Chapter IV: Part 4

"A'a Mary aw'm glad 'at that's thee! Aw need thy advice, lass, aw'm sure;-- Aw'm all ov a mooild tha can see, Aw wor nivver i' this way afoor. Aw've net slept a wink all th' neet throo; Aw've been twirlin abaat like a worm, An' th' blankets gate felter'd, lass, too-- Tha nivver saw cloas i' sich form. Aw'll tell thee what 't all wor abaght-- But promise tha'll keep it reight squat; For aw wod'nt for th' world let it aght, But aw can't keep it in--tha knows that. We'd a meetin at th' schooil yesterneet, An Jimmy wor thear,--tha's seen Jim? An he hutch'd cloise to me in a bit, To ax me for th' number o'th' hymn; Aw thowt 't wor a gaumless trick, For he heeard it geen aght th' same as me; An he just did th' same thing tother wick,-- It made fowk tak nooatice, dos't see. An when aw wor gooin towards hooam, Aw heeard som'dy comin behund: 'Twor pitch dark, an aw thowt if they coom, Aw should varry near sink into th' graund. Aw knew it wor Jim bi his traid, An aw tried to get aght ov his gate; But a'a! tha minds, lass, aw wor flaid, Aw wor nivver i' sich en a state. Then aw felt som'dy's arm raand my shawl, An aw said, "nah, leeav loise or aw'll screeam! Can't ta let daycent lasses alooan, Consarn thi up! what does ta mean?" But he stuck to mi arm like a leach, An he whispered a word i' mi ear; It tuk booath mi breeath an mi speech, For aw'm varry sooin thrown aght o' gear. Then he squeezed me cloise up to his sel, An he kussed me, i' spite o' mi teeth: Aw says, "Jimmy, forshame o' thisel!" As sooin as aw'd getten mi breeath. But he wod'nt be quiet, for he sed 'At he'd loved me soa true an soa long-- Aw'd ha geen a ear off o' my ye'd To get loise--but tha knows he's soa strong.-- Then he tell'd me he wanted a wife, An he begged 'at aw wodn't say nay;-- Aw'd ne'er heeard sich a tale i' mi life, Aw wor fesen'd whativver to say; 'Coss tha knows aw've a likin for Jim; But yo can't allus say what yo meean; For aw tremb'ld i' ivvery limb, Wol he kussed me agean an agean. But at last aw began to give way, For, raylee, he made sich a fuss, An aw kussed him an all--for they say, Ther's nowt costs mich less nor a kuss. Then he left me at th' end o' awr street, An aw've felt like a fooil all th' neet throo; But if aw should see him to neet, What wod ta advise me to do? But dooant spaik a word--tha's noa need, For aw've made up mi mind ha to act, For he's th' grandest lad ivver aw seed, An aw like him th' best too--that's a fact!"

Babby Burds.

Aw wander'd aght one summer's morn, Across a meadow newly shorn; Th' sun wor shinin breet and clear, An fragrant scents rose up i'th' air, An all wor still. When, as my steps wor idly rovin, Aw coom upon a seet soa lovin! It fill'd mi heart wi' tender feelin, As daan aw sank beside it, kneelin O'th' edge o'th' hill.

It wor a little skylark's nest, An two young babby burds, undrest, Wor gapin wi' ther beaks soa wide, Callin for mammy to provide Ther mornin's meal; An high aboon ther little hooam, Th' saand o' daddy's warblin coom; Ringin soa sweetly o' mi ear, Like breathins throo a purer sphere, He sang soa weel.

Ther mammy, a few yards away, Wor hoppin on a bit o' hay; Too feeard to coom, too bold to flee; An watchin me wi' troubled e'e, Shoo seem'd to say: "Dooant touch my bonny babs, young man! Ther daddy does the best he can To cheer yo with his sweetest song; An thoase 'll sing as weel, ere long, Soa let 'em stay."

"Tha needn't think aw'd do 'em harm-- Come shelter 'em and keep 'em warm! For aw've a little nest misel, An two young babs, aw'm praad to tell, 'At's precious too; An they've a mammy watching thear, 'At howds them little ens as dear, An dearer still, if that can be, Nor what thease youngens are to thee, Soa come,--nah do!

"A'a well!--tha'rt shy, tha hops away,-- Tha doesn't trust a word aw say; Tha thinks aw'm here to rob an plunder, An aw confess aw dunnot wonder-- But tha's noa need; Aw'll leave yo to yorsels,--gooid bye! For nah aw see yor daddy's nigh; He's dropt that strain soa sweet and strong; He loves yo better nor his song-- He does indeed."

Aw walk'd away, and sooin mi ear Caught up the saand o' warblin clear; Thinks aw, they're happy once agean; Aw'm glad aw didn't prove so meean To rob that nest; For they're contented wi' ther lot, Nor envied me mi little cot; An in this world, as we goa throo, It is'nt mich gooid we can do, An do awr best.

Then let us do as little wrong To onny as we pass along, An never seek a joy to gain 'At's purchased wi' another's pain, It isn't reet. Aw shall goa hooam wi' leeter heart, To mend awr Johnny's little cart: (He allus finds me wark enuff To piecen up his brocken stuff, For ivvery neet.)

An Sally--a'a! if yo could see her! When aw sit daan to get mi teah, Shoo puts her dolly o' mi knee, An maks me sing it "Hush a bee," I'th' rocking chear; Then begs some sugar for it too; What it can't ait shoo tries to do; An turnin up her cunnin e'e, Shoo rubs th' doll maath, an says, "yo see, It gets its share."

Sometimes aw'm rayther cross, aw fear! Then starts a little tremblin tear, 'At, like a drop o' glitt'rin dew Swimmin within a wild flaar blue, Falls fro ther e'e; But as the sun in April shaars Revives the little droopin flaars, A kind word brings ther sweet smile back: Aw raylee think mi brain ud crack If they'd ta dee.

Then if aw love my bairns soa weel, May net a skylark's bosom feel As mich consarn for th' little things 'At snooze i'th' shelter which her wings Soa weel affoards? If fowk wod nobbut bear i' mind How mich is gained by bein kind; Ther's fewer breasts wi' grief ud swell, An fewer fowk ud thoughtless mell Even o'th' burds.

Queen ov Skircoit Green.

Have yo seen mi bonny Mary,
Shoo lives at Skircoit Green;
An old fowk say a fairer lass
Nor her wor nivver seen.
An th' young ens say shoo's th' sweetest flaar,
'At's bloomin thear to-day;
An one an all are scared to deeath,
Lest shoo should flee away.

Shoo's health an strength an beauty too,
Shoo's grace an style as weel:
An what's moor precious far nor all,
Her heart is true as steel.
Shoo's full ov tenderness an love,
For onny in distress;
Whearivver sorrows heaviest prove,
Shoo's thear to cheer an bless.

Her fayther's growin old an gray,
Her mother's wellny done;
But in ther child they find a stay,
As life's sands quickly run.
Her smilin face like sunshine comes,
To chase away ther cares,
An peeace an comfort allus dwells,
In that dear hooam ov theirs.

Each Sundy morn shoo's off to schooil,
To taich her Bible class;
An meets a smilin welcome,
From ivvery lad an lass;
An when they sing some old psalm tune,
Her voice rings sweet an clear,
It saands as if an angel's tongue,
Had joined in worship thear.

Aw sometimes see her safely hooam,
An oft aw've tried to tell,
That precious saycret ov a hooap
'At in mi heart does dwell.
But when aw've seen the childlike trust,
'At glances throo her e'e,
To spaik ov love aw nivver durst;--
Shoo's far too gooid for me.

But to grow worthy ov her love,
Is what aw meean to try;
An time may my affection prove,--
An win her bye-an-bye.
Then aw shall be the happiest chap
'At Yorksher's ivver seen,
An some fine day aw'll bear away,
The Queen ov Skircoit Green.

Th' Little Black Hand.

Ther's a spark just o'th tip o' mi pen, An it may be poetical fire: An suppoase 'at it is'nt--what then? Wod yo bawk a chap ov his desire?

Aw'm detarmined to scribble away-- Soa's them 'at's a fancy con read; An tho' aw turn neet into day, If aw'm suitin an odd en, ne'er heed!

Aw own ther's mich pleasure i' life; But then ther's abundance o' care, An them 'at's contented wi' strife May allus mak sure o' ther share.

But aw'll laff woll mi galluses braik,-- Tho mi bed's net as soft as spun silk; An if butter be aght o' mi raik, Aw'll ma' th' best ov a drop o' churn milk.

It's nooan them 'at's getten all th' brass 'At's getten all th' pleasure, net it! When aw'm smookin a pipe wi' th' owd lass, Aw con thoil 'em whativver they get.

But sometimes when aw'm walkin throo th' street, An aw see fowk hawf-clam'd, an i' rags, Wi' noa bed to lig daan on at neet But i'th' warkus, or th' cold-lukkin flags;

Then aw think, if rich fowk nobbut knew What ther brothers i' poverty feel, They'd a trifle moor charity show, An help 'em sometimes to a meal.

But we're all far too fond of ussen, To bother wi' things aght o'th' seet; An we leeav to ther fate sich as them 'At's noa bed nor noa supper at neet.

But ther's monny a honest heart throbs, Tho' it throbs under rags an' i' pains, 'At wod'nt disgrace one o'th' nobs, 'At booasts better blooid in his veins.

See that child thear! 'at's workin away, An sweepin that crossin i'th' street: He's been thear ivver sin it coom day, An yo'll find him thear far into th' neet.

See what hundreds goa thowtlessly by, An ne'er think o' that child wi' his broom! What care they tho' he smothered a sigh, Or wiped off a tear as they coom?

But luk! thear's a man wi' a heart! He's gien th' poor child summat at last: Ha his e'en seem to twinkle an start, As he watches th' kind gentleman past!

An thear in his little black hand He sees a gold sovereign shine! He thinks he ne'er saw owt soa grand, An he says, "Sure it connot be mine!"

An all th' lads cluther raand him i' glee, An tell him to cut aght o'th seet; But he clutches it fast,--an nah see Ha he's threedin his way along th' street.

Till he comes to that varry same man, An he touches him gently o'th' back, An he tells him as weel as he can, 'At he fancies he's made a mistak.

An th' chap luks at that poor honest lad, With his little nak'd feet, as he stands, An his heart oppens wide--he's soa glad Woll he taks one o'th little black hands,

An he begs him to tell him his name: But th' child glances timidly raand-- Poor craytur! he connot forshame To lift up his e'en off o'th graand.

But at last he finds courage to spaik, An he tells him they call him poor Joa; 'At his mother is sickly an' waik; An his father went deead long ago;

An he's th' only one able to work Aght o' four; an he does what he can, Throo early at morn till it's dark: An he hopes 'at he'll sooin be a man.

An he tells him his mother's last word, As he starts for his labor for th' day, Is to put all his trust in the Lord, An He'll net send him empty away.--

See that man! nah he's wipin his e'en, An he gives him that bright piece o' gowd; An th' lad sees i' that image o'th Queen What'll keep his poor mother throo th' cowd.

An monny a time too, after then, Did that gentleman tak up his stand At that crossing an watch for hissen The work ov that little black hand.

An when years had gooan by, he expressed 'At i'th' spite ov all th' taichin he'd had, An all th' lessons he'd leearn'd, that wor th' best 'At wor towt by that poor little lad.

Tho' the proud an the wealthy may prate, An booast o' ther riches and land, Some o'th' laadest 'ul sink second-rate To that lad with his little black hand.

My Native Twang.

They tell me aw'm a vulgar chap, An ow't to goa to th' schooil To leearn to talk like other fowk, An net be sich a fooil; But aw've a noashun, do yo see, Although it may be wrang, The sweetest music is to me, Mi own, mi native twang.

An when away throo all mi friends, I' other taans aw rooam, Aw find ther's nowt con mak amends For what aw've left at hooam; But as aw hurry throo ther streets Noa matter tho aw'm thrang, Ha welcome if mi ear but greets Mi own, mi native twang.

Why some despise it, aw can't tell, It's plain to understand; An sure aw am it saands as weel, Tho' happen net soa grand. Tell fowk they're courtin, they're enraged, They call that vulgar slang; But if aw tell 'em they're engaged, That's net mi native twang.

Mi father, tho' he may be poor, Aw'm net ashamed o' him; Aw love mi mother tho' shoo's deeaf, An tho' her e'en are dim; Aw love th' owd taan; aw love to walk Its crucken'd streets amang; For thear it is aw hear fowk tawk Mi own, mi native twang.

Aw like to hear hard-workin fowk Say boldly what they meean; For tho' ther hands are smeared wi' muck, May be ther hearts are cleean. An them 'at country fowk despise, Aw say, "Why, let 'em hang;" They'll nivver rob mi sympathies Throo thee, mi native twang.

Aw like to see grand ladies, When they're donn'd i' silks soa fine; Aw like to see ther dazzlin' e'en Throo th' carriage winders shine; Mi mother wor a woman, An tho' it may be wrang, Aw love 'em all, but mooastly them 'At tawk mi native twang.

Aw wish gooid luck to ivvery one; Gooid luck to them 'ats brass; Gooid luck an better times to come To them 'ats poor--alas! An may health, wealth, an sweet content For ivver dwell amang True, honest-hearted, Yorkshire fowk, 'At tawk mi native twang.

Sing On.

Sing on, tha bonny burd, sing on, sing on; Aw connot sing; A claad hings ovver me, do what aw con Fresh troubles spring. Aw wish aw could, like thee, fly far away, Aw'd leeav mi cares an be a burd to-day.

Mi heart wor once as full o' joy as thine, But nah it's sad; Aw thowt all th' happiness i'th' world wor mine, Sich faith aw had;-- But he who promised aw should be his wife Has robb'd me o' mi ivvery joy i' life.

Sing on! tha cannot cheer me wi' thi song; Yet, when aw hear Thi warblin' voice, 'at rings soa sweet an strong, Aw feel a tear Roll daan mi cheek, 'at gives mi heart relief, A gleam o' comfort, but it's varry brief.

This little darlin, cuddled to mi breast, It little knows, When snoozlin' soa quietly at rest, 'At all mi woes Are smothered thear, an mi poor heart ud braik But just aw live for mi wee laddie's sake.

Sing on; an if tha e'er should chonce to see That faithless swain, Whose falsehood has caused all mi misery, Strike up thy strain, An if his heart yet answers to thy trill Fly back to me, an we will love him still.

But if he heeds thee not, then shall aw feel All hope is o'er, An he that aw believed an loved soa weel Be loved noa more; For that hard heart, bird music cannot move, Is far too cold a dwellin-place for love.

Shoo's thi Sister. (Written on seeing a wealthy Townsman rudely push a poor little girl off the pavement.)

Gently, gently, shoo's thi sister, Tho' her clooas are nowt but rags; On her feet ther's monny a blister: See ha painfully shoo drags Her tired limbs to some quiet corner: Shoo's thi sister--dunnot scorn her.

Daan her cheeks noa tears are runnin, Shoo's been shov'd aside befoor; Used to scoffs, an sneers, an shunnin-- Shoo expects it, 'coss shoo's poor; Schooil'd for years her grief to smother, Still shoo's human--tha'rt her brother.

Tho' tha'rt donn'd i' fine black cloathin, A kid glove o' awther hand, Dunnot touch her roughly, loathin-- Shoo's thi sister, understand: Th' wind maks merry wi' her tatters, Poor lost pilgrim!--but what matters?

Luk ha sharp her elbow's growin, An ha pale her little face; An her hair neglected, showin Her's has been a sorry case; O, mi heart felt sad at th' seet, When tha shov'd her into th' street.

Ther wor once a "Man," mich greater Nor thisen wi' all thi brass; Him, awr blessed Mediator,-- Wod He scorn that little lass? Noa, He called 'em, an He blessed 'em, An His hands divine caress'd 'em.

Goa thi ways! an if tha bears net Some regret for what tha's done, If tha con pass on, an cares net For that sufferin little one; Then ha'ivver poor shoo be, Yet shoo's rich compared wi' thee.

Oh! 'at this breet gold should blind us, To awr duties here below! For we're forced to leeav behind us All awr pomp, an all awr show; Why then should we slight another? Shoo's thi sister, unkind brother.

Another Babby.

Another!--well, my bonny lad,
Aw wodn't send thee back;
Altho' we thowt we hadn't raam,
Tha's fun some in a crack.

It maks me feel as pleased as punch
To see thi pratty face;
Ther's net another child i'th' bunch
Moor welcome to a place.

Aw'st ha to fit a peark for thee,
I' some nook o' mi cage;
But if another comes, raylee!
Aw'st want a bigger wage.

But aw'm noan feard tha'll ha to want--
We'll try to pool thee throo,
For Him who has mi laddie sent,
He'll send his baggin too.

He hears the little sparrows chirp,
An answers th' raven's call;
He'll nivver see one want for owt,
'At's worth aboon 'em all.

But if one on us mun goa short,
(Altho' it's hard to pine,)
Thy little belly shall be fill'd
Whativver comes o' mine.

A chap con nobbut do his best,
An that aw'll do for thee,
Leavin to providence all th' rest,
An we'st get help'd, tha'll see.

An if thi lot's as bright an fair
As aw could wish it, lad,
Tha'll come in for a better share
Nor ivver blessed thi dad.

Aw think aw'st net ha lived for nowt,
If, when deeath comes, aw find
Aw leeav some virtuous lasses
An some honest lads behind.

An tho' noa coat ov arms may grace
For me, a sculptor'd stooan,
Aw hooap to leeav a noble race,
Wi' arms o' flesh an booan.

Then cheer up, lad, tho' things luk black,
Wi' health, we'll persevere,
An try to find a brighter track--
We'll conquer, nivver fear!

An may God shield thee wi' his wing,
Along life's stormy way,
An keep thi heart as free throo sin,
As what it is to-day.

To a Roadside Flower.

Tha bonny little pooasy! aw'm inclined To tak thee wi' me: But yet aw think if tha could spaik thi mind, Tha'd ne'er forgie me; For i' mi jacket button-hoil tha'd quickly dee, An life is short enuff, booath for mi-sen an thee.

Here, if aw leeav thee bi th' rooadside to flourish, Whear scoors may pass thee; Some heart 'at has few other joys to cherish May stop an bless thee: Then bloom, mi little pooasy! Tha'rt a beauty! Sent here to bless: Smile on--tha does thi duty.

Aw wodn't rob another of a joy Sich as tha's gien me; For aw felt varry sad, mi little doy Until aw'd seen thee. An may each passin, careworn, lowly brother, Feel cheered like me, an leeav thee for another.

An Old Man's Christmas Morning.

Its a long time sin thee an' me have met befoor, owd lad,--
Soa pull up thi cheer, an sit daan,
for ther's noabdy moor welcome nor thee:
Thi toppin's grown whiter nor once,--yet mi heart feels glad,
To see ther's a rooas o' thi cheek,
an a bit ov a leet i' thi e'e.

Thi limbs seem to totter an shake, like a crazy owd fence,
'At th' wind maks to tremel an creak;
but tha still fills thi place;
An it shows 'at tha'rt bless'd wi' a bit o' gradely gooid sense,
'At i' spite o' thi years an thi cares,
tha still wears a smile o' thi face.

Come fill up thi pipe--for aw knaw tha'rt reight fond ov a rick,--
An tha'll find a drop o' hooam-brew'd
i' that pint up o'th' hob, aw dar say;
An nah, wol tha'rt tooastin thi shins,
just scale th' foir, an aw'll side thi owd stick,
Then aw'll tell thi some things
'at's happen'd sin tha went away.

An first of all tha mun knaw 'at aw havn't been spar'd,
For trials an troubles have come,
an mi heart has felt well nigh to braik;
An mi wife, 'at tha knaws wor mi pride,
an mi fortuns has shared,
Shoo bent under her griefs, an shoo's flown far,
far away aght o' ther raik.

My life's like an owd gate 'at's nobbut one hinge for support,
An sometimes aw wish--aw'm soa lonely--
at tother 'ud drop off wi' rust;
But it hasn't to be, for it seems Life maks me his spooart,
An Deeath cannot even spare time,
to turn sich an owd man into dust.

Last neet as aw sat an watched th' yule log awd put on to th' fire,
As it crackled, an sparkled, an flared up wi sich gusto an spirit,
An when it wor touched it shone breeter, an flared up still higher,
Till at last aw'd to shift th' cheer
further back for aw couldn't bide near it;

Th' dull saand o'th' church bells coom to tell me
one moor Christmas mornin,
Had come, for its welcome--but ha could aw
welcome it when all alooan?
For th' snow wor fallin soa thickly, an th' cold wind wor mooanin,
An them 'at aw lov'd wor asleep i'
that cold church yard, under a stooan.

Soa aw went to bed an aw slept, an then began dreamin,
'At mi wife stood by mi side,
an smiled, an mi heart left off its beatin,
An aw put aght mi hand, an awoke, an mornin wor gleamin;
An its made me feel sorrowful, an aw connot give ovver freatin.

For aw think what a glorious Christmas day 'twod ha' been,
If awd gooan to that place, where ther's noa moor cares,
nor partin, nor sorrow,
For aw know shoo's thear, or that dream aw sud nivver ha seen,
But aw'll try to be patient,
an maybe shoo'll come fotch me to-morrow.

It's forty long summers an winters, sin tha bade "gooid bye,"
An as fine a young fella tha wor, as ivver aw met i' mi life;
When tha went to some far away land, thi fortune to try,
An aw stopt at hooam to toil on,
becoss it wor th' wish o' my wife.

An shoo wor a bonny young wench, an better nor bonny,--
Aw seem nah as if aw can see her,
wi' th' first little bairn on her knee;
An we called it Ann, for aw liked that name best ov onny,
An fowk said it wor th' pictur o'th' mother,
wi' just a strinklin o' me.

An th' next wor a lad, an th' next wor a lad, then a lass came,--
That made us caant six,--an six happier fowk nivver sat to a meal,
An they grew like hop plants--full o' life--but waikly i'th' frame,
An at last one drooped, an Deeath coom an marked her with his seal.

A year or two moor an another seemed longin to goa,
An all we could do wor to smooth his deeath bed,
'at he might sleep sweeter--
Then th' third seemed to sicken an pine, an we couldn't say "noa,"
For he said his sister had called,
an he wor most anxious to meet her--

An how we watched th' youngest, noa mortal can tell but misen,
For we prized it moor,
becoss it wor th' only one left us to cherish;
At last her call came, an shoo luked sich a luk at us then,
Which aw ne'er shall forget,
tho' mi mem'ry ov all other things perish.

A few years moor, when awr griefs wor beginnin to lighten,
Mi friends began askin my wife,
if shoo felt hersen hearty an strong?
An aw nivver saw at her face wor beginnin to whiten,
Till shoo grew like a shadow, an aw could'nt even guess wrong.

Then aw stood beside th' grave when th' saxton
wor shovin in th' gravel,
An he sed, "this last maks five,
an aw think ther's just room for another,"
An aw went an left him, lonely an heartsick to travel,
Till th' time comes when aw may lig daan
beside them four bairns an ther mother.

An aw think what a glorious Christmas day 'twod ha been
If aw'd gooan to that place where
ther's noa moor cares, nor partin, nor sorrow;
An aw knaw they're thear, or that dream aw should nivver ha seen,
But aw'll try to be patient,
an maybe shoo'll come fotch me to-morrow.

Settin Off.

It isn't 'at aw want to rooam
An leeav thi bi thisen:
For aw'm content enuff at hooam,
Aw'm net like other men.
But then ther's thee an childer three,
To care for an protect,
It's reight 'at yo should luk to me,
An wrang should aw neglect.

Aw'm growin older ivvery day, My race is ommost run, Time's growin varry precious, lass, An lots remains undone. If aw wor called away, maybe, Tha'd find some other man, But tha cannot find a father, For them lads,--do th' best tha can.

Another husband might'nt prove
As kind as aw have been;
An wedded life's a weary thing,
When love's shut aght o'th' scene.
Aw know aw've faults, aw'll own a lot,--
But then, tha must agree,
Aw've allus kept a tender spot
Within mi heart for thee.

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."

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.