Chapter 8

An if aw've spokken nowty words At's made thee cry an freeat; Aw've allus suffered twice as mich, An beg'd thi to forget. Tha'rt th' only woman maks me mad, Then soothes me wi' a smile, Then maks mi fancy aw'm a king, An snubs me all the while,

Nay,--nay,--old lass! it isn't fun Nor frolics that allure,-- Aw'm strivin for thisen an bairns, To mak yor futur sure. It's duty at aw think aw owe To them young things an thee, The thowts o' which may cheer mi heart, When aw lay daan to dee.

To th' Swallow.

Bonny burd! aw'm fain to see thee, For tha tells ov breeter weather; But aw connot quite forgie thee,-- Connot love thee altogether.

'Tisn't thee aw fondly welcome-- 'Tis the cheerin news tha brings, Tellin us fine weather will come, When we see thi dappled wings.

But aw'd rayther have a sparrow,-- Rayther hear a robin twitter;-- Tho' they may net be thi marrow, May net fly wi' sich a glitter;

But they nivver leeav us, nivver-- Storms may come, but still they stay; But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shivver, Up tha mounts an flies away.

Ther's too monny like thee, swallow, 'At when fortun's sun shines breet, Like a silly buzzard follow, Doncin raand a bit o' leet.

But ther's few like Robin redbreast, Cling throo days o' gloom an care; Soa aw love mi old tried friends best-- Fickle hearts aw'll freely spare.

A Wife.

Wod yo leead a happy life? Aw can show yo ha,-- Get a true an lovin wife,-- (Yo may have one nah.) If yo have, remember this, Be a true man to her, An whativver gooas amiss, Keep noa secrets throo her.

Some chaps think a wife's a toy, Just for ther caressin; But sichlike can ne'er enjoy, This world's richest blessin. Some ther are who think 'em slaves, Fit for nowt but drudgin, An if owt ther fancy craves, Give it to 'em grudgin.

Dooant forget yor patient wife, Like yorsen is human, For yo owe yor precious life, To another woman. Mak her equal wi' yorsen, (Ten to one shoo's better,) Tell her all yor plans, an then If shoo'll help yo, let her.

Oft yo'll find her ready wit, An her keen perception, Help yo're slower brains a bit Wi' some new conception. Dooant expect 'at wives should be Like dumb breedin cattle, Spendin life contentedly Wi' ther babby's prattle.

If yo happen to be sick, Then they nurse an tend yo, An when trubbles gether thick, They can best befriend yo. An if sympathy yo need, Thear yo'll sure receive it, Yo accept it, but indeed, Yo but seldom give it.

If life's journey yo'd have breet, Mak yor wife yor treasure, Trustin her booath day an neet, Sharin grief an pleasure. Then yo'll find her smilin face, Ivver thear to cheer yo, An yo'll run a nobler race, Knowin 'at shoo's near yo.

Heart Brokken.

He wor a poor hard workin lad, An shoo a workin lass, An hard they tew'd throo day to day, For varry little brass. An oft they tawk'd o'th' weddin day, An lang'd for th' happy time, When poverty noa moor should part, Two lovers i' ther prime.

But wark wor scarce, an wages low, An mait an drink wor dear, They did ther best to struggle on, As year crept after year. But they wor little better off, Nor what they'd been befoor; It tuk 'em all ther time to keep Grim Want aghtside o'th' door.

Soa things went on, wol Hope at last, Gave place to dark despair; They felt they'd nowt but lovin hearts, An want an toil to share. At length he screw'd his courage up To leeav his native shore; An goa where wealth wor worshipped less, An men wor valued moor.

He towld his tale;--poor lass!--a tear Just glistened in her e'e; Then soft shoo whispered, "please thisen, But think sometimes o' me: An whether tha's gooid luck or ill, Tha knows aw shall be glad To see thee safe at hooam agean, An welcome back mi lad."

"Awl labor on, an do mi best; Tho' lonely aw must feel, But awst be happy an content If tha be dooin weel. But ne'er forget tho' waves may roll, An keep us far apart; Tha's left a poor, poor lass behind, An taen away her heart."

"Dost think 'at aw can e'er forget, Whearivver aw may rooam, That bonny face an lovin heart, Aw've prized soa dear at hooam? Nay lass, nooan soa, be sure o' this, 'At till next time we meet Tha'll be mi first thowt ivvery morn, An last thowt ivvery neet."

He went away an years flew by, But tidins seldom came; Shoo couldn't help, at times, a sigh, But breathed noa word o' blame; When one fine day a letter came, 'Twor browt to her at th' mill, Shoo read it, an her tremblin hands, An beating heart stood still.

Her fellow workers gathered raand An caught her as shoo fell, An as her heead droop'd o' ther arms, Shoo sighed a sad "farewell." Poor lass! her love had proved untrue, He'd play'd a traitor's part, He'd taen another for his bride, An broke a trustin heart.

Her doleful stooary sooin wor known, An monny a tear wor shed; They took her hooam an had her laid, Upon her humble bed; Shoo'd nawther kith nor kin to come Her burial fees to pay; But some poor comrade's undertuk, To see her put away.

Each gave what little helps they could, From aght ther scanty stooar; I' hooaps 'at some 'at roll'd i' wealth Wod give a trifle moor. But th' maisters ordered 'em away, Abaat ther business, sharp! For shoo'd deed withaat a nooatice, An shoo hadn't fell'd her warp.

Lines, on finding a butterfly in a weaving shed.

Nay surelee tha's made a mistak; Tha'rt aght o' thi element here; Tha may weel goa an peark up o'th' thack, Thi bonny wings shakin wi' fear.

Aw should think 'at theease rattlin looms Saand queer sooart o' music to thee; An tha'll hardly quite relish th' perfumes O' miln-greease,--what th' quality be.

Maybe tha'rt disgusted wi' us, An thinks we're a low offald set, But tha'rt sadly mistaen if tha does, For ther's hooap an ther's pride in us yet.

Tha wor nobbut a worm once thisen, An as humble as humble could be; An tho we nah are like tha wor then, We may yet be as nobby as thee.

Tha'd to see thi own livin when young, An when tha grew up tha'd to spin; An if labor like that wornt wrong, Tha con hardly call wayvin 'a sin.'

But tha longs to be off aw con tell: For tha shows 'at tha ar'nt content; Soa aw'll oppen thee th' window--farewell Off tha goas, bonny fly!--An it went.

Rejected.

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 hoof'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.

Persevere.

What tho' th' claads aboon luk dark, Th' sun's just waitin to peep throo; Let us buckle to awr wark, For ther's lots o' jobs to do: Tho' all th' world luks dark an drear, Let's ha faith, an persevere.

He's a fooil 'at sits an mumps 'Coss some troubles hem him raand! Man mud allus be i'th dumps, If he sulk'd 'coss fortun fraand; Th' time 'll come for th' sky to clear:-- Let's ha faith, an persevere.

If we think awr lot is hard, Nivver let us mak a fuss; Lukkin raand, at ivvery yard, We'st find others war nor us; We have still noa cause to fear! Let's ha faith, an persevere.

A faint heart, aw've heeard 'em say, Nivver won a lady fair: Have a will! yo'll find a way! Honest men ne'er need despair. Better days are drawin near:-- Then ha faith, an persevere.

Workin men,--nah we've a voice, An con help to mak new laws; Let us ivver show awr choice Lains to strengthen virtue's cause, Wrangs to reighten,--griefs to cheer; This awr motto--'Persevere.'

Let us show to foreign empires Loyalty's noa empty booast; We can scorn the thirsty vampires If they dar molest awr cooast: To awr Queen an country dear Still we'll cling an persevere.

The printed version in Yorkshire Lyrics finishes here These two extra verses are from Yorkshire Ditties First Series.

But as on throo life we hurry, By whativver path we rooam, Let us ne'er forget i'th' worry, True reform begins at hooam: Then, to prove yorsens sincere, Start at once; an persevere.

Hard wark, happen yo may find it, Some dear folly to forsake, Be detarmined ne'er to mind it! Think, yor honor's nah at stake. Th' gooid time's drawin varry near! Then ha faith, an persevere.

A Pointer.

Just listen to mi stooary lads, It's one will mak yo grieve; It's full ov sich strange incidents; Yo hardly can believe. That lass aw cooarted, went one neet Aght walkin wi' a swell; They ovvertuk me on mi way, An this is what befell.

They tuk me for a finger pooast; Aw stood soa varry still; An daan they set beside me, Just at top o' Beacon Hill. He sed shoo wor his deary; Shoo sed he wor her pet; 'Twor an awkward sittiwation Which aw shall'nt sooin forget.

Aw stood straight up at top o'th' hill,-- They set daan at mi feet; He hugged her up soa varry cloise, Aw thowt ther lips must meet. He sed he loved wi' all his heart, Shoo fainted reight away; Aw darsn't luk,--aw darsn't start, But aw wished misen away.

They tuk me for, &c.

He bathed her temples from the brook; He sed shoo wor his life, It made me queer, becoss aw'd sworn To mak that lass mi wife. Shoo coom araand, an ligg'd her heead, Upon his heavin breast; An then shoo skriked, an off aw ran, But aw cannot tell the rest.

They tuk me for, &c.

They wedded wor, sooin after that, Aw thowt mi heart wod braik;-- It didn't,--soa aw'm livin on, An freeatin for her sake. But sweet revenge,--it coom at last, For childer shoo had three, An they're all marked wi' a finger pooast Whear it didn't owt to be.

They tuk me for, &c.

An Acrostic.

H a! if yo'd nobbut known that lass, A w'm sure yo'd call her bonny; N oa other could her charms surpass, N oa other had as monny. A n ha aw lost mi peace o' mind, H ark! an aw'll tell if yor inclined. C awered in a nook one day aw set, R aand which wild flaars wor growin; O, that sweet time aw'st ne'er forget, S oa long as aw've mi knowin. T hear aw first saw this lovely lass; I n thowtful mood shoo tarried, "C ome be mi bride, sweet maid!" aw cried: "K eep off!" shoo skriked, "aw'm married!"

Help Thisen.

"Come, help thisen, lad,--help thisen!" Wor what mi uncle sed. We'd just come in throo makkin hay, To get some cheese an breead. An help misen aw did,--yo bet! Aw wor a growin lad; Aw thowt then, an aw fancy yet, 'Twor th' grandest feed aw'd had.

When aw grew up aw fell i' love,-- Shoo wor a bonny lass! But bein varry young an shy, Aw let mi chonces pass. Aw could'nt for mi life contrive A thing to do or say, For fear aw should offend her, soa Aw let her walk away.

But what aw suffered nooan can tell;-- Aw loved her as mi life! But dursn't ax her for the world To be mi darlin wife. Aw desperate grew,--we met,--aw ax'd For just one kuss,--an then, Shoo blushed, an shook her bonny curls, But let me help misen.

It's varry monny years sin then,-- Mi hair's nah growin gray; But oft throo life aw've thowt aw've heeard That same owd farmer say,-- When in some fix aw've vainly sowt For aid from other men,-- "Tha'rt wastin time,--if tha wants help Pluck up, an help thisen."

If th' prize yo long for seems too heigh, Dooant let yor spirits drop; Ther may be lots o' thrustin, but Yo'll find ther's room at th' top. Yo connot tell what yo can do Until yo've had a try; It may be a hard struggle, but Yo'll get thear, by-an-bye.

Nah, young fowk, bear this in yor mind An let it be yor creed, For sooin yo'll find fowk's promises Are but a rotten reed. Feight yor own battles bravely throo, Yo'll sewerly win, an then Yo'll find ther's lots will help yo, When yo con help yorsen.

Bless 'em!

O, the lasses, the lasses, God bless 'em! His heart must be hard as a stooan 'At could willingly goa an distress 'em, For withaat 'em man's lot 'ud be looan.

Tho' th' pooasies i' paradise growin For Adam, wor scented soa sweet, He ne'er thank'd 'em for odour bestowin, He trampled 'em under his feet.

He long'd to some sweet one to whisper; An wol sleepin Eve came to his home; He wakken'd, an saw her, an kuss'd her, An ne'er ax'd her a word ha shoo'd come.

An tho' shoo, like her sex, discontented, An anxious fowk's saycrets to know, Pluck'd an apple,--noa daat shoo repented When shoo saw at it made sich a row.

Tho' aw know shoo did wrang, aw forgie her; For aw'm fairly convinced an declare, 'At aw'd rayther ha sin an be wi' her, Nor all th' world an noa woman to share.

Then let us be kind to all th' wimmin, Throo th' poorest to th' Queen up oth' throne, For if, Eve-like, they sometimes goa sinnin, It's moor for th' chaps' sakes nor ther own.

Act Square.

"Another day will follow this," Ah,--that shall sewerly be, But th' day 'at dawns to-morn, my lad, May nivver dawn for thee, This day is thine, soa use it weel, For fear when it has passed, Some duty has been left undone On th' day at proved thy last.

What's passed an gooan's beyond recall, An th' futer's all unknown; Dooant specilate on what's to be, Neglect in what's thi own. When morn in comes thank God tha'rt spared To see another day; An when tha goas to bed at neet, Life's burdens on Him lay.

Although thy station may be low, Thy life's conditions hard, Mak th' best o' what falls to thi lot, An tha shall win reward. Man's days ov toil on earth are few Compared to that long rest 'At stretches throo Eternity, For them 'at's done ther best.

Though monny rough hills tha's to climb, An bogs an becks to wade; Though thorns an brambles chooak thi path, Yet, push on undismayed. Detarmination, back'd wi' Faith, An Hope to cheer thi on, Shall gie thi strugglin efforts strength, Until thi journey's done.

Let thi religion be thi life,-- Let ivvery word an deed Be prompted bi a love for all, Whativver be ther creed. Let wranglin praichers twist an twine, Ther doctrines new an old; Act square,--an ther is One will see Tha'rt net left aght i'th' cold.

His Dowter Gate Wed.

He'd had his share ov ups an daans, His sprees an troubles too; Ov country joys an life i' taans, He'd run th' whoal gamut throo. He labored hard to mak ends meet, An keep things all ship-shap: An th' naybor's sed, 'at lived i'th' street, "He's a varry daycent chap."

He paid his rent an gave his wife Enuff for clooas an grub, To pleas her he'd insured his life, An joined a burial club. His childer,--grander nivver ran To climb a father's knee; Noa better wife had onny man,-- Noa praader chap could be.

He tuk noa stock i' fleetin time, He nivver caanted th' years; For he wor hale, just in his prime, An nowt to cause him fears. He nivver dreamt ov growin old, Sich thowts ne'er made him freat, He sed,--"Why aw'm as gooid as gold, Aw'm but a youngster yet!"

His childer thrave like willow wands, An made fine maids an men, But th' thowt ne'er entered in his nut, 'At he grew old hissen. His e'en wor oppened one fine day, His dreams o' youth all fled; An th' reason on it wor, they say,-- His dowter,--shoo gate wed.

"E'a, gow!" he sed, "but this licks me! Shoo's but a child hersen,-- Ov all things!--why,--it connot be Her thowts should turn to men!" "Whisht!" sed his wife, "we wed as young, An shoo's moor sense bi far,-- An then tha knows shoo's th' grandest lass 'At lives at Batley Carr."

He gave a grooan, for on his lass He'd set a deal o' stooar. He lit his pipe an filled his glass, Then fixed his e'en o'th' flooar. "By gum!" he sed, "but this is rough, Aw ne'er knew owt as bad, If shoo's a wife, its plain enuff Aw connot be a lad."

"Aw must be old,--aw say,--old lass,-- Does't think aw'm growin grey? Gooid gracious! but ha time does pass! But tha doesn't age a day. Tha'rt just as buxum nah as then, Aw'st think tha must feel shamed, Tha luks as young as her thisen,-- Or could do, if tha framed."

"Aw'st ha to alter all mi ways,-- Noa moor aw'st ha to rooam;-- Just sattle daan an end mi days Cronkt up bith' hob at hooam. An 'fore owts long, as like as net, Wol crooidled up i'th' nook, Ther'll be some youngster browt, aw'll bet, To watch his grondad smook."

"Do stop! aw wonder ha tha dar, Behave thi soa unkind! Does't think 'at th' lads i' Batley Carr Are all booath dumb an blind? Shoo's wed a steady, honest chap, An shoo's booath gooid an fair, Ther's net another fit to swap,-- They mak a gradely pair."

"'Man worn't made to live alooan,' Tha tell'd me that thisen:-- Tha needn't shak thi heead an grooan;-- Tha's happen changed sin then. But if ther ivver wor a crank, It's been my luck to see, It wor my childer's father When he furst coom coortin me."

"But rest content, its all for th' best;-- An then tha must ha known,-- Shoo thowt it time at shoo possest A nice hooam ov her own." "Well--may they prosper! That's my prayer,-- They'st nivver want a friend Wol aw'm alive,--but aw'st beware, An watch theas younger end."

All We Had.

It worn't for her winnin ways, Nor for her bonny face But shoo wor th' only lass we had, An that quite alters th' case.

We'd two fine lads as yo need see, An' weel we love 'em still; But shoo war th' only lass we had, An' we could spare her ill.

We call'd her bi mi mother's name, It saanded sweet to me; We little thowt ha varry sooin Awr pet wod have to dee.

Aw used to watch her ivery day, Just like a oppenin bud; An' if aw couldn't see her change, Aw fancied' at aw could.

Throo morn to neet her little tongue Wor allus on a stir; Awve heeard a deeal o' childer lisp, But nooan at lispt like her.

Sho used to play all sooarts o' tricks, 'At childer shouldn't play; But then, they wor soa nicely done, We let her have her way.

But bit bi bit her spirits fell, Her face grew pale an' thin; For all her little fav'rite toys Shoo didn't care a pin.

Aw saw th' old wimmin shak ther heeads, Wi monny a doleful nod; Aw knew they thowt shoo'd goa, but still Aw couldn't think shoo wod.

Day after day my wife an' me, Bent o'er that suff'rin child, Shoo luk'd at mammy, an' at me, Then shut her een an' smiled.

At last her spirit pass'd away; Her once breet een wor dim; Shoo'd heeard her Maker whisper 'come,' An' hurried off to Him.

Fowk tell'd us t'wor a sin to grieve, For God's will must be best; But when yo've lost a child yo've loved, It puts yor Faith to th' test.

We pick'd a little bit o' graand, Whear grass and daisies grew, An' trees wi spreeadin boughs aboon Ther solemn shadows threw.

We saw her laid to rest, within That deep grave newly made; Wol th' sexton let a tear drop fall, On th' handle ov his spade.

It troubled us to walk away, An' leeav her bi hersen; Th' full weight o' what we'd had to bide, We'd niver felt till then.

But th' hardest task wor yet to come, That pang can ne'er be towld; 'Twor when aw feszend th' door at nee't, An' locked her aat i'th' cowld.

'Twor then hot tears roll'd daan mi cheek, 'Twor then aw felt mooast sad; For shoo'd been sich a tender plant, An' th' only lass we had.

But nah we're growin moor resign'd, Although her face we miss; For He's blest us wi another, An we've hopes o' rearin this,

Th' First o'th Sooart.

Aw heeard a funny tale last neet-- Aw could'nt howd fro' laffin-- 'Twor at th' Bull's Heead we chonced to meet, An' spent an haar i' chaffin. Some sang a song, some cracked a joak, An' all seem'd full o' larkin; An' th' raam war blue wi' bacca smook, An' ivery e'e'd a spark in.

Long Joa 'at comes thro th' Jumples cluff, Wor gettin rayther mazy; An' Warkus Ned had supped enuff To turn they're Betty crazy;-- An Bob at lives at th' Bogeggs farm, Wi' Nan throo th' Buttress Bottom, Wor treating her to summat wanm, (It's just his way,--"odd drot em!")

An' Jack o'th' Slade wor theear as weel, An' Joa o' Abe's throo Waerley; An' Lijah off o'th' Lavver Hill, Wor passing th' ale raand rarely.-- Throo raand and square they seem'd to meet, To hear or tell a stoory; But th' gem o' all aw heard last neet Wor one bi Dooad o'th' gloory.

He bet his booits 'at it wor true, An' all seem'd to believe him; Tho' if he'd lost he need'nt rue-- But 't wodn't ha done to grieve him His uncle lived i' Pudsey taan, An' practised local praichin; An' if he 're lucky, he wor baan To start a schooil for taichin.

But he wor takken varry ill; He felt his time wor comin: (They say he brought it on hissel Wi' studdyin his summin.) He call'd his wife an' neighbors in To hear his deein sarmon, An' tell'd 'em if they liv'd i' sin Ther lot ud be a warm en.

Then turin raand unto his wife, Said--"Mal, tha knows, owd craytur, If awd been bless'd wi' longer life, Aw might ha' left things straighter. Joa Sooitill owes me eighteen pence-- Aw lent it him last lovefeast." Says Mal--"He has'nt lost his sense-- Thank God for that at least!"

"An Ben o'th' top o'th' bank tha knows, We owe him one paand ten.".-- "Just hark!" says Mally, "there he goas! He's ramellin agean! Dooant tak a bit o' noatice, fowk! Yo see, poor thing, he's ravin! It cuts me up to hear sich talk-- He spent his life i' savin!

"An Mally lass," he said agean, "Tak heed o' my direction: Th' schooil owes us hauf a craan--aw mean My share o'th' last collection.-- Tha'll see to that, an have what's fair When my poor life is past."-- Says Mally, "listen, aw declare, He's sensible to th' last."

He shut his een an' sank to rest-- Deeath seldom claimed a better: They put him by,--but what wor th' best, He sent 'em back a letter, To tell 'em all ha he'd gooan on; An' ha he gate to enter; An' gave 'em rules to act upon If ever they should ventur.

Theear Peter stood wi' keys i' hand: Says he, "What do you want, sir? If to goa in--yo understand Unknown to me yo can't sir.-- Pray what's your name? where are yo throo? Just make your business clear." Says he, "They call me Parson Drew, Aw've come throo Pudsey here."

"You've come throo Pudsey, do you say? Doant try sich jokes o' me, sir; Aw've kept thease doors too long a day, Aw can't be fooiled bi thee, sir." Says Drew, "aw wodn't tell a lie, For th' sake o' all ther's in it: If yo've a map o' England by, Aw'll show yo in a minit."