Tell all t' teales thoo can tell;
For givin' pleeasure to the bairns
Will 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 then
To gan to t' yal-hoose neet be neet
Amang 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 me
Asaade 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 neets
At yam, wi' t' bairns an' thee!"
1. Home.
Ode to t' Mooin
J. H. Eccles (1824-1883)
I like to see thy quaint owd face
Lewk softly daan on me,
E'en though I ne'er could find thy nose
Nor catch thy watchful ee.
Full monny times I've seen thee rise,
When busy day were done,
When daan behint t' owd maantain tops
Had passed t' breet evenin' sun.
I like to see thee when sweet spring
Cooms 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' wife
Did monny years ago.
I like to see thee when t' June rose
Is wet wi' fallin' dew,
When t' nightingale maks t' owd woods ring
Wi' music fresh an' new
When fairies dance on t' top o' t' flaars
An' roam through t' pleasant dells,
Like monarchs i' their marble halls,
I' t' lilies' virgin bells.
I like to see thee when t' ripe corn
Is wavin' to an' fro;
When t' squirril goes a-seekin' nuts
An' jumps thro' bough to bough.
When t' purple heather covers t' hills,
An' t' hunters, tired and worn,
Back through the fairy-haunted glens
Unto their homes return.
I like to see thee when all raand
Is white wi' drivven snow,
When t' streams are stopp'd by owd Jack Frost
An' 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 delight
The noble queen o' t' neet.
I used to think at I could reach
Up 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 understand
At tha art one o' t' wondrous works
Formed by t' gert Maker's hand.
Aunt Nancy
J. H. Eccles
Aunt Nancy's one o' t' savin' sort,
At niver lets t' chonce pass;
Yet wouldn't do owt mean or low
For 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 neet
An' 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 nook
Time flies on noiseless wing;
Shoo sits an' knits wi' pleasant face,
He's happy as a king.
Wi' tattlin' folks shoo's niver seen
I' 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 abroad
To some poor lonely elf;
To ivery one shoo knaws t' reight way
At'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 bands
To 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.
Coom, don on thy Bonnet an' Shawl (1867)
Thomas Blackah
Coom, 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' doot
It'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 doon
On t' crags close at side o' t' becksteead.
An' then, oh! hoo grand it'll be
To pass a few minutes away,
An' listen t' birds sing on each tree
Their carols for closin' the day.
An' all aboot t' green nobby hills,
T' lile daisies their beauties will show;
An' t' perfume at Flora distils
Like 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 stall
To see thee sit dazzin' all t' day.
1 Grow tired. 2. Dozing. 3. Have not.
4. Near Pateley Bridge.
My awd hat
Thomas Blackah
I'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 shoor
Thoo's sheltered my awd heead;
Bud sean a smarter, tider hat
Will 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 com
I 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 heame
O' t' joists, or back o' t' door;
Or, mebbe, thoo'l be bunched(1) aboot
Wi' t' barns across o' t' floor.
When t' rain an' t' wind coom peltin' through
Thy crumpled, battered croon,
I'll cut thee up for soles to wear
I' my awd slender shoon.
1. Kicked
Reeth Bartle Fair(1) (1870)
John Harland
This 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 mutton
Sell'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 chaps
Had 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 never
Forgit '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 think
I 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 said
To 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 on
St. Bartholomew's Day, August 24.
2. Shirt. 3. Sit.
4. "Sex needles" is literally the interval of time during
which 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
The Christmas Party (1876)
Tom Twistleton
When cowd December's sturdy breeze
In 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 they
Would have a Christmas party
At hame some neet
They kicked up sich a fuss an' spreead,
An' made sich preparations;
They baked grand tarts an' mixed their breead
Wi' spices frae all nations.
To drive away baith want an' cowd
It seem'd their inclination;
An' t' neebours round, baith young an' owd,
All gat an invitation
To gang that neet.
Smart sprigs o' spruce an' ivy green
Were 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 expected
To coom this neet.
An' first com Moll wi' girt lang Jack,
A strapping, good-like fella;
An' following closely at their back
Com 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 faces
Was filled that neet.
A merrier lot than this I name
Ne'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' side
They all tak up their station,
An' think within theirsels wi' pride
They'll cause a girt sensation
'Mang t' lads that neet.
An' now the lusty Christmas cheer
Is 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 plenty
To eat that neet.
Against the host o' good things there
They 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 lass
That waits for mich inviting
An' fuss that neet.
An' when this good substantial fare
Has gien 'em satisfaction,
They side(2) all t' chairs, an' stand i' pairs,
Wi' heels i' tune for action.
See-sawing, t' fiddler now begins
The best that he is able;
He rosins t' stick an' screws up t' pins
An' 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 sweetly
An' swift that neet.
T' owd women preach an' talk about
Their 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' door
Wi' 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 gang
To see if t' stars are shining
Out clear that neet.
Then down a field they tak a walk,
An' then they wend their way back;
To have a bit o' pleasant talk
They 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' see
If t' other folks had missed her
Frae t' room that neet.
A chap that had two watchful een,
Of which they waren't thinking,
When peeping round that neet, had seen
Long 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 her
Wi' 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-trough
He 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 gutter
Stick fast some neet.
1. Busily. 2. Clear away. 3. Rising up.
4. Mend and patch. 5. Thumping.
Nelly o' Bob's
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
Bite Bigger
John Hartley
As I hurried through t' taan to my wark,
-I were lat,(1) for all t' buzzers had gooan-
I happen'd to hear a remark
At '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 be
We 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-day
Arn'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' then
Said, "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, still
Tha'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
Rollickin' Jack
John Hartley
I 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 pass
Looks shyly at Rollickin' Jack.
His mother's old an' gray;
His father's deead an' gooan;
He'll niver move away
An' 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 sometimes
Th' old woman wants a nurse;
An' as for weddin' Jack,
Why, there's monny a lass done worse.
Of coorse it's not for me
To 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.
Jim's Letter
James Burnley (Born 1842)
Whats this? A letter thro'(1) Jim?
God bless him! What has he to say?
Here, Lizzie, my een's gettin' dim,
Just read it, lass, reight straight away.
Tha trem'les, Liz. What is there up?
Abaat thy awn cousin tha surely can read;
His ways varry oft has made bitter my cup,
But theer--I forgive him--read on, niver heed
That's it--"as it leaves me at present "--
His father's expression to nowt!
Go on, lass, t' beginnin's so pleasant
It couldn't be mended wi' owt.
What's that? He has "sent a surprise"?
What is 't, lass? Go on! a new gaan, I'll be bun',
Or happen a nugget o' famous girt size;
Whativer it is it's t' best thing under t' sun.
Ay, lad, I dare say, "life is rough,"
For t' best on 't is nut varry smooth;
I' England it's hilly enough,
Niver name wi' them diggers uncouth.
But theer, Liz, be sharp an' let's have his surprise.
I'm capt(2) wheer tha's gotten that stammerin' cough,
Tha reads a deal better nor that when tha tries.
Good gracious! What's t' matter? Shoo's fainted reight off!
Hey! Lizzie, tha flays(3) me; coom here,
An' sit wheer tha'll get some fresh air:
Tha'rt lookin' so bad at I fear
Tha's much war(4) nor I were aware.
That's reight, lass, get tul it once more,
Just read reight to t' end on 't, an' then
We'll just tak a walk for a bit aat o' t' door,
Whol tha feels rayther more like thisen.
What! Bless us! Aar Jim gotten wed!
It is a surprise, on my word.
Who is she? That's all at he's said?
I wish then I niver had heard.
At one time I thowt happen thee he'd admire,
An' that's haa we all sud have liked it to be.
Bud, sithee! What's that, Liz, at's burnin' on t' fire?
It's t' ribbin Jim bowt thee! Ay, ay, lass, I see.
1. From. 2. Puzzled. 3. Frightenest. 4. Worse.
A Yorkshire Farmer's Address to a Schoolmaster
George Lancaster (Born 1846)
Good day to you, Misther skealmaisther,
the evenin' is desperate fine,
I thowt I wad gie ye a call aboot
that young sonnie o' mine.
I couldn't persuade him to come,
sea I left him behont(1) me at yam,(2)
Bud somehoo it's waintly(3) possess'd me
to mak a skealmaisther o' Sam.
He's a kind of a slack-back, ye knaw,
I niver could get him to work,
He scarcelins wad addle(4) his saut
wiv a ploo, or a shovel, or fork.
I've tried him agean an' agean,
bud I finnd that he's nea use at yam,
Sea me an' my missus agreed
to mak a skealmaisther o' Sam.
If I sends him to wark, why, he'll chunther(5)
an' gie me the a awfullest leaks,
He'd a deal rayther lig upo' d' sofy
wi' novels an' them soort o' beaks.
Sea I thowt a skealmaisther wad suit him,
a lowse soort o' job, do ye see,
Just to keep a few bairns oot o' mischief,
as easy as easy can be.
Of coorse you've to larn 'em to coont,
an' to figure a bit, an' to read,
An' to sharpen 'em up if they're numskulls,
wiv a lalldabber(6) ower their heead,
Bud it's as easy as easy, ye knaw,
an' I think it wad just suit oor Sam,
An' my missus, she's just o' my mind,
for she says that he's nea use at yam.
It was nobbut this mornin' I sent him
to gan an' to harrow some land,
He was boamin'(7) asleep upo' d' fauf,(8)
wiva rubbishly beak iv his hand;
I gav him a bunch(9) wi' my feat,
an' rattled him yarmin'(10) off yam.
Sea I think that I'll send him to you,
you mun mak a skealmaisther o' Sam.
He's a stiff an' a runty(1) young fellow,
I think that' he'll grow up a whopper,
He'd wallop the best lad you've got,
an' I think he wad wallop him proper;
Bud still he's a slack-back, ye knaw,
an' seein' he's nea use at yam,
I think I shall send him to you,
you mun mak a skealmaisther o' Sam.
1. Behind. 2. Home. 3 Strangely. 4.Earn.
5. Grumble. 6. Cuff. 7. Trailing along.
8. Fallow. 9. Kick. 10. Whining.
The Window on the Cliff Top (1888)
W. H. Oxley
"What! Margery, still at your window
In this blinding storm and sleet!
Why, you can't see your hand before you,
And I scarce could keep my feet.
"Why, even the coast-guards tell me
That they cannot see the sand;
And we know, thank God, that the cobles
And yawls have got to land.
"There's five are safe at Scarbro',
And one has reach'd the Tyne,
And two are in the Humber,
And one at Quay,(2) makes nine."
"Aye, aye, I'd needs be watchful,
There's niver a soul can tell,
An' happen 'twixt yan o' t' snaw-blints(3)
Yan mud catch a glimpse o' t' bell.
"I reckon nowt o' t' coast-guards!
What's folks like them to say?
There's neer a yan amang 'em
Knaws owt aboot oor bay.
"I's niver leave my winder
Whiles there's folks as has to droon;
An' it wadna be the first time
As I've help'd ta wakken t' toon.
"I isn't good for mich noo,
For my fourscore years is past;
But I's niver quit my winder,
As long as life sal last.
"'Twas us as seed them Frenchmen
As wreck'd on Speeton sands;
'Twas me as seed that schooner
As founder'd wi' all hands.
"'Twas me first spied oor cobles
Reight ower t' end o' t' Brig,
That time when all was droonded;
I tell'd 'em by there rig.(4)
"Aye, man, I's neen sae drowsy,
Don't talk o' bed to me;
I's niver quit my winder,
Whiles there's a moon to see.
"Don't talk to me o' coast-guards!
What's them to sike as me?
They hasn't got no husbands,
No childer, lost i' t' sea.
"It's nobbut them at's felt it,
As sees as I can see;
It's them as is deead already
Knaws what it is to dee.
"Ye'd niver understan' me;
God knaws, as dwells above,
There's hearts doon here, lives, broken,
What's niver lost their love.
"But better noo ye'd leave me,
I's mebbe not misen;
We fisher-folks has troubles
No quality can ken."
1. Thick-set. 2. Bridlington.
3. Snow-storms. 4. Dress.
Aar Maggie
Edmund Hatton
I believe aar Maggie's coortin',
For shoo dresses hersen so smart,
An' shoo's allus runnin' to t' window
When there's ony o' t' chaps abaat:
Shoo willent wear her owd shawl,
Bud dons a bonnet atstead,(1)
An' laps her can in her gaan
As shoo goes to t' weyvin' ,shed.