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.'
Lost Love.
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,
Th' Traitle Sop.
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,
Soft soap an' paader blue,
Presarves an' pickles, cinnamon,
Allspice an' pepper too;
An' hoasts o' other sooarts o' stuff
To sell to sich as came,
As figs, an' raisens, salt an' spice,
Too numerous to name.
One summer's day a waggon stood
Just opposite his door,
An' th' childer all gaped raand as if
They'd ne'er seen one afoor;
An' in it wor a traitle cask,
It wor a wopper too,
To get it aat they all wor fast
Which iver way to do;
But wol they stood an parley'd thear,
Th' horse gave a sudden chuck,
An' aat it flew, an' bursting threw
All th' traitle into th' muck.
Then th' childer laff'd an' clapp'd their hands,
To them it seem'd rare fun,
But th' grocer ommost lost his wits
When he saw th' traitle run;
He stamp'd an' raved, an' then declared
He wodn't pay a meg,
An'th' carter vow'd until he did
He wodn't stir a peg.
He said he'd done his business reight,
He'd brought it up to th' door,
An thear it wor, an' noa fair chap
Wad want him to do moor.
But wol they stamped, an' raved, an' swore,
An' vented aat ther spleen,
Th' childer wor thrang enough, you're sure,
All plaisterd up to th' een,
A neighbor chap saw th' state o' things,
An' pitied ther distress,
An' begg'd em not to be soa sour
Abaat soa sweet a mess;
"An' tha'd be sour," th'owd grocer said,
If th' job wor thine, owd lad,
An' somdy wanted thee to pay
For what tha'd niver had.
"Th' fault isn't mine," said th' cart driver
"My duty's done I hope?
I've brought him traitle, thear it is,
An' he mun sam it up."
Soa th' neighbor left em to thersen,
He'd nowt noa moor to say,
But went to guard what ther wor left,
And send th' young brood away:
This didn't suit th' young lads a bit,
They didn't mean to stop,
They felt detarmin'd 'at they'd get
Another traitle sop.
They tried all ways, but th' chap stood firm,
They couldn't get a lick,
An' some o' th' boldest gate a taste
O'th neighbor's walkin sticks
At last one said, I know a plan
If we can scheam to do it,
We'll knock one daan bang into th' dolt,
An' let him roll reight throo it;
Agreed, agreed! they all replied,
An here comes little Jack,
He's foorced to pass cloise up this side,
We'll do it in a crack.
Poor Jack war rather short, an' coom
Just like a suckin duck,
He little dream'd at th' sweets o' life
Wod iver be his luck;
But daan they shoved him, an' he roll'd
Heead first bang into th' mess,
An' aat he coom a woeful sight,
As yo may easy guess.
They marched him off i' famous glee
All stickified an' clammy,
Then licked him clean an' sent him hooam
To get lick'd by his mammy.
Then th' cartdriver an th' grocer coom
Boath in a dreadful flutter,
To save some, but they coom too lat,
It all wor lost ith gutter:
It towt a lesson to 'em boath
Before that job wor ended,
To try (at stead o' falling aat)
If ought went wrang to mend it.
For wol fowk rave abaat ther loss,
Some sharper's sure to pop,
An' aat o' ther misfortunes
They'll contrive to get a sop.--
To Let.
Aw live in a snug little cot,
An' tho' poor, yet aw keep aat o' debt,
Cloise by, in a big garden plot,
Stands a mansion, 'at long wor to let.
Twelve month sin' or somewhear abaat,
A fine lukin' chap donned i' black,
Coom an' luk'd at it inside an' aat
An' decided this mansion to tak.
Ther wor whiteweshers coom in a drove
An' masons, an' joiners, an' sweeps,
An' a blacksmith to fit up a cove,
An' bricks, stooans an' mortar i' heaps.
Ther wor painters, an' glazzeners too,
To mend up each bit ov a braik,
An' a lot 'at had nowt else to do,
But to help some o'th 'tothers to laik.
Ther wor fires i' ivery range,
They niver let th' harston get cooiled,
Throo th' celler to th' thack they'd a change,
An' iverything all in a mooild.
Th' same chap 'at is th' owner o'th' Hall,
Is th' owner o'th' cot whear aw dwell,
But if aw ax for th' leeast thing at all;
He tells me to do it mysel.
This hall lets for fifty a year,
Wol five paand is all 'at aw pay;
When th' day come mi rent's allus thear,
An' that's a gooid thing in its way,
At th' last all th' repairers had done,
An' th' hall wor as cleean as a pin,
Aw wor pleased when th' last lot wor gooan,
For aw'd getten reight sick o' ther din.
Then th' furniture started to come,
Waggon looads on it, all spankin new,
Rich crimson an' gold covered some,
Wol some shone i' scarlet an' blue.
Ov sofas aw think hauf a scoor,
An' picturs enuff for a show?
They fill'd ivery corner awm sure,
Throo th' garret to th' kitchen below.
One day when a cab drove to th' gate,
Th' new tenant stept aat, an' his wife,
An' tawk abaat fashion an state!
Yo ne'er saw sich a spreead i' yor life.
Ther war sarvents to curtsey 'em in,
An' aw could'nt help sayin', "bi'th mass;"
As th' door shut when they'd booath getten in,
"A'a its grand to ha' plenty o' brass."
Ther wor butchers, an' bakers, an' snobs,
An' grocers, an' milkmen, an' snips,
All seekin' for orders an' jobs,
An' sweetenin th' sarvents wi' tips.
Aw sed to th' milk-chap tother day,
"Ha long does ta trust sich fowk, Ike?
Each wick aw'm expected to pay,"
"Fine fowk," he says, "pay when they like."
Things went on like this, day bi day,
For somewhear cloise on for a year,
Wol aw ne'er thowt o' lukkin' that way;
Altho' aw wor livin soa near.
But one neet when awd finished mi wark,
An' wor tooastin mi shins anent th' fire,
A chap rushes in aat 'o'th' dark
Throo heead to fooit plaistered wi' mire.
Says he, "does ta know whear they've gooan?"
Says aw, "Lad, pray, who does ta meean?"
"Them 'at th' hall," he replied, wi a grooan,
"They've bolted an' diddled us cleean."
Aw tell'd him 'aw'd ne'er heeard a word,
He cursed as he put on his hat,
An' he sed, "well, they've flown like a burd,
An' paid nubdy owt, an' that's what."
He left, an' aw crept off to bed,
Next day awd a visit throo Ike,
But aw shut up his maath when aw sed,
"Fine fowk tha knows pay when they like."
Ther's papers ith' winders, "to let,"
An' aw know varry weel ha 't 'll be;
They'll do th' same for th' next tenant awl bet,
Tho they neer' do a hawpoth for me.
But aw let 'em do just as they pleease,
Awm content tho' mi station is low,
An' awm thankful sich hard times as thease
If aw manage to pay what aw owe.
This precept, friends, niver forget,
For a wiser one has not been sed,
Be detamined to rise aat o' debt
Tho' yo go withaat supper to bed,--'
Fault Finders.
If ther's ony sooart o' fowk aw hate, it's them at's allus lukkin' aght for
faults;--hang it up! they get soa used to it, wol they willn't see ony
beauties if they are thear. They remind me ov a chap 'at aw knew at wed a
woman 'at had a wart at th' end ov her nooas, but it war nobbut a little
en, an' shoo wor a varry bonny lass for all that; but when they'd been wed
a bit, an' th' newness had getten warn off, he began to fancy at this wart
grew bigger ivery day, an' he stared at it, an' studied abaght it, wol when
he luk'd at his wife he could see nowt else, an' he kept dinging her up wi'
it wol shoo felt varry mich troubled. But one day, as they wor gettin'
ther dinner, he said, "Nay, lass, aw niver did see sich a thing as that
wart o' thy nooas is growing into; if it gooas on tha'll be like a
rhynockoroo or a newnicorn or summat!"
"Well," shoo says, "when tha wed me tha wed th' wart an' all, an' if tha
doesn't like it tha con lump it."
"Aw've noa need to lump it," he says, "for it's lumpin' itsen or aw'll gie
nowt for it."
Soa they went on, throo little to moor, till they'd a regular fratch, an'
as sooin as' he'd getten his dinner, he off to his wark, an' shoo to her
mother's. When Jim coom back an' fan th' fire aght, an' noa wife, he felt
rayther strange, but he wor detarmined to let her see 'at he could do baat
her, soa he gate a bit o' summat to ait an' went to bed. This went on for
two-o'-three days, an' he wor as miserable as iver he could be, but o'th'
Setterdy he happened to meet her i'th' shambles, an' they booath stopped
an' grinned, for they'd nowt agean one another i'th' bothem.
"Nah, lass," he said, "aw think it's abaat time for thee to come hooam."
"Nay, aw'll come nooan," shoo says, "till aw've getten shut o' this wart."
"Oh, ne'er heed that, lass; it doesn't luk hauf as big as it did, an' if
tha wor all wart, aw'd rayther have thi nor be as aw am."
"Soa shoo went back wi' him, an' throo that time to this he's allus luk'd
for her beauties asteead ov her faults, an they get on swimmingly. One
day shoo axed him if he thowt th' wart wor ony bigger?" "A'a lass," he
sed, "thi een are soa breet, aw didn't know tha had one!"
-----------------
What aw want yo to do is to be charitable, an' if yo find ony faults,
think--yo happen may have one or two yorsen. Ther's net monny on us 'at's
killed wi sense, but he hasn't th' leeast at's enuff to know he's a fooil.
This world wad be a better spot,
Wi' joys moor thickly strown,
If fowk cared less for others' faults
An tried to mend ther own.
There's plenty o' room for us all to mend, an' them 'at set abaat it
sooinest are likely to be perfect furst; at ony rate, if we try it'll show
willin'.
Disapointment.
"Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall
net be disappointed."
Aw once knew a chap they called old Sammy; he used ta gaa wi a
donkey, an th' mooast remarkable things abaat him wor his clogs an'
his rags. Sammy had niver been wed, tho' he war fifty years old, but
it wor allus believed he'd managed ta save a bit a' brass. One day he
war gain up Hepenstull Bunk, Jenny o' Jooans a' th' Long Lover wor
goin up befoor him, an' whether it wor at her clogs were made a' his
favrite pattern, or her ancles had summat abaat 'em different to what
he'd iver seen befoor, aw cannot tell, but it seems a feelin coom
ovver him all at once, sich as he'd niver had befoor, an' when he'd
managed ta overtak her, he sed, "It's loaning for heeat aw think,
Jenny." "Eea, aw think its likely for bein wut," shoo sed. "Awve
just been thinkin," sed Sammy, "at if I wornt na a single old chap,
aw shouldn't have to trail up an' daan in a lot a' rags like thease,
for awm sure this jacket has hardly strength to hing o' mi rig, an'
mi britches are soa full o' hoils wol awm feeared sometimes when awm
puttin em on, at awst tummel throo an braik my neck." "Well, reight
enuff, a woife's varry useful at times," shoo sed, "but as tha hasn't
one if tha'll learn mi thi jacket, aw'll see if it cannot be mended
far thi a bit." "Aw allus thowt tha war a gooid sooart, Jenny, an'
awl tak thi at thi word," he sed: so he pool'd off his coit an gave
it her an' it were arranged 'at he should call for it next neet. You
may bet yor life he didn't forget, an when he saw it mended up, an'
brushed wol it luk'd ommost as gooid as new, he luk'd first at it an
then at her, an at last he sed, "Aw think we should be able to get on
varry weel together, what says ta?" Aw dooant know what shoo sed, but
it wornt long befoor they wor wed, for Sammy thowt shoo'd be worth
her mait if it wor nobbut for mendin up his old duds. They hadn't
been wed long, when he axed her to mend his britches.-- "A'a," shoo
sed, "Aw cannot mend em, aw niver could sew i' mi life!" "Why that
is a tale," he sed, "tha mended mi jacket all reight!" "Nay, indeed
aw nawther!--Aw mended nooon on it! Aw sent it to th' tailor an paid
for it doin." "Then awm dropt on," sed Sammy, "for aw expected tha'd
be able to do all sich like wark." "Tha should niver expect owt an'
then tha willnt get dropt on," shoo sed.--"That, wor a bit o' varry
gooid advice.
Work Away.
BONNY lads, and bonny lasses!
Work away! work away!
Think how swift each moment passes,
Time does never stay.
Then let's up and to our labours,
They who _will_, must sure succeed,
He does best who best endeavours,--
_Try again_ shall be our creed.
New Machinery &c.
It shows varry little sense for fowk to object to a new machine till
they've tried it, or to fancy it'll be th' means o' smashin th' trade.
Luk at th' paaer looms; when they I wor started all th' hand-loom
weyvers struck wark, becoss they said it ud do 'em all up, an' ther'd
be noa wark at all for weyvers in a bit; but it hasn't turn'd aat soa,
for ther's moor weyvers i'th' country to-day, nor iver ther wor; and
they addle moor brass, an' awm sure they've easier wark. For if this
country doesn't get new machines, other countries will, an' when we're
left behund hand an' connot meet 'em i'th' market, we'st be a deeal
war off nor ony new invention can mak us. All at's been done soa far
has helped to mak us better off. They connot mak a machine to think,
they're forced to stop thear; an' aw dooant daat if we'd to live long
enuff, ther'd be a time when chaps ud ha nowt to do but think-but it's
to be hoaped 'at they'd have summat else to think abaat nor rattenin',
or shooitin', or ruinin' fowk. Aw've tawk'd to some abaat it, an' they
say they're foorced to do sum way to keep wages up, but if aw can tell
em ha to mak brass goa farther, they'll be content to give up th'
Union. But aw think it goas far enuff--what they want is to keep it
nearer hooam, to let less on it goa to th' ale haase, to spend less o'
dog feightin', pigeon flyin', an' rat worryin'; an' if they'd niver
spend owt withaat think in' whether it wor for ther gooid or net,
they'd find a deal moor brass i'th' drawer corner at th' month end,
an' varry likely a nice little bit to fall back on i'th' Savings bank
at th' year end. An a chap stands hauf an inch heigher when he's a
bankbook in his pocket; an' butchers and grocers varry sooin begin to
nod at him, an' ax if they can do owt for him. But if he goas on
th'strap, an' happens to be a month behund, he's foorced to stand o'
one side till iverybody else gets sarved, an' then if he doesn't like
what's left they tell him to goa leave it. It isn't what a chap
addles, it's what a chap saves 'at makes him rich.
Sellin' drink has made mony a chap rich, an suppin it has made
thaasands poor. But still aw must honestly say 'at aw cannot agree
wi' teetotalism altogether. If noa men gate drunken, ther'd be noa
need for anybody to sign th' pledge;--an' aw dooant think they goa
th' reight way to get fowk to be sober. They publish papers, but what
use is made on em? Yo hardly iver see a midden emptied but what yo'll
find two or three pieces o'th' "British Workman," or th' "Temperance
Advocate" flyin' abaat; an' they hold meetings an' spend a sight o'
brass o' printin' an' praichin', an' still they doant mak one
teetotaller 'at ov a thaasand. Aw should advise em to try this way.
Let em offer a £500 prize for him 'at can invent a drink as gooid
takin' as ale--an' one, 'at willn't mak fowk drunk. Chaps mun sup
summat when they're away throo hooam, an it is'nt iverybody's stumach
'at's strong enuff to tak watter, unless it's let daan wi summat; an'
ther is noa teetotal drink invented yet 'at's any better nor Spenish-
juice-watter. They're all like pap. Coffee an' tea are all weel enuff,
but if yo want that yo munnot goa to a Temperance Hotel for it. Aw'ye
tried it monny a scoor times, but aw niver gate owt fit to sup, an' if
it hadn't been for th' drop o' rum aw gate 'em to put into it, aw
couldn't ha swallowed it. Tea an' coffee are things 'at dooant mend
wi' warmin up, an' yo connot allus wait woll fowk mak it, an' soa if
yo want to sup yo mun awther goa an' beg a drop o' watter, or pay
fourpence for a glass o' belly vengeance, or yo mun get a glass o'
drink--but yo've noa need to get a dozzen. Teetotallers say it
contains poison, an' noa daat it does--but it's of a varry slow mak,
an' if yo niver goa to excess yo may live to be a varry owd man, an'
dee befoor it begins to operate, Ther wor once a chap killed hissel
wi' aitin traitle parkin, but that's noa reason we shouldn't have a
bit o' brandy-snap at our fair. Aw allus think a teetotal lecturer is
like a bottle o' pop. Ther's a bit ov a crack to 'start wi', an' a
gooid deal o' fooamin, an' frothin', an' fizzin', but when it's all
ovver, an' settled daan, what's left is varry poor stuff. Still aw
think one teetotaller is worth moor nor a ship-load o' drunkards.
September Month.
Blackberries are ripe in September, an' we may consider th' year's
ripe, for when this month gets turned, things 'll begin o' gooin' th'
back way. Its vany wonderful when we look reight at it. This world's
a wonderful spot, an' ther's a deal o' wonderful things in it. Ther's
some things at it's varry wonderful to see, an' ther's some things' at
it's wonderful net to see. Aw thowt it wor varry wonderful, a week or
two sin', when aw pass'd Stanninley Station, 'at ther worn't a chap
wi' a dog under his arm; it's th' furst time aw iver pass'd an' didn't
see one. But aw niver think it's wonderful for ther to be a fooil in
a company; an' aw dooant think its wonderful when aw find 'at th'
biggest fooil has allus th' mooast to say.
Nah, its a varry nice time o'th' year is this for fowk to have a bit
of a pic-nic;--aw dooant know owt 'at's a better excuse for a chap to
tighten his belly-band nor a pic-nic, becoss iverybody taks twice as
mich stuff to ait as they know they'll want, for fear fowk might think
they wor shabby. If yo get a invite to a doo o' that mak', be sure yo
goa, if you've owt of a twist. But talkin' abaat invites maks me
study a bit. When yo get an invitation, allus think it ovver befoor
yo tak' it Ax yorsen one or two questions abaat it. If yo think it's
becoss yo can play th' peanner, or becoss yo can sing--tell 'em
yorterms. If yo think it's becoss some owd uncle is likely to dee an'
leeav yo a lot o' brass, an' they've a dowter or two 'at isn't wed--
tell 'em yor engaged (to a lady). If yo think it's becoss they fancy
yor a shinin' leet--tell 'em yo're gooan aat. I yo think it's becoss
they want to borrow some brass, an' yor daatful whether yo'll iver get
it back agean--tell 'em yo've soa monny calls made on yo, wall yo're
feeard yo connot call o' them at present. But if yo think it's just
becoss they want yo, an' they'll be glad to see yo,' put on yor hat
an' off in a minit.
Aw once knew a chap 'at had getten a invite to a doo, an' he wor
gooin' to tak his wife wi' him; an' he wor tellin' some mates what a
shimmer shoo wor gooin' to cut. "Mun," he says, "sho'll just luk like
one o' them figures i'th' waxworks! Aw've bowt her a goold cheen as
thick as my thum; it's cost ornmost a paand. An' tawk abaat a dress!
why, yo' niver saw sich a dress it's a real Mary Antique! Th' chap 'at
sell'd it me, said it had been made for th' Princess o' Wales, but it
wor soa mich brass wol th' Prince couldn't affoord to pay for't, so he
let me have it cheap; an' it's just like buckram--it'll stand ov an
end." "Why," said one o'th' chaps, "the Princess willn't be suited if
shoo hears tell 'at thy wife's gettin' it." "Noa," he said, "aw dooant
think shoo wod, but awst noan tell her; an' if shoo gets to know, she
mun try an' put up wi' a bit ov a trial nah an' then. Ther's allus
troubles for th' rich as weel as th' poor." Well! all this gooas to
prove what aw said at th' startin'--it's a wonderful world, an'
ther's a deeal o' wonderful things in it;--an', to quote from the poet
(Milton aw think), aw may say--
It's a varry' gooid world that we live in
To lend, or to spend, or to give in;--
But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own,
It's th' varry worst world 'at iver wor known.
Hi, an' its th' best 'at iver wor known yet; an haiver mich fowk may
say agean it, awve allus nooatised at' ther's varry few seem inclined
to part wi' it.
A Hawporth.
Whear is thi' Daddy doy? Whear is thi' mam?
What are ta cryin for, poor little lamb?
Dry up thi peepies, pet, wipe thi wet face;
Tears o' thy little cheeks seem aat 'o place.
What do they call thi, lad? Tell me thi name;
Have they been ooinion thi? Why, its a shame.
Here, tak this hawpny, an' buy thi some spice,
Rocksticks or humbugs or summat 'at's nice.
Then run of hooam agean, fast as tha can;
Thear,--thart all reight agean; run like a man.
He wiped up his tears wi his little white brat,
An' he tried to say summat, aw couldn't tell what;
But his little face breeten'd wi' pleasure all throo:--
A'a!--its cappin, sometimes, what a hawpny can do.
Buttermilk &c.