Part 9

Soa Peter gate a time-table-- They gloored o'er th' map together: Drew did all at he wor able, But could'nt find a stiver. At last says he, "Thear's Leeds Taan Hall, An thear stands Braforth mission: It's just between them two--that's all: Your map's an old edition.

But thear it is, aw'll lay a craan, An' if yo've niver known it, Yo've miss'd a bonny Yorksher taan, Tho mony be 'at scorn it." He oppen'd th' gate,--says he, "It's time Some body coom--aw'll trust thee. Tha'll find inside noa friends o' thine-- Tha'rt th' furst 'at's come throo Pudsey."

Poor Old Hat.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! like misen tha's grown An fowk call us old fashioned an odd; But monny's the storm we have met sin that day, When aw bowt thee all shiny an snod. As aw walked along th' street wi thee peearkt o' mi broo, Fowk's manners wor cappin to see; An aw thowt it wor me they bade 'ha do yo do,' But aw know nah they nodded at thee.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! aw mun cast thee aside, For awr friendship has lasted too long; Tho' tha still art mi comfort, an once wor mi pride, Tha'rt despised i' this world's giddy throng. Dooant think me ungrateful, or call me unkind, If another aw put i thi place; For aw think tha'll admit if tha'll oppen thi mind, Tha can bring me nowt moor but disgrace.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! varry sooin it may be, Aw'st be scorned an cast off like thisen; An be shoved aght o'th gate wi less kindness nor thee An have nubdy to care for me then. But one thing aw'll contrive as tha's sarved me soa weel, An tha gave thi best days to mi use; Noa war degradation aw'll cause thee to feel, For aw'll screen thi throo scorn an abuse.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! if thart thrown aght o' door, Tha may happen be punced abaat th' street, For like moor things i'th world, if thart shabby an poor, It wor best tha should keep aght o'th seet. Wine mellows wi age, an old pots fotch big brass, An fowk rave ov antique this an that, An they worship grey stooans, an old booans, but alas! Ther's nubdy respects an old hat.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! awm reight fast what to do, To burn thi aw havnt the heart, If aw stow thi away tha'll be moth etten throo, An thart seedy enuff as tha art. Tha's long been a comfort when worn o' mi heead, Soa dooant freeat, for to pairt we're net gooin, For aw'll mak on thi soils for mi poor feet asteead, An aw'll wear thi once moor i' mi shooin.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! ne'er repine at thi lot, If thart useful what moor can ta be? Better wear cleean away nor be idle an rot, An remember thart useful to me. Though its hard to give up what wor once dearly prized, Tha but does what all earthly things must, For though we live honored, or perish despised,-- We're at last but a handful o' dust.

Done Agean.

Aw've a rare lump o' beef on a dish, We've some bacon 'at's hung up o' th' thack, We've as mich gooid spice-cake as we wish, An wi' currens its varry near black; We've a barrel o' gooid hooam brewed drink, We've a pack o' flaar reared agean th' clock, We've a load o' puttates under th' sink, So we're pretty weel off as to jock. Aw'm soa fain aw can't tell whear to bide, But the cause aw dar hardly let aat; It suits me moor nor all else beside: Aw've a paand at th' wife knows nowt abaat.

Aw can nah have a spree to misel; Aw can treat mi old mates wi' a glass; An' aw sha'nt ha' to come home an tell My old lass, ha' aw've shut all mi brass. Some fowk say, when a chap's getten wed, He should nivver keep owt thro' his wife; If he does awve oft heeard 'at it's sed, 'At it's sure to breed trouble an strife; If it does aw'm net baan to throw up, Though awd mich rayther get on withaat; But who wodn't risk a blow up, For a paand 'at th' wife knows nowt abaat.

Aw hid it i' th' coil hoil last neet, For fear it dropt aat o' mi fob, Coss aw knew, if shoo happened to see 't, 'At mi frolic wod prove a done job. But aw'll gladden mi e'en wi' its face, To mak sure at its safe in its nick;-- But aw'm blest if ther's owt left i' th' place! Why, its hook'd it as sure as aw'm wick. Whear its gooan to's a puzzle to me, An' who's taen it aw connot mak aat, For it connot be th' wife, coss you see It's a paand 'at shoo knew nowt abaat.

But thear shoo is, peepin' off th' side, An' aw see 'at shoo's all on a grin; To chait her aw've monny a time tried, But I think it's nah time to give in, A chap may be deep as a well, But a woman's his maister when done; He may chuckle and flatter hissel, But he'll wakken to find at shoo's won. It's a rayther unpleasant affair, Yet it's better it's happened noa daat; Aw'st be fain to come in for a share O' that paand at th' wife knows all abaat.

What it is to be a Mother.

A'a, dear! what a life has a mother! At leeast, if they're hamper'd like me, Thro' mornin' to neet ther's some bother, An' ther will be, aw guess, wol aw dee.

Ther's mi chap, an misen, an' six childer, Six o'th' roughest, aw think, under th' sun, Aw'm sartin sometimes they'd bewilder Old Joab, wol his patience wor done.

They're i' mischief i' ivery corner, An' ther tongues they seem niver at rest; Ther's one shaatin' "Little Jack Horner," An' another "The realms o' the blest."

Aw'm sure if a body's to watch 'em, They mun have een at th' back o' ther yed; For quiet yo niver can catch 'em Unless they're asleep an' i' bed.

For ther's somdy comes runnin to tell us 'At one on em's takken wi' fits; Or ther's two on 'em feightin for th' bellus, An' rivin' ther clooas all i' bits.

In a mornin' they're all weshed an' tidy'd, But bi nooin they're as black as mi shoe; To keep a lot cleean, if yo've tried it, Yo know 'at ther's summat to do.

When my felly comes hooam to his drinkin', Aw try to be gradely, an' straight; For when all's nice an' cleean, to mi thinkin', He enjoys better what ther's to ait.

If aw tell him aw'm varry near finished Wi allus been kept in a fuss, He says, as he looks up astonished, "Why, aw niver see owt 'at tha does."

But aw wonder who does all ther mendin', Weshes th' clooas, an cleans th' winders an' flags? But for me they'd have noa spot to stand in-- They'd be lost i' ther filth an' ther rags.

But it allus wor soa, an' it will be, A chap thinks' at a woman does nowt; But it ne'er bothers me what they tell me, For men havn't a morsel o' thowt.

But just harken to me wol aw'm tellin' Ha aw tew to keep ivery thing straight; An' aw'l have yo for th' judge if yor willin', For aw want nowt but what aw think's reight.

Ov a Monday aw start o' my weshin', An' if th' day's fine aw get um all dried; Ov a Tuesday aw fettle mi kitchen, An' mangle, an' iron beside.

Ov a Wednesday, then aw've mi bakin'; Ov a Thursday aw reckon to brew; Ov a Friday all th' carpets want shakin', An' aw've th' bedrooms to clean an' dust throo.

Then o'th' Setterday, after mi markets, Stitch on buttons, an' th' stockins' to mend, Then aw've all th' Sundy clooas to luk ovver, An' that brings a week's wark to its end.

Then o'th' Sundy ther's cooking 'em th' dinner, It's ther only warm meal in a wick; Tho' ther's some say aw must be a sinner, For it's paving mi way to Old Nick.

But a chap mun be like to ha' summat, An' aw can't think it's varry far wrang, Just to cook him an' th' childer a dinner, Tho' it may mak me rayther too thrang.

But if yor a wife an' a mother, Yo've yor wark an' yor duties to mind; Yo mun leearn to tak nowt as a bother, An' to yor own comforts be blind.

But still, just to seer all ther places, When they're gethred raand th' harston at neet, Fill'd wi six roosy-red, smilin' faces; It's nooan a despisable seet.

An, aw connot help thinkin' an' sayin', (Tho' yo may wonder what aw can mean), 'At if single, aw sooin should be playin' Coortin tricks, an' be weddin' agean.

What they say.

They say 'at its a waste o' brass--a nasty habit too,-- A thing 'at noa reight-minded chap wod ivver think to do; Maybe they're reight; They say it puts one's brains to sleep, an maks a felly daft,-- Aw've hearken'd to ther doctrins, then aw've lit mi pipe an laft, At ther consait.

At morn when startin for mi wark, a bit o' bacca's sweet, An aw raillee should'nt like to be withaat mi pipe at neet, It comforts me. An if awm worritted an vext, wi' bothers durin th' day, Aw tak a wiff, an in a claad, aw puff 'em all away, An off they flee.

They tell me its a poison, an its bad effects they show; Aw nivver contradict 'em but aw think its varry slow, An bad to tell; They say it leeads to drinkin, an drink leeads to summat war; But aw know some at nivver smook 'at's getten wrang as far As me misel.

They say its an example 'at we did'nt owt to set,-- For owt 'at's nowt young fowk sooin leearn, but dooant soa sooin forget, That's varry true. But aw shall be contented, if when comes mi time to dee, To smook a pipe o' bacca is th' warst thing they've lent throo me: Aw'st manage throo,

They say it maks one lazy, an time slips by unawares,-- It may be soa, an if it is, that's noa consarn o' theirs; Aw work mi share. If it prevents fowk meddlin wi' th' affairs ov other men, 'Twod happen be as weel, aw think, if they'd to smook thersen;-- They've time to spare.

But what they say ne'er matters, for aw act upon a plan, If th' world affooards a pleasure awll enjoy it if aw can, At morn or neet; They may praich agean mi bacca, an may looad it wi' abuse, But aw think its a gooid crayter if its put to a gooid use. Pass me a leet.

Young Jockey.

Young Jockey he bowt him a pair o' new shooin, Ooin, ooin, ry diddle dooin! Young Jockey he bowt him a pair o' new shooin, For he'd made up his mind he'd be wed varry sooin; An he went to ax Jenny his wife for to be, But shoo sed, "Nay, aw'll ne'er wed a hawbuck like thee, Thi legs luk too lanky, Thi heead is too cranky, Its better bi th' hawf an old maid aw should dee!"

Young Jockey then went an he bowt him a gun, Un, un, ry diddle dun! Young Jockey then went an he bowt him a gun, For his ivvery hooap i' this wide world wor done; An he went an tell'd Jenny, to end all his pains, He'd made up his mind 'at he'd blow aght his brains, But shoo cared net a pin, An shoo sed wi' a grin,-- "Befoor they're blown aght tha man get some put in."

Missed his Mark.

Aw like fowrk to succeed i' life if they've an honest aim, An even if they chonce to trip awm varry loath to blame; Its sich a simple thing sometimes maks failure or success, Th' prize oft slips by strugglin men to them 'at's striven less. Aw envy nubdy Fortun's smiles, aw lang for 'em misen,-- But them at win her favors should dispense 'em nah an then. An them 'at's blest wi' sunshine let 'em think o' those i'th' dark, An nivver grudge a helpin hand to him 'at's missed his mark.

We connot allus hit it,--an ther's monny a toilin brain, Has struggled for a lifetime, but its efforts proved in vain; An monny a hardy son ov toil has worn his life away, An all his efforts proved in vain to keep poverty at bay; Wol others, bi a lucky stroke, have carved ther way to fame, An ivvery thing they've tackled on has proved a winnin' game; Let those who've met wi' fav'rin winds to waft-life's little bark, Just spare a thowt, an gie a lift, to him 'at's missed his mark.

Aw hate to hear a purse-praad chap keep booastin of his gains,-- Sneerin at humble workin fowk who're richer far i' brains! Aw hate all meean hard graspin slaves, who mak ther gold ther god,-- For if they could grab all ther is, awm pratty sewer they wod. Aw hate fowk sanctimonious, whose humility is pride, Who, when they see a chap distressed, pass by on tother side! Aw hate those drones 'at share earth's hive, but shirk ther share o' wark, Yet curl ther nooas at some poor soul, who's toiled, yet missed his mark.

Give me that man whose heart can feel for others griefs an woes;-- Who loves his friends an nivver bears a grudge ageean his foes; Tho' kindly words an cheerin smiles are all he can bestow,-- If he gives that wi' willin heart, he does some gooid below. An when th' time comes, as come it will, when th' race is at an end, He'll dee noa poorer for what gooid he's ivver done a friend. An when they gently put him by,--unconscious, stiff an stark, His epetaph shall be, 'Here's one 'at didn't miss his mark.'

When Lost.

If at hooam yo have to tew, Though yor comforts may be few, An yo think yore lot is hard, and yor prospects bad; Yo may swear ther's nowt gooas reight, Wi' yor friends an wi' yor meyt, But yo'll nivver know ther vally till j'o've lost em, lad.

Though yo've but a humble cot, An yore share's a seedy lot; Though yo goa to bed i'th dumps, an get up i'th mornin mad, Yet yo'll find its mich moor wise, What yo have to fondly prize, For yo'll nivver know ther vally till yo've lost em, lad.

Mak a Gooid Start.

Let's mak a gooid start, nivver fear What grum'lers an growlers may say; That nivver need cause yo a tear, For whear ther's a will ther's a way. If yo've plenty to ait an to drink, Nivver heed, though yor wark may be rough; If yo'll nobbut keep hooapful, aw think, Yo'll find th' way to mend plain enuff.

If yor temper gets saar'd an cross, An yor mind is disturbed an perplext; Or if troubled wi' sickness an loss, An yor poverty maks yo feel vext;-- Nivver heed! for its fooilish to freeat Abaat things at yo connot prevent; An i'th futer ther may be a treeat, 'At'll pay for all th' sad days you've spent,

I' this new life beginnin,--who knows What for each on us may be i' stoor? For th' river o' Time as it flows, Weshes th' threshold o' ivvery man's door. At some it leeavs little, may be, An at others deposits a prize; But if yo be watchful yo'll see Ther's a trifle for each one 'at tries.

Ther's a time booath to wish an decide;-- For a chap at ne'er langs nivver tews;-- If yo snuff aght ambition an pride, Yo sink a chap's heart in his shoes, Wish for summat 'at's honest an reight, An detarmine yo'll win it or dee! Yo'll find obstacles slink aght o'th gate, An th' black claads o' daat quickly flee.

Young men should seek labor an gains, Old men wish for rest an repose;-- Young lasses want brave, lovin swains, An hanker for th' finest o' clooas. Old wimmin,--a cosy foirside, An a drop o' gooid rum i' ther teah; Little childer, a horse they can ride, Or a dolly to nurse o' ther knee.

One thing a chap cant do withaat, Is a woman to share his estate; An mooast wimmen, ther isn't a daat, Think life a dull thing baght a mate. Ther's a sayin booath ancient an wise, An its one at should be acted upon;-- Yo'll do weel, to accept its advice,-- To, "Begin as yo meean to goa on."

Stop at Hooam.

"Tha wodn't goa an leave me, Jim, All lonely by mysel? My een at th' varry thowts grow dim-- Aw connot say farewell.

Tha vow'd tha couldn't live unless Tha saw me every day, An' said tha knew noa happiness When aw wor foorced away.

An th' tales tha towld, I know full weel, Wor true as gospel then; What is it, lad, 'at ma's thee feel Soa strange--unlike thisen?

Ther's raam enuff, aw think tha'll find, I'th taan whear tha wor born, To mak a livin, if tha'll mind To ha' faith i' to-morn.

Aw've mony a time goan to mi wark Throo claads o' rain and sleet; All's seem'd soa dull, soa drear, an' dark, It ommust mud be neet.

But then, when braikfast time's come raand, Aw've seen th' sun's cheerin ray, An' th' heavy lukkin claads have slunk Like skulkin lads away.

An' then bi nooin it's shooan soa breet Aw've sowt some shade to rest, An' as aw've paddled hooam at neet, Glorious it's sunk i'th west.

An' tho' a claad hangs ovver thee, (An' trouble's hard to bide), Have patience, lad, an' wait an' see What's hid o'th' tother side.

If aw wor free to please mi mind, Aw'st niver mak this stur; But aw've a mother ommust blind, What mud become o' her?

Tha knows shoo cared for me, when waik An' helpless ivery limb, Aw'm feeard her poor owd heart ud braik If aw'd to leave her, Jim.

Aw like to hear thee talk o' th' trees 'At tower up to th' sky, An' th' burds 'at flutterin i'th' breeze, Lie glitterin' jewels fly.

Woll th' music of a shepherd's reed May gently float along, Lendin its tender notes to lead Some fair maid's simple song;

An' flaars 'at grow o' ivery side, Such as we niver see; But here at hooam, at ivery stride, There's flaars for thee an' me.

Aw care net for ther suns soa breet, Nor warblin melody; Th' clink o' thi clogs o' th' flags at neet Saands sweeter, lad, to me.

An' tho' aw wear a gingham gaan, A claat is noa disgrace; Tha'll niver find a heart moor warm Beat under silk or lace.

Then settle daan, tak my advice, Give up this wish to rooam! An' if tha luks, tha'll find lots nice Worth stoppin' for at hooam."

"God bless thee, Jenny! dry that e'e, An' gi'e us howd thi hand! For words like thoase, throo sich as thee, What mortal could withstand!

It isn't mich o'th' world aw know, But aw con truly say, A faithful heart's too rich to throw Withaat a thowt away.

So here aw'll stay, and should fate fraan, Aw'll tew for thine and thee, An' seek for comfort when cast daan, I'th' sunleet o' thi e'e."

Advice to Jenny.

Jenny, Jenny, dry thi ee, An' dunnot luk soa sad; It grieves me varry mich to see Tha freeats abaat yon lad; For weel tha knows, withaat a daat, Whearivver he may be, Tho fond o' rammellin' abaat, He's allus true to thee.

Tha'll learn mooar sense, lass, in a while, For wisdom comes wi' time, An' if tha lives tha'll leearn to smile At troubles sich as thine; A faithful chap is better far, Altho' he likes to rooam, Nor one 'at does what isn't reight, An' sits o'th' hearth at hooam.

Tha needn't think 'at wedded life Noa disappointment brings; Tha munnot think to keep a chap Teed to thi appron strings. Soa dry thi een, they're varry wet, An' let thi heart be glad, For tho' tha's wed a rooamer, yet, Tha's wed a honest lad.

Ther's mony a lady, rich an' great, 'At's sarvents at her call, Wod freely change her grand estate For thine tha thinks soa small: For riches cannot buy content, Soa tho' thi joys be few, Tha's one ther's nowt con stand anent,-- A heart 'at's kind an' true.

Soa when he comes luk breet an' gay, An' meet him wi' a kiss, Tha'll find him mooar inclined to stay Wi treatment sich as this; But if thi een luk red like that, He'll see all's wrang at once, He'll leet his pipe, an' don his hat, An' bolt if he's a chonce.

Jockey an Dolly.

Th' sun shone breet at early morn, Burds sang sweetly on the trees; Larks wor springin from the corn, Tender blossoms sowt the breeze. Jockey whistled as he went O'er rich meadows wet wi' dew; In his breast wor sweet content, For his wants an cares were few. Dolly passed him on his way, Fresh an sweet an fair wor she; Jockey lost his heart that day, To the maid ov Salterlee. Jockey an Dolly Had allus been jolly, Till Love shot his arrow an wounded the twain; Their days then pass sadly, Yet man an maid madly, In spite ov the torture, they nursed the sweet pain.

Since that day did jockey pine, Dolly shyly kept apart; Still shoo milk'd her willin kine, Tho' shoo nursed a braikin heart, But one neet they met i'th' fold, When a silv'ry mooin did shine; Jockey then his true love told, An he axt, "will't thou be mine?" Tears ov joy filled Dolly's een, As shoo answered modestly; Dolly nah is Jockey's queen, Th' bonniest wife i' Salterlee. Jockey an Dolly, Are livin an jolly, May blessins for ivver attend i' ther train; Ther days they pass gladly, Noa moor they feel sadly, For two hearts are for ivver bound fast i' Love's chain.

Dooant Forget the Old Fowks.

Dooant forget the old fowks,-- They've done a lot for thee; Remember tha'd a mother once, Who nursed thi on her knee. A father too, who tew'd all day To mak thi what tha art, An dooant forget tha owes a debt, An strive to pay a part.

Just think ha helpless once tha wor,-- A tiny little tot; But tha wor given th' cosiest nook I' all that little cot. Thy ivvery want wor tended to, An soothed thy ivvery pain, They didn't spare love, toil or care, An they'd do it o'er ageean. An all they crave for what they gave, Is just a kindly word;-- A fond "God bless yo parents," Wod be th' sweetest saand they've heard.

Then dooant forget the old fowks, &c.

Tha's entered into business nah,-- Tha'rt dooin pratty weel; Tha's won an tha desarves success,-- Aw know tha'rt true as steel. Tha'rt growin rich, an lives i' style, Tha's sarvents at thi call; But dooant forget thi mother, lad, To her tha owes it all. Thi father totters in his walk, His hair is growin grey; He cannot work as once he did, He's ommost had his day. But th' heart 'at loved thi when a child, Is still as warm an true; His pride is in his lad's success,-- He hopes tha loves him too. But what they long for mooast ov all, Is just that kindly word, "God bless yo, my dear parents!" Wod be th' sweetest saand they've heard.

Then dooant forget the old fowks, &c,

Soa Bonny.

Aw've travell'd o'er land, an aw've travell'd o'er sea, An aw've seen th' grandest lasses 'at ivver can be; But aw've nivver met one 'at could mak mi heart glad, Like her,--for oh! shoo wor bonny mi lad.

Shoo wornt too gooid, for her temper wor hot, An when her tongue started, shoo wag'd it a lot; An it worn't all pleasant, an some on it bad, But oh! shoo wor bonny!--soa bonny mi lad.

Consaited and cocky, an full o' what's nowt, An shoo'd say nasty things withaat ivver a thowt; An shood try ivvery way, just to mak me get mad;--- For shoo knew shoo wor bonny,--soa bonny mi lad.

Fowk called me a fooil to keep hingin araand, But whear shoo'd once stept aw could worship the graand; For th' seet ov her face cheer'd mi heart when 'twor sad, For shoo wor soa bonny,--soa bonny mi lad.

But shoo wor like th' rest,--false,--false in her heart; Shoo made me to love her,--an Cupid's sharp dart Wor nobbut her fun,--wi' decait it wor clad;-- But then, shoo wor bonny;--soa bonny mi lad.

Shoo sooin wed another,--noa better nor me, An aw hooap shoo'll be happy, though my life is dree; An aw'll try to submit, though shoo treated me bad, But oh! mi poor heart is nigh brokken mi lad.

Ther may come a time when her passion has cooiled, Shoo may think ov a chap shoo unfeelingly fooiled; Shoo may seek me agean;--if shoo does,--well, by gad! Aw'll welcome her back. Shoo's soa bonny mi lad.

The Linnet.

Little linnet,--stop a minnit,-- Let me have a tawk with thee: Tell me what this life has in it, Maks thee seem so full o' glee? Why is pleasure i' full measure, Thine throo rooasy morn to neet, Has ta fun some wondrous treasure, Maks thi be for ivver breet?