Chapter IX: Part III (2)

And always full before their eyes,
Nor far before the hound,
But all their speed to catch him
Is ever fruitless found.

The hunters now are tiring,
Or lagging far behind,
But yet the fox is running
As merrily as the wind.

The staunchest hounds are wearied
With the fruitless chase,
The angry lord and huntsman
Alone maintain the race.

When at the sinking of the day
They gain'd a river's side,
Without a moment's stop or stay
The fox takes to the tide.

Here stop the lord and huntsman,
Their courage is no more,
They dare not trust their horses
Amidst the waves of Yore.

Both hound, and horse, and hunters,
Are fairly tired and done,
For since the game was started,
Full three score miles they'd run.

While light as cork on water
The fox was floating on,
You could not tell by seeing him,
A furlong he had run.

He swam into the middle,
Then turned him round about,
And by the hunters on the bank
Was heard to laugh and shout.

"Ho! ho! ye gallant hunters!
When must I come again?
For never shall ye want a fox,
To chase along the plain.

"And when your need is greatest,
But call upon my name,
And I will come--and you shall have
The best of sport and game."

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 209: Author of the "Vale of Mowbray," &c: to whom I am indebted for the "Collingham Ghost," and "The Widow's Lament."]

MISS BAILEY'S GHOST.[210]

A captain bold in Halifax, who dwelt in country quarters
Seduced a maid who hang'd herself one morning in her garters;
His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his stomach daily,
He took to drinking ratafia, and thought upon miss Bailey.
Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey.

One night, betimes, he went to rest, for he had caught a fever,
Says he, "I am a handsome man, but I'm a gay deceiver."
His candle just at twelve o'clock began to burn quite palely,
A ghost stepp'd up to his bed-side and said, "Behold miss Bailey!"
Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey!

"Avaunt, miss Bailey," then he cried, "your face looks white and mealy."
"Dear captain Smith," the ghost replied, "you've used me ungenteely;
The crowner's 'quest goes hard with me, because I've acted frailly,
And Parson Biggs won't bury me, though I am dead miss Bailey."
Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey!

"Dear corpse," said he, "since you and I, accounts must once for all
close,
I've got a one pound note in my regimental small clothes;
'Twill bribe the sexton for your grave."--The ghost then vanish'd gaily,
Crying, "Bless you, wicked captain Smith, remember poor miss Bailey."
Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 210: This song first appeared, in 1805, in Colman's "Love laughs at Locksmiths." See a Latin version of this song by the Rev. G. H. Glasse, in Gent. Mag. for Aug. 1805.]

THE TWO YORKSHIRE LOVERS.[211]

To the Tune of "_Willy_."

When Willy once he stayed,
To fetch home a lamb that straied,
Under a hill-side,
A bonny lasse he spide,
Of whom he was well apaied.

Her cheeks like cherries growing,
Her lips like rose-buds blowing;
Her eyes black and cleare,
As the sloe upon the breere,
Or the worme in the hedge lies glowing.

Her waist so small and slender,
Her skin so soft and tender,
He sigh'd and he said
That she was a fair maid,
And his love to her he'd render.

The wind did seem to play
With her tresses as she lay;
Betwixt hope and feare,
He was in despaire,
To give her the time of the day.

Yet resolv'd to court this minion,
There stept in a new opinion;
This timorous clowne
Thought Phoebe had come down
To speake with her loved Endimion.

His errand quite forgotten,
He lean'd to a tree was rotten;
He swore by the masse,
There was never such a lasse!
His heart with a shaft was shotten.

Then boldly he stept unto her,
His eyes shot affection through her;
He cast away fears,
And pricking up his ears,
Thus Willy began to wooe her.

"Good day," quoth he, "my honny!
Thou dearer to me than money;
I'le lose my little lambe,
And gladly give the damme,
To be lov'd by a lasse so bonny.

"Now list to what I'le tell thee,
There's none in shape doth excell thee,
So thou wilt wed me,
None happier than thee;
For better day ere befell me.

"Of nuts I'le give thee plenty,
And red side apples twenty;
My butter I'le leese,
To make thee summer cheese,
And creame to make egge-pies dainty.

"My lambs new gowns shall bear thee,
No daylockes shall ere come near thee;
The poultry of the towne
Shall cackle without downe,
Ere I'le want a soft bed to cheer thee.

"My bagpipes mirth shall make thee,
Each morn with a song I'le wake thee;
At night I'le not faile
To tell a merry tale,
And make thy sad thoughts forsake thee."

THE SECOND PART.

"White lillies shall pave the closes,
Each brier shall blush with roses;
The gross green and sweet,
Shall kiss thy tender feet,
And the medows shall yield thee posies.

"With shady bowers set ore thee,
With thousand contents I'le store thee;
While by some clear brooke,
With my little dog and hooke,
I'le bring my fine ewes before thee."

While thus he was close set at her,
Quoth she, "I suspect the matter,
For an houres sport;
Like the false alluring court,
The country has learned to flatter.

"Therefore leave off thy wooing;
I love not such short doing,
And come unto the matter;
I love not for to flatter,
True affection hates long suing.

"But if your love will prove steady,
Till Hymen had made him ready,
Then surfeit all night
In a captive maids delight,
Which yet but ayre hath fed ye."

Quoth he, "I love none above thee,
For chastity I prove thee;
As constant I'le prove,
As the mate unto the dove,
Nay, though thou wert dead, I'le love thee!

"And all contents I'le give thee,
So that thou wilt live with me;
My life and all I'le loose,
Ere I my love abuse,
And all my rich kith unto me."

As Willy thus was talking,
The shepherd's eyes were walking;
Each legge and each limbe,
So tricked, so trim,
She thought it no time of balking.

Her heart with love was taken,
God Cupid did her awaken;
And cast a cheerfull eye,
Upon him by and by,
To show he was not forsaken.

His lips to hers he laid,
She never a word gain-said;
Thus joyning their hands,
They tyed the nuptiall bands,
Which never till death decai'd.

Such happy joy God send me,
When I to wed intend me;
And to each faithfull lover,
Where they be one or other,
I heartily commend thee.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 211: From a broadside in the Rox. Coll., black letter. London, printed for John Wright.]

NATTERIN NAN.

BE A YORKSHUR LIKENASS TAKER.[212]

Noa daht ye'll all ev eard abaht
T' Appolloa Belvidere,
A statty, thowt be sum ta be
Fro' ivvery failin tlear.

All reyt an streyt i' mak and shap,
A mould for t'race o' men,
A dahnreyt, upreyt, beng-up chap,
Nut mitch unlike mesen.

Nah, thaw ye knaw he's nowt bud stoan,
He lewks sa grand an big,
That little durst ya pool his noas,
Ur lug his twisted wig.

Pratly, reyt pratly, ovver t'floor,
A tep e toas ye walk,
An hod yur breeath for varry awe,
An whisper when ya tauk.

There's that abaht him, bud I knaw'nt
Nut reytly hah ta say't,
That maks ya feel as small as thieves
Anent a magistrate.

Yee've seen that dolt o'mucky tlay,
O't face o' Pudsa Doas,
T'owd madlin 's worn it all his life,
An fancied it a noas.

Yond props is like a pair o' tengs
O' Sykes's, yet by t' megs,
When he wur souber as a judge,
A've eard him call em legs.

So Heaven be praised for self-consate,
Withaht it ah sud say
Wee'se hate wursen we all wur meet
For ivver an a day.

When sitch like lewks at t' marble God
Egoy! ha wide they gape,
An wunder which they favver t'moast,
A boggard or an ape.

An sum we envy and we spite
Get filled ta that degree,
They'd knock his noas off if they durst,
Or give him a black ee.

He sumhah kests a leet on things
'At fowk noan wants ta see,
Thear's few likes tellin what they are
Or what they owt ta be.

Wah, wah, purfecshun nivver did
To Adam's bairns beleng,
An lewk at mortals as we will
We fynd a summat wreng.

For Adam gate so mesht wi't fall,
That all o't human race
Grow sadly aht o' shap it mind,
I't karkiss an it' face.

There's noan sa blynd bud tha can see
Sum fawts i' other men;
A've sumtimes met we fowk 'at thowt
They saw sum i' thersen.

An t'best o' chaps al fynd thersen
At times i' t' fawty dlass,
A've doubled t'neiv, afoar ta day,
At t' fooil i't seemin dlass.

Bud twarst o' fawts at a've seen yet,
I' woman ur i' man,
Is t'weary naagin nengin turn,
'At plagued poor Natterin Nan.

A' went one summer afternoin
Ta see hur poar owd man,
An aadly bed I darkened t'door,
When t'worrit thus began:

"A-wah did ivver! wot a treat,
Ta see thy father's sun,
Come forrad lad an sit ta dahn,
An al set t' kettle on."

"Nay, nay," says ah, "ah'm noan o' them
'At calls at t'time by t'clock;"
An bumps em dahn it corner chair,
An gloares reyt hard at t'jock.

"Tha nontkate witta hod thee tung,
He'll sooin be hear I'ce think,
Soa if thall sit an leet thee pipe,
Ah'll fotch a sope o' drink."

"Owd lass," says ah, "thart hey i' bone
An rayther low i' beef;"
"Ah barn," says shoo, "this year or two,
'Av hed a deal o' grief.

"Ah'm nut a wuman 'at oft speyks,
Or sings fowk doleful sengs,
Bud ah can tell me mind ta thee,
Tha knaws wot things belengs.

"Tha noaticed ah noan lewked sa staat,
An ah can trewly say,
Fro t'last back end o' t'year ta nah,
A've nut been weel a day.

"An wot we sickness, wot we grief,
Ah'm doin tha may depend;
It's been a weary moild an tew,
Bud nah it gets near t'end.

"A've bowt all t'sister 'at ah hev
A black merina gaan;
Fowk thinks ah'm rarely off, but, lad,
A'm thenkful 'at ah'm baan.

"We' t'world an ivvery thing at's in't,
Ah'm crost to that degree,
That mony a time i't day ah've pra'd
To lig ma doan an dee.

"What ah've ta tak fro t'least i't haase
Is moar nur flesh can beear,
It is'nt just a time be chonce
Bud ivvery day i't year.

"Noa livin sowl a'top o' t'earth,
Wor tried as ah've been tried;
There's noabdy bud the Lord an me,
'At knaws what ah've ta bide.

"Fro t'wind at t'stomach, t'rewmatism,
An tengin pains it goom;
Fro coffs an cowds, an t'spine it back,
Ah suffer martyrdom.

"Bud noabdy pities ma, or thinks
Ah'm ailin owt at all;
T'poor slave mun tug an tew we t'wark
Wolivver shoo can crawl.

"An Johnny's t' moast unfeelin brewt
'At ivver ware a heead;
He woddunt weg a hand ur fooit
If ah wur all bud deead.

"It mid'st o' all ah've hed ta dew,
That roag wur nivver t'man
Ta fotch a coil, or scar a fleg,
Ur wesh a pot ur pan.

"Fowk says 'ar Sal 'al sooin be wed.
Bud t'thowt on't turns ma sick,
'Ah'd rayther hing hur up by t'neck,
Ur see her berrid wick.

"An if ah new a barn o' mine,
Wur born ta lead my life,
Ah suddent think it wor a sin
Ta stick hur wi' a knife.

"Ah've ax'd ar Johnny twenty times
Ta bring a sweep ta t' doar,
Bud nah, afoar a'll speyk agean,
Ah'll sit it t'haase an smoar.

"An then, gooid grashus, what a wind
Comes whewin throo t'doar sneck,
Ah felt it all t'last winter like
A whittle at my neck.

"That sink-pipe tu gate stopt wi' muck,
Aboon a fortnit sin;
So ivvery aar it day wi' t'slops,
Am treshin aht an in.

"Aw! when ah think hah ah've been tret,
An hah ah tew an strive,
Ta tell thee t'honest trewth, ah'm capped
Ta fynd mesen alive.

"When he's been rakin aht a't neet
At market ur a't fair;
Sitch thowts hes coom inta me heead
As lifted up me air.

"Ah've thowt, ay lad, when tha cums hoam,
Tha'll fynd ma hung by 't neck,
Bud then ah've mebbe thowt agean
At t' coord ud happen brek.

"Or else ah've mutterd if i't wor'nt
Sa dark, an cowd, an weet,
Ah'd go ta't navvy, or ta't dam,
An draand mesen ta neet.

"It's greef, lad, nowt at all bud greef,
At wastes me day be day;
So Sattan temps ma cos ah'm wake
Ta put mesen away."

Towd chap heerd pairt o'what shoo sed,
As he cam clompin in,
An shauted in a red-fac'd rage,
"Od rot it, hod the din."

Then Nan began to froth an fume,
An fiz like botteld drink,
"Wat then, tha's enterd t'haase agean,
Tha offald lewkin slink.

"Tha nivver cums theas doars within
Bud tha mun curse an sweear,
An try ta bring ma ta me grave
We breedin hurries hear.

"At thee an thine sin wed we wor
Ah've taen no end o' greef,
An nah tha stamps ma under t'fooit,
Tha murderin roag an theef.

"Tha villan gimma wat ah browt,
'At day at we wur wed,
An nivver moar wi' one like thee
Will ah set fooit e' bed."

Here t' dowdy lifted tull her een
A yard a gooid lin check,
An sob'd, an roar'd, an rock'd hersen,
As if her art ud breck.

An then shoo rave reit up be't rooits
A andful of her air,
An fitterd like a deein duk
An shutturd aht a't chair.

"Aw! Jonny! run for't doctur, lad,
Ah feel ah can tel hah."
Sais Jonny, "Leet thee pipe agean,
Shoo'l coom abaht enah."

Sais ah, "Ah nivver saw a chap
Sa eeasyful and fat,
Tha'll suarly lend a elpin and
Ta lift hur of a't plat."

Bud better hed it been for him
If he'd neer sturr'd a peg;
My garturs! what a pawse he gat
Fra Nan rumatic leg.

Sooin, varry sooin, sho coom abaht
An flang, an tare, an rave,
E sich a way as fu cud dew
We' one fooit i' ther grave.

An at it went hur tongue ageean,
That minnit shoo fan eease,
"Tha villan tha, tha knaws thee ways
Brings on sitch girds as theeas.

"Aw if tha'd strike ma stiff at once,
Ur stab ma ta me hart,
I then cud dee content, for fowk
Ud naw reyt what ta art.

"Unfeelin brewt, unfeelin brewt,
Ah neer wur weel an strong;
There's nobbut one thing cheers ma nah,
Ah cannut last sa long.

"Ta stand up in a thing at's reyt,
It isant i' me natur,
There is at knaws I awlus wur
A poor, soft, quiat cratur.

"One thing ah can say if me life
Ta neet sud end it leease;
Ah've doin my dewty an tha knaws
Ah awlus strave for peease.

"Ah knaw, ah knaw at ah'm it gate,
Tha's other oats ta thresh;
So when ah's dun for tha ma wed
You gooid for nowt young tresh."

Then Nan pool'd summat aht o't drawer
White as a summer claad;
Ses I ta Jonny, "What's that thear?"
Ses Jonny, "It's a shraad.

"An t'coffin coom tu, bud ah sware
I woddunt ha't it haase,
So, when shoo's muled, shoo sews at that,
As quiat as a maase."

Then Nan lewkt at me we a lewk,
So yonderly an sad,
"Tha'll coom ta t'berrin?" "Yus," says ah,
"Ah sall be varry dlad."

"An bid the Mother," Jonny cried,
"An ax the Uncle Ben,
Fur all hur prayers for suddan deeath,
Sal hev my best 'Amen.'"

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 212: Benjamin Preston, of Bradford, author of "T' Spicy Man," &c. Mr. Preston purposes giving a series of twelve, similar to the above, in the dialect of Bradford Dale. Published by Abraham Holroyd, Westgate, Bradford.]

THE BARBER OF THIRSK'S FORFEITS.

First come, first served--Then come not late.
And when arrived keep your sate;
For he who from these rules shall swerve,
Shall pay his forfeit--so observe.

Who enters here with boots and spurs,
Must keep his nook, for if he stirs,
And gives with arm'd heel a kick,
A pint he pays for every prick.

Who rudely takes another's turn,
By forfeit glass--may manners learn;
Who reverentless shall swear or curse,
Must lug seven ha'-pence from his purse.

Who checks the barber in his tale,
Shall pay for that a gill of yale;
Who will, or cannot miss his hat,
Whilst trimming pays a pint for that.

And he who can but will not pay,
Shall hence be sent half trimmed away;
For will he--nill he--if in fault,
He forfeit must in meal or malt.
But mark the man who is in drink,
Must the cannikin oh, never, never, clink.

THE YORKSHIRE IRISHMAN; OR, THE

ADVENTURES OF A POTATO MERCHANT.

My father was once a great merchant,
As any in Ireland was found,
But, faith, he could never save a shilling,
Tho' potatoes he sold by the pound.
So says he to my mother one night,
To England suppose you and I go,
And the very next day, by moonlight,
They took leave of the county of Slygo.
Sing de ral, ral de ral la, fal lal de, &c.

That the land is all cover'd with water,
'Twixt England and Ireland, you'll own,
And single misfortunes, they say,
To Irishmen ne'er come alone.
So my father, poor man! was first drown'd,
Then shipwreck'd, in sailing from Cork,
But my mother she got safe to land,
And a whisky shop open'd in York.
Fal de ral, &c.

Just a year after father was dead,
One night about five i' th' morn,
An odd accident happen'd to me,
For 'twas then that myself was first born.
All this I've been told by my mammy,
And surely she'll not tell me wrong,
But I don't remember nought of it,
'Caze it happen'd when I was quite young.
Fal de ral, &c.

On the very same day the next year,
(For so ran the story of mother,)
The same accident happen'd again,
But not to me then, that were brother.
So 'twas settled by old father Luke,
Who dissolved all our family sins,
As we both were born on the same day,
That we sartainly must have been twins.
Fal de ral, &c.

'Twas agreed I should not go to school,
As learning I never should want;
Nor would they e'en teach me to read,
For my genius they said it would cramp.
Now this genius of mine, where it lay,
Do but listen awhile and you'll hear,
'Twas in drawing,--not landscapes or pictures,
No, mine was for drawing of beer.
Fal de ral, &c.

Some with only one genius are blest,
But I, it appears, had got two,
For when I had drawn off some beer,
I'd a genius for drinking it too,
At last I was drawn up to town,
Without in my pocket a farden,
But since I've earn'd many a crown
By the shop here in sweet Covvon Garden.
Fal de ral, &c.

WHEN AT HAME WI' DAD.

When at hame wi' dad,
We niver had nae fun sir,
Which mead me sae mad,
I swore away I'd run sir;
I packed up cleas sae smart,
Ribbed stocking, weastcoats pratty,
Wi' money and leet heart,
Tripped off te Lunnun city.
Fal de ral de ra.

When I did git there,
I geaped about quite silly,
At all the shows te stare,
In a spot called Piccerdilly;
Lord sic charming seets,
Bods i' cages thrive sir,
Coaches, fiddles, fights,
And crocodiles alive sir.
Fal de ral, &c.

Then I did ge te see,
The gentry in Hyde Park sir,
When a lass pushed reedely by,
Te whoam I did remark sir,
"Tho' your feace be een sae fair,
I've seen a beer mare civil."
Then the little cleas they wear,
God Lunnun is the devil.
Fal de ral, &c.

Te 't play-house then I gaus,
Whar I seed merry feaces,
And in the lower rows,
Were sarvents keeping pleaces;
T' players I saw seun,
They managed things quite funny,
By gock they'd Hunny-mean,
Afore they'd Mattrimony.
Fal de ral, &c.

Now having seen all I cud,
And passed away my time sir,
If you think fit and good,
I'le een give up my rhyme sir;
And sud my ditty please,
The popies in this garden,
Te me t'wad be hearts-ease,
If not I ax yer pardon.
Fal de ral de ra.

I'M YORKSHIRE TOO.

By t' side of a brig, that stands over a brook,
I was sent by times to school;
I went wi' the stream as I studied my book,
And was thought to be no small fool.
I never yet bought a pig in a poke,
For to give auld Nick his due;
Tho' oft I've dealt wi' Yorkshire folk,
Yet I was Yorkshire too.

I was pretty well lik'd by each village maid,
At races, wake or fair,
For my father had addled a vast in trade,
And I were his son and heir.
And seeing that I didn't want for brass,
Poor girls came first to woo,
But tho' I delight in a Yorkshire lass,
Yet I was Yorkshire too!

To Lunnon by father I was sent,
Genteeler manners to see;
But fashion's so dear, I came back as I went,
And so they made nothing o' me.
My kind relations wou'd soon have found out
What was best wi' my money to do:
Says I, "My dear cousins, I thank ye for nought,
But I'm not to be cozen'd by you!
For I'm Yorkshire too."[213]

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 213: From _A Garland of New Songs_, printed by W. Appleton, Darlington, 1811.]

THE SWEEPER AND THIEVES.

BY D. LEWIS.

The incident here recorded happened at a farm house, on Leeming Lane, some years ago, and is a favourite chap-book history.

A sweeper's lad was late o' th' neeght,
His slap-shod shoon had leeam'd his feet;
He call'd te see a good awd deeame,
'At monny a time had trigg'd his weame;
(For he wor then fahve miles fra yam.)
He ax'd i' t' lair te let him sleep,
An' he'd next day their chimlers sweep.
They supper'd him wi' country fare,
Then show'd him tul his hooal i' t' lair.
He crept intul his streeahy bed,
His pooak o' seeat beneath his heead;
He wor content, nur car'd a pin,
An' his good friend then lock'd him in.
The lair frae t' hoose a distance stood,
Between 'em grew a lahtle wood.
Aboot midneeght, or nearer moorn,
Twea thieves brack in te steeal their coorn;
Hevin a leeght i' t' lantern dark,
Seean they te winder fell te wark;
An' wishing they'd a lad te fill,
Young brush, (whea yet had ligg'd quite still,)
Thinkin' 'at t' men belang'd te t' hoose,
An' that he noo mud be o' use,
Jump'd doon directly on te t' fleear,
An' t' thieves beeath ran oot at deear;
Nur stopt at owt nur thin nur thick,
Fully convinc'd it wor awd Nick.
The sweeper lad then ran reeght seean
Te t' hoose, an' tell'd 'em what wor deean:
Maister an' men then quickly raise,
An' ran te t' lair wi' hawf ther cleeas.
Twea horses, secks, an' leeght they fand,
Which had been left by t' thievish band;
These round i' t' neybourheead they cried,
Bud nut an awner e'er applied;
For neean durst horses awn nur secks,
They wor seea freeghten'd o' ther necks.
They seld the horses, an' of course,
Put awf o' the brass i' sooty's purse;
Desiring when he com that way,
He'd awlus them a visit pay,
When harty welcome he sud have
Because he did ther barley save.
Brush chink'd the guineas in his hand,
An' oft te leeak at 'em did stand,
As heeame he wistlin' teak his way;
Blessin' t' awd deeame wha let him stay,
An' sleep i' t' lair, when, late o' t' neeght,
His slap-shod shoon had leeam'd his feet.

HOWELL WOOD;[214] OR, THE RABY HUNT, IN YORKSHIRE,

FEBRUARY, 1803.

To the tune of "_Ballynamonaora_."

"Let those ride hard, who never rode before,
And those who always rode, now ride the more."

Whilst passing o'er Barnsdale,[215] I happen'd to spy,
A fox stealing on and the hounds in full cry;
They are DARLINGTON'S sure, for his voice I well know,
Crying forward--hark forward; from Skelbrook[216] below.

With my Ballynamonaora,
The hounds of old Raby for me.

See Binchester leads them, whose speed seldom fails,
And now let us see who can tread on their tails;
For, like pigeons in flight, the best hunter would blow,
Should his master attempt to ride over them now.
Chorus. With my, &c.

From HOWELL WOOD come--they to STAPLETON[217] go,
What confusion I see, in the valley below;
My friends in _black collars_,[218] nearly beat out of sight,
And BADSWORTH'S old heroes in sorrowful plight.
Chorus. With my, &c.

'Tis hard to describe all the frolic and fun,
Which, of course, must ensue, in this capital run;
But I quote the old proverb, howe'er trite and lame,
That--"_The looker on sees most by half of the game_."
Chorus. With my, &c.

Then first in the burst, see dashing away,
Taking all on his stroke, on RALPHO the grey;
With _persuaders_ in flank, comes DARLINGTON'S peer,[219]
With his chin sticking out, and his cap on one ear.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Never heeding a tumble, a scratch, or a fall,
Laying close in his quarter, see SCOTT of WOODHALL;[220]
And mind how he cheers them, with "Hark to the cry!"
Whilst on him the peer keeps a _pretty sharp eye_.
Chorus. With my, &c.

And next him on MORGAN, all rattle and talk,
Cramming over the fences, comes wild MARTIN HAWKE,[221]
But his neck he must break, surely sooner or late,
As he'd rather _ride over_ than _open_ a gate.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Then there's dashing FRANK BOYNTON, who rides thorough breds,
Their carcases nearly as small as their heads:
But he rides so d----d hard that it makes my heart ache,
For fear his long legs should be left on a stake.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Behold HARRY MELLISH,[222] as wild as the wind,
On LANCASTER mounted, leaving numbers behind;
But lately return'd from democrat France,
Where forgetting to bet--he's been learning to dance.
Chorus. With my, &c.

That eagle-ey'd sportsman, CHARLES BRANDLING, behold,
Laying in a snug place, which needs scarcely be told;
But from riding so hard, my friend CHARLEY forbear,
For fear you should tire you _thirty pound mare_!
Chorus. With my, &c.

And close at his heels, see BOB LASCELLES advance,
Dress'd as gay for the field, as if leading the dance,
Resolv'd to ride hard, nor be counted the last,
Pretty sure of the speed of his fav'rite OUTCAST.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Next mounted on PANCAKE, see yonder comes LEN,[223]
A sportsman, I'm sure, well deserving my pen;
He looks in high glee, and enjoying the fun,
Tho' truly I fear that his _cake's over done_.
Chorus. With my, &c.

On METHODIST perched, in a very good station,
FRANK BARLOW behold, that firm prop of the nation,
But nothing could greater offend the good soul,
Than to _Coventry sent_ from the chase and the bowl.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Then those two little fellows, as light as a feather,
CHARLES PARKER and CLOWES[224] come racing together,
And riding behind them, see OLIVER DICK,[225]
With SLAP-DASH half blown, looking sharp for a nick.
Chorus. With my, &c.

On EBONY mounted, behold my LORD BARNARD,[226]
To live near the pack, now oblig'd is to strain hard;
But mount my friend BARNY, on something that's quick,
I warrant, my lads, he would show you a trick.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Then BLAND[227] and TOM GASCOIGNE,[228] I spy in the van,
Riding hard as two devils, at catch as catch can,
But racing along, to try which can get first,
Already, I see, both _their_ horses are burst.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Then smack at a yawner falls my friend BILLY CLOUGH,[229]
He gets up, stares around him, faith! silly enough;
While PILKINGTON[230] near him, cries "Pr'ythee get bled."
"Oh no, never mind, Sir, I fell on my head."
Chorus. With my, &c.

But where's that hard rider, my friend COL. BELL?[231]
At the first setting off from the cover he fell;
But I see the old crop, thus the whole chase will carry,
In respectable style, the good-temper'd HARRY.
Chorus. With my, &c.

With very small feet, sticking fast in the mud,
FRANK HAWKSWORTH[232] I see, on his neat bit of blood;
But, pull up, my friend, say you've lost a _fore shoe_,
Else _bleeding_, I fear, must be shortly for you.
Chorus. With my, &c.

To keep their nags fresh for the end of the day,
SIR EDWARD[233] and LASCELLES just canter away;
Not enjoying the pace our Raby hounds go,
But preferring the maxim of "_certain and slow_."
Chorus. With my, &c.

At the top of his speed, sadly beat and forlorn,
Behold CAPT. HORTON is steering for BALN;
For accustom'd at sea, both to _shift_ and to _tack_,
He hopes by _manoeuv'ring_ to gain the fleet pack.
Chorus. With my, &c.

The two LEES,[234] HARVEY HAWKE,[235] FRANK SOTH'RON,[236] and all,
Are skirting away for STAPLETON HALL;
Whilst far in the rear, behold ALVERLEY COOKE,[237]
Endeav'ring to scramble o'er HAMPOLE'S wide brook.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Far aloof to the right, and op'ning a gate,
There's a sportsman by system, who never rides straight;
But why, my good GODFREY,[238] thus far will you roam,
When a pack of fine beagles hunt close to your home?
Chorus. With my, &c.

Safe o'er the brook--but where's CAPTAIN DANSER?[239]
Oh! he's stopping to catch SIR ROWLAND WINN'S prancer;
But what is the use of that, my friend WINN,[240]
If on foot you attempt it, you'll _sure_ tumble in.
Chorus. With my, &c.

On his chesnut nag mounted, and heaving in flank,
At a very great distance, behold BACON FRANK;[241]
So true's the old maxim, we even now find,
That, "_justice will always come limping behind_."
Chorus. With my, &c.

See STARKEY and HOPWOOD, so full of their jokes,
From BRAMHAM MOOR come, to be quizzing the folks;
And when they return the whole chase they'll explain,
Tho' they saw little of it--to crony FOX LANE.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Lost, spavin'd, and wind-gall'd, but showing some blood,
For from COXCOMB'S poor shoulders it streams in a flood;
Behold Mr. HODGSON,[242] how he fumes and he frets,
While his black lays entangled in cursed sheep nets.
Chorus. With my, &c.

If his name I pass'd over, I fear he would cavil,
I just wish to say that I _saw_ Mr. SAVILLE;
And with very long coat on, (a friend to his tailor)
With some more WAKEFIELD heroes, behold Mr. NAYLOR.
Chorus. With my, &c.

A large posse see in the valley below,
Who serve very well for to make up a show;
But broad as the brook is, it made many stop,
It's not ev'ry man's luck for to get to the top.
Chorus. With my, &c.

JOHNNY DALTON[243] so sure at Went made a slip,
His nag tumbl'd in and he cry'd for his whip;
His groom coming up found his master so cross,
D----n your fine whip, what's become of the horse?
Chorus. With my, &c.

Now all having pass'd, I'll to FERRYBRIDGE go,[244]
Each event of the day at the club I shall know;
Where bright bumpers of claret enliven the night,
And chase far away hated envy, and spite.
Chorus. With my, &c.

Then forgive me, my friends, if you think me severe,
'Tis but meant as a joke, not intended to sneer;
Come I'll give you a toast, in a bumper of wine,
Here's success to this club, and to sport so divine.
And the hounds of old Raby for me.[245]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 214: Howell Wood is situated about ten miles westward from Doncaster. Amongst the possessions of the priory of St. Oswald at Nostel that passed to Dr. Leigh, the original grantee from the crown, on the 22nd March, 31 H. viii., 1540, were a capital messuage called Holewell or Hovel hall, in the parish of Thurnscoe, with a _wood_ of 160 acres. This wood is now the property of William Aldam, esq., of Frickley.]

[Footnote 215: The district called Barnsdale begins at a short distance northwards of Robin Hood's well. It is situated about midway between Doncaster and Ferrybridge, or Doncaster and Pontefract, and is celebrated for having been one of the favourite haunts of the "bold Robin Hood." See p. 35, _ante_.]

[Footnote 216: Skelbrook, about seven miles from Doncaster, a handsome gentleman's residence, was then the property of H. Perryn Brown, esq., and occupied by Dawson Humble, esq. It passed to the family of John Pate Nevile, esq., formerly of Badsworth, in which it remains, and is now the seat of Mrs. Nevile. Situated in the vicinity of Barnsdale, and close to the well of Robin Hood, there seemed to be kept up a lingering remnant of ancient forestry in the maintenance here, for many years, of a small park of deer, but which has been lately discontinued. Dr. Miller, in his "Hist. of Doncaster," p. 343, states that this park was famous for the fine venison it produced.]

[Footnote 217: Stapleton, in the parish of Darrington, is about five or six miles from Skelbrook, northwards, on the right-hand side of the Great North Road. The owner at that time was Ellis Hodgson, esq. (mentioned afterwards). It was afterwards the property of the Hon. Ed. R. Petre, and is now that of J. H. Barton, esq.]

[Footnote 218: The members of the Raby Hunt wear black velvet collars with a gold fox thereon, _courant_, to their scarlet coats.]

[Footnote 219: William Henry Vane, 3rd earl of Darlington, afterwards 1st marquess, and duke of Cleveland, K. G. &c. &c., of Raby Castle, co. Durham, born 27 July, 1766. His grace, when earl of Darlington, for several years occupied Bilham house, near Doncaster, as a sporting seat, and hunted that part of the country. He died 5 Feb. 1842.]

[Footnote 220: Joseph Scott, esq., for many years resident at Badsworth hall.]

[Footnote 221: The Hon. Martin Bladen Edward Hawke, 2nd son of Martin Bladen, 2nd lord Hawke; born 1 April, 1777.]

[Footnote 222: Henry Francis Mellish, esq., of Blythe hall, Notts; died 24 July, 1817.]

[Footnote 223: Leonard Walbanke Childers, esq., of Doncaster, died 24 Jany. 1826, aged 57.]

[Footnote 224: Samuel Clowes, esq., lived at Warmsworth, and Sprotbrough hall.]

[Footnote 225: Richard Oliver, esq., of Darrington hall.]

[Footnote 226: Henry Vane, viscount Barnard, eldest son of the above earl of Darlington, and the present duke of Cleveland.]

[Footnote 227: Thomas Davison Bland, esq., of Kippax.]

[Footnote 228: Thomas Gascoigne, esq., of Parlington.]

[Footnote 229: Wm. Clough, esq., of Oxton, near Tadcaster.]

[Footnote 230: Of Chevet, probably.]

[Footnote 231: Robert Bell, of Newcastle, married Anne Mildreda, d. of C. W. Childers, esq., of Cantley.]

[Footnote 232: Francis Hawksworth, esq., of Barnbro' Grange.]

[Footnote 233: Sir Edward Dodworth, bart., of Newland.]

[Footnote 234: Wm. Lee, esq., of Grove, near Pontefract, many years treasurer of the West Riding, (father of R. T. Lee, esq., now of Grove,) and his brother James Lee, esq., of Carlton, afterwards of West Retford house, Notts.]

[Footnote 235: The Hon. Edward Harvey Hawke, afterwards the 3rd lord Hawke, born 3 May, 1774.]

[Footnote 236: Frank Sotheron, afterwards admiral, of Darrington, and Kirklington, Notts.]

[Footnote 237: Brian Wm. Darwin Cooke, esq., of Alverley, near Doncaster; died 26 April, 1823.]

[Footnote 238: Probably Godfrey Wentworth Wentworth, esq., of Wolley, high sheriff, 1796; died Sept. 14, 1834.]

[Footnote 239: William Danser, Lt. Col. Royal Regt., who, when captain 4th Grenadiers, led the landing in Egypt; died at Doncaster, 19th March, 1812, aged 49.]

[Footnote 240: Of Nostell.]

[Footnote 241: Bacon Frank, esq., of Campsall, an active justice of the peace, and for many years chairman of the quarter sessions. High sheriff 1777; died 4 April, 1812, aged 73.]

[Footnote 242: Ellis Hodgson, esq., of Stapleton, before alluded to.]

[Footnote 243: Probably of Slenningford, near Ripon.]

[Footnote 244: Ferrybridge, fifteen miles from Doncaster, on the Great North Road, once celebrated for its excellent inns--the Angel and the Swan.]

[Footnote 245: Kindly favoured by Charles Jackson, esq., of Doncaster.]

THE COLLINGHAM GHOST.

I'll tell ye aboot the Collingham ghost,
An' a rare aud ghost was he;
For he cud laff, an' he cud talk,
An' run, an' jump, an' flee.

He went aboot hither an' thither,
An' freeten'd sum out o' thir wits,
He freeten'd the parson as weel as the clark,
An' lots beside them into fits.

The poor aud man wha teak the towl
At Collingham bar for monny a year,
He dursn't cum out to opp'n his yat
For fear the ghost sud be near.

He teak to his bed an' there he laid,
For monny a neet an' day;
His yat was aulas wide opp'n thrown,
An' nean ivver stopp't to pay.

And Jerry wha kept the public house,
An' sell'd gud yal to all,
Curs'd the ghost wi' hearty gud will,
For neabody stopp'd to call.

It made sike a noise all round aboot,
That folks com far to see;
Sum sed it was a dreadful thing,
An' sum sed it was a lee.

Gamkeepers com wi' dogs an' guns,
Thinking it was some comical beast;
An' they wad aither kill him or catch him,
Or drive him awa at least.

Sea into Lady wood right they went
Yah beautiful meenleet neet;
A lot o' great men an' a lot o' ruff dogs,
Enew a poor ghost to eat.

They watid lang--the ghost didn't come,
They began to laff an' rail,--
"If he cum oot ov hiz den," says yan,
"We'll clap a bit o' saut ov hiz tail."

"Nay he knoos better then turn oot,
When we are here to watch him,
He'd git a bullit through his lug,
Or Mungo there wad catch him."

When close to their heads wi' a terrible clatter
The ghost went wherrin up,
An' ower the woods he lafft an' shoutid,
"Bobo, bobo! who whoop, who whoop!"

The gamkeepers all tummled doon,
Their hair thrast off their hat,
They gaped an' grean'd an' roll'd aboot,
An' their hearts went pit-a-pat.

Thir feaces were white as onny clout,
An' they sed nivver a word,
They cudn't tell what the ghost was like,
Whether 'twas a beast or a bird.

They stay'd nea langer i' th' wood that neet,
Poor men were nivver dafter,
They ran awa hame as fast as they cud,
An' thir dogs ran yelping after.

The parson then, a larned man,
Sed he wad conjur the ghost;
He was sure it was nea wandrin beast,
But a spirit that was lost.

All languages this parson knew
That onny man can chat in,
The Ebrew, Greek, an' Irish too,
As weel as Dutch an' Latin.

O! he cud talk an' read an' preach,
Few men knew mair or better,
An' nearly all the bukes he read,
Wer printed in black letter.

He read a neet, he read a day,
To mak him fit for his wark,
An' when he thowt he was quite up,
He sent for the awd clark.

The clark was quickly by his side,
He took but little fettlin,
An' awa they went wi' right gud will
To gie the ghost a settlin.

Aye off they set wi' all thir might,
Nor stoppt at thin or thick,
The parson wi' his sark an' buke,
The clark wi' a thick stick.

At last by t' side o' th' bank they stoppt
Where Wharfe runs murmrin clear,
A beautiful river breet an' fine,
As onny in wide Yorkshire.

The parson then began to read,
An' read full loud an' lang,
The rabbits they ran in an' oot,
An' wonder'd what was rang.

The ghost was listnin in a hole,
An' oot he bang'd at last,
The fluttrin o' his mighty wings,
Was like a whirlwind blast.

He lafft an' shooted as he flew
Until the wild woods rang;
His who-who-whoop was nivver heard
Sea lood an' clear, an' strang.

The parson he fell backwards ower
Into a bush o' whins,
An' lost his buke, an' rave his sark,
An' prickt his hans an' shins.

The clark he tried to run awa
But tumm'ld ower his stick,
An' there he made a nasty smell
While he did yell an' fick.

An' lots o' pranks this ghost he play'd
That here I dar'nt tell,
For if I did folks wad declare
I was as ill as his-sel.

For eighteen[246] months an' mair he stay'd,
An' just did as he thowt;
For lord nor duke, parson nor clark,
He fear'd, nor cared nowt.

Efter that time he went awa,
Just when it pleas'd his-sel;
But what he was, or whar he com fra
Nea mortal man can tell.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 246: Commencing in the year 1836.]

THE TWEA THRESHERS.

A story of two rustics, and the history of their several mistakes during a holiday which they took, in 1842, to go to Scarborough to see the Florentine Venus, then being exhibited in that town.

'Twas on a fiahne cleer sunny day,
Aboot the end o' summer,
When all the goa was Scarbro' spo,
Between the Tees an Hummer.

Coaches grained 'neath top heavy leeads,
Gigs, carriages an sike like,
Skew'd dust like fun fra' all the rooads,
At' end at Scarbro' tonpike.

Lauk! what a dust there was kick'd up
Like deed what blustrin storance,
A waint queer seeght was seen that da,
Some waxwark thing fra Florence.

Jerry an Jack, twea treshers bold,
Wer bangin 'oot and barley,
A dusty trade, hard by the rooad
Sweatin an broilin rarly.

"Dod dang," says Jack, "yau knocks an delves,
Digs, plews, sows, maws, an what for?
Pately at yau may live yau's sens,
Bud mare to keep up that, Jer."

He pointed ti twea carriage leead
'O fashionable people;
Wea seem'd to knoo the arts 'o ease,
Sat couple feeacing couple.

"Why can't we hev a bit 'o spree,
As weel as uther folks, Jer?"
"I deean't see why," quoth Jer, "dang me!
If ahle ageean strike strooak, ser.

"Afoor I'v seen that Florance thing,
It nobbut costs a shillin;
Besides I lang ti hev a spree,
An get a thorough swillin."

"Bonni!" says Jack, "bonni, my lad,
I like the risolution;
Let's hev thi hand, thi scheeam's weel plan'd,
We'll het i' execution."

Seea Jack and Jer shack'd hands and showd
'At peasant cud wi peasant,
Like prince wi prince, an lord wi lord,
Laugh loud, feel pleased, luke pleasant.

Seea yam tha went, wesh'd, scrub'd, an brush'd,
An sware tha wad hev rare spooat;
An eeach put on his bran new suit,
New breeches, cooat, an waiscooat.

An off tha went: "God speed ya weel!"
Cried Jinny, that was Jack's wife;
"An i' yer harts his love reveeal,"
Cried Fan, the soul 'o Jer's life.

"I wop yoo'll hev a pleasant da."
"I wop you will," said Jenny:
"I wop we sal," said Jack, "hurra!"
"I wop we sal," said Jerry.

An tha wer gone, lauk hoo tha preached,
An laugh'd all't way tha though;
Far on afoor their voices reach'd,
Ther mirth was getin vent so.

The wavy fiels 'o yallow wheat,
Spread wide i' view ther treasure;
The side swung wots, an bearded John,
'At fills the tankard measure,

Did sweetly vie wi promises
Zi fill oor barns wi plenty:
"Thank God," says Jack, "these are his gifts,
Ye fields 'twas him at sent ye."

Plenty thronged like an empress sat
Upon the broo 'o Cayton;
Wea laughed an made the hills ti smile
For miles round bonny Ayton.

DOLLY'S GAON; OR, THE EFFECTS OF PRIDE.[247]

The neighbours all remember weel
Once Dolly bought a gaon;
A painted lin, the grandest thing;
Ther but one piece ith taon.

The boy ith shop he teld her soa;
A merry joaking lad:
He said it wor t' first gaon o't piece
That ony one had had:--

And if shoo'd come when it wor made,
And let him see it on,
A handkerchy he'd give to her,
If he're a living man.

The gaon wor made, to 'th church shoo went;
But what gave most delight,
Shoo heeard foulks whisper as shoo past,
I never so the like!

But when shoo coom at Rubin's cot,
A hut that stood o'th moor,
Old Rubin sat, and Grace his wife,
Both smooking at the door.

"Good morning, Dolly," old Grace said,
"I wonder'd wo't could be."
Surprised shoo stud, her hands both up,
"What mun I live to see!"

"Is tat thy choice," old Rubin said,--
"Tha beots old Judy Gazer,
Shoo'd fifty gaons, but nooan like that,--
I'gy it is a blazer!"

Gay Dolly laugh'd, old Rubin said--
"Come in and sit te daon;"
But Dolly tript along the green,
Delighted with her gaon.

The church shoo enter'd, 'twor begun,
The best time to be seen;
Some sat and star'd, and some stood up,
As if shoo'd been the queen.

This confirm'd Dolly in her choice;
Her gaon wurt first in stile:
The priest, and clark, and all did stare,
And some, shoo thought, did smile.

This printed gaon had broad green leaves,
With branches thick and tall;
Red burds and yollow, ducks and geese,
The huntsman, haonds and all.

Thus Dolly sat, like Sheba's queen,
The grandest in the place;
A sidelong glance sometimes shoo cast
But did not turn her face.

Her prayer-book shoo seem'd to read,
As other people do;
But her devotion was her dress,
Her gaon wor spanking new.

The church did loase, and still they star'd;
Some laugh'd and made a stur:
The childer too came running raond,
One pointing said, "That's hur."

"Ah! what a gaon!" shoo heeard 'em say,
"Wi yollow burds and red:
It's just sich stuff as gentle fooak
Makes curtains for their bed."

This confused Dolly all at once,
Shoo knew not where shoo'er baon;
For fooaks shoo met, they laugh'd and said--
"Haa like ye yo'r new gaon?"

But Dolly shoo would speyk to nooan;
To meet fouk shoo were feard:
For some took hold o' Dolly's gaon,
And ast what twor a yeord.

Shoo call'd to see old Betty Hay,
While chapel fouk went past;
As shoo went in shoo heeard 'em say,
"Shoo's getten here at last."

This wor a spice shop, where t' lads met;
A merry hoil it ware:
Lads making fun o' all they could,
And Dolly gat her share.

The haaos wor fill'd, but all gave place;
"Come, Dolly, sit ye daon:"
When hoaf a dozen lads cried aaot--
"That is a bonny gaon!"

"Yo've bet'em, Dolly, all to day;
Yo'r gaon is first in stile:
It's been admir'd by all ith church,
Old priest, we saw him smile.

"Yo've vext old Mrs. Smith to day;
Her dress is nout like this:
Shoo knows it too, they all do say,
And's taen it quite amiss.

"When t' childer laugh'd at yo'r new gaon,
Shoo turn'd her face toth wal;
When church did loase, shoo went back way,
So as to miss 'em all."

Some thought this gaon could not be bought
At Halifax at all:
It wor a London print, they thought;
'T piece sud be sent for--all.

A what a profit Dolly'd got!
Shoo'd sell it in a crack;
"This dress beoats all, come, lads, and see
A hunt o' Dolly's back!"

The noise wor great, the laugh wor loud;
Lads shaoting hard a-way:
Poor Dolly rag'd, some said shoo swore,
At last we heeard her say--

"Gooid God!" said Dolly, stamping mad,
"Whatever sall I hear?
I'm t' laughing stock for all, egad,
I'm war nor ever here."

Up Dolly jumps--this is a hoil;
Ol gooa, it dos'n't meon:
Shoo heeard t' lads say oth aaotside door--
"Shoo's coming aaot ageon."

Lads pull'd her daon, but still shoo'd goa;
And running straight at door:
Chears and tables, spice and nuts
Shoo tumbled on toth floor.

"What will yo do," old Betty said,
When chears and tables crash'd;
"Me spice and apples daon oth floor,
And cumfit glass is smash'd."

Lads ran at apples, spice and nuts,
All sprawling daon o'th floor;
Poor Dolly said, "If I get aaot,
Yol catch me here no moore."

"Naa, flint-faced Tom," old Betty said,
"There's not a war ith taon;"
Tha held her fast, then late her slip,
Tha new shoo'd nock stuff daon.

"Aye, tha my laugh, tha brazen'd thing,
But will ta mak it up;
There is not hoaf oth stuff just naa
I had before ith shop.

"Such sturs as these I hate to see;"--
Tom said he ne'er begunt;
"Old tale ageon, its none o'me,
It's olas nubdy's dunt.

"There's winkin Will, and Jack ith oil,
Thes not two war ith shop;
I saw yo pushing lasses daon,
Then picking lads oth top.

"There's Dolly here, theyn tore her cap;
And t' screed wor London lace;
Shoe blacking temd o'hur new gaon,
And spotted black her face.

"Me chears theyn mash'd, me stoils theyn smash'd,
And crack'd t' new table top;
My apple pooak theyn taen away,
An put puttates ith spot.

"Sich sturs wud ruin ony man;
Whate'er I says no use:
There's three or four oth back oth door,
Eighting my spenisjuce.

"I'll fotch a warrant, if I live;
I'll transpoort ten to-morn:
Reit ovver sea I'll send yo all,
As sure as 'ere yor born.

"Nan, ta me cap toth frilling shop,
Them get it up best way;
Ol be at justices at morn,
Be it be breyk o' day.

"I'll not go there a daggletail,
Like mucky onion Ann;
I'll tell a tale, (yol seet ith news,)
As weel as ony man."

Ther scores o' people craaded raond,
Twor like a village fair:
When shoo went aaot ther sich a noise,
As if they'd rais'd a hare.

Sly Billy took her by the arm;
"Come, Dolly, stick to me:"
But Dolly struck him plump oth face;
"I'll nooan be fooil'd by thee."

His nose did bleed, the people laugh'd,
"Reyt, thump him," they did cry;
But Billy 'er fain to run away,
His bloody nose to dry.

Another scene gave Dolly pain:
It struck her like a blast;
Her old sweetheart wi bonny Jane,
Stud laaghing as shoo past.

This wor too much, the tears did flow,
Her trubbled brest did beat;
When love for love expects a smile,
A scornful taunt did meet.

"Thal wed her naa," Jane laughing said;
"Shoo beots fine fouk ith taon;
Shoo's like a walking cortan'd bed;
I wish I'd sich a gaon."

This Dolly heeard, but on shoo mov'd;
Sad, mourning, all furlorn:
"I wor in different trim, God knows,
When I coom on at morn."

I must be dreaming, Dolly thought;
But to be sure shoo put
Hur hands both up to touch her een,
To feel if they wor shut.

"This gaon, I'll burn it if I live,
I'll burn it every bit;
For, warst of all, where'er e go,
Thel say I'm short o' wit."

Then Dolly went at sich a speed,
Shoo never went before;
When shoo gat home shoo doft her gaon,
Declar'd shoo'd dont no more.

THE MORAL.

O what a change we undergo
By fate's unfriendly touch;
When we're asham'd and laugh'd at too,
For what we've priz'd so much.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 247: By a Native Genius. Printed by Crabtree and son, Cheapside, Halifax. To which is added, "Rose and Dolly," &c.]

THE WIDOW'S LAMENT.

This ballad is founded on an event which took place in the latter part of the year 1848. A gamekeeper of the earl of Ripon went out one night about his usual business, and was found next morning, near one of the plantations on Hutton Moor, shot dead. A notorious poacher, who was seen in the neighbourhood on the day of the murder, was apprehended and tried at York assizes, but acquitted for want of evidence; he subsequently emigrated to America, where he died, and is said to have confessed that he was the murderer.

The cheerless day is closing fast,
The angry night-wind howls around,
And hurried by the sweeping blast,
Cold sleet and snow drive o'er the ground.

Nought pleasing can the scene impart,
Far as the weary eye can scan;
But colder far the widow's heart,--
The widow of the murdered man.

The scene is o'er--the grave has closed
Above the form she loved the best;
The heart where all her trust reposed
Was driven to untimely rest.

Amid her children weeping round,
She stands an image of despair,
Clasping her arms her infant round,--
Yet from her eye there falls no tear;

Hers is a keener, deeper woe,
A more intense and heavy grief,
Than those whence tears in torrents flow,
And give the burdened heart relief.

"Well may ye weep," at length she cried,
"Poor orphans to a father's care,
By villain's shot your father died,
And left us hopeless, friendless here.