a voice
Cry out, "Stand and deliver!
Your money or your life, mak choice,
Before your brains I shiver;"
He luk'd all raand, but failed to see
A sign of livin craytur,
Then tremlin dropt upon his knee,
Fear stamp'd on ivery faytur.
"Gooid chap," he said, "mi rifle tak,
Mi belts, mi ammunition,
Aw've nowt but th' clooas at's o' mi back
Oh pity mi condition;
Aw wish aw'd had a lot o' brass,
Aw'd gie thi ivery fardin;
Aw'm nobbut goin to meet a lass,
At Tate's berry garden."
"Aw wish shoo wor, aw daoant care where,
Its her fault aw've to suffer;"
Just then a whisper in his ear
Said, "Johnny, thar't a duffer,"
He luk'd, an' thear claise to him stuck
Wor Jenny, burst wi' lafter;
"A'a, John," shoo says, "Aw've tried thi pluck,
Aw'st think o' this at after."
"An when tha tells what thinga tha'll do,
An' booasts o' manly courage,
Aw'st tell thi then, as nah aw do,
Go hooam an' get thi porrige."
"Why Jenny wor it thee," he said
"Aw fancied aw could spy thi,
Aw nobbut reckoned to be flaid,
Aw did it but to trie thi."
"Just soa," shoo says, "but certain 'tis
Aw hear thi heart a beatin,
An' tak this claat to wipe thi phiz
Gooid gracious, ha tha'rt sweeatin;
Thar't brave noa daat, an' tha can crow
Like booastin cock-a-doodle,
But nooan sich men for me, aw vow,
When wed, aw'll wed a 'noodle.'
Shoo wor a bonny, bonny lass
Her een as black as sloas,
Her hair a flying' thunner claad,
Her cheeks a blowing rooas;
Her smile coom like a sunny gleam
Her cherry lips to curl;
Her voice wor like a murm'ring stream
At flowed through banks o' pearl.
Aw long'd to claim her for mi own,
But nah mi love is crost;
An aw mun wander on alooan,
An' mourn for her aw've lost.
Aw couldn't ax her to be mine,
Wi' poverty at th' door:
Aw niver thowt breet een could shine
Wi' love for one so poor;
But nah ther's summat i' mi breast,
Tells me aw miss'd mi way:
An' lost that lass I loved th' best
Throo fear shoo'd say me nay.
Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.,
Aw saunter'd raand her cot at morn,
An' oft i'th' dark o'th' neet;
Aw've knelt mi daan i'th loin to find
Prints ov her tiny feet:
An' under th' window, like a thief,
Aw've crept to hear her spaik,
An' then aw've hurried home agean
For fear mi heart ud braik.
Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.,
Another bolder nor misen,
Has robb'd me o' mi dear,
An' nah aw ne'er may share her joy
An' ne'er may dry her tear;
But though aw'm heartsick, lone, an' sad,
An' though hope's star is set,
To know she's lov'd as aw'd ha' lov'd
Wod mak me happy yet.
Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.,
Once in a little country taan
A grocer kept a shop,
And sell'd amang his other things,
Prime traitle drink and pop,
Teah, coffee, currans, spenish juice,