Yorkshire Dialect Poems Part 7

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 more Hardly could fes.h.i.+on 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' m.u.t.h.e.r 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, Wis.h.i.+n' 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, Suns.h.i.+ne 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.

Owd Moxy

Ben Preston

Owd 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 heead An' 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' hards.h.i.+ps, 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' grey Hes 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' door A 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.

Dean't mak gam o' me (1875)

Florence Tweddell

I 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 n.o.bbut 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, la.s.s, 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 stead Quite 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, d.i.c.k?" 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 n.o.bbut a poor country lad At'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 the Sat.u.r.day before Palm Sunday

Coom, stop at yam to-neet Bob

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' d.i.c.k beath want thee To stop an' tell a teale: Tak little Keatie o' thy knee, An' d.i.c.k 'll sit on t' steal.

"Let's have a happy neet, Bob, 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.