Yorkshire Dialect Poems Part 16

And efther thot I thowt the pie was, mebbe, middlin' large, And so I ate it for her sake--theer wasn't onny charge; Until it seems t' missus asked her rayther sharply why She awlus used t' biggest dish for pudden and for pie.

I wasn't mich of use, ye knaw, et this here fancy talkin', She had no chance o' goin' oot for armin' it and walkin'.

But thin I knawed I gor her love whin I could see t' pies; I knawed her thowts o' me were big by bigness o' their size.

The pies and gell I thowt thot geed,(1) they hardlins could be beaten, She knawed I'd awlus thowts on her by way t' pies were eaten; Until it seems t' missus asked her rayther sharply why She awlus used t' biggest dish for pudden and for pie.

Noo just thoo wait a bit and see; I'm only thod-lad(2) noo, I moight be wagoner or hoind within a year or two; And thin thoo'll see, or I'm a cauf, I'll mak 'em ring choch bell, And carry off et Martinmas yon prize-pie-makkin' gell.

And whin thoo's buyin' coats and beats(3) wi' wages thot ye take, It's I'll be buyin' boxes for t' laatle bits o' cake; And whin I've gar a missus ther'll be no more askin' why She awlus gers oor biggest dish for pudden and for pie.

1. Good. 2. Third lad on the farm. 3. Boots.

I's Gotten t' Bliss (1914)

George H. Cowling

I's gotten t' bliss o' moonten-tops to-neet, Thof I's i' bondage noo, an' blinnd an' deeaf.

Brethren, I's stoun(1)! an' fand it varry sweet, Sea strike my neame off, if't be your belief I's slidin' back.

Last neet, as I were shoggin'(2) on up t' street, I acted t' thief.

Ye think I's hardened. Ay! I see ye lewvk.

I stell't,(3) it's true; bud, brethren, I'll repay.

I'll pay back ten-foad iverything I tewk, An' folks may say whate'er they like to say.

It were a kiss, An' t' la.s.s has promised iv oar ingle-newk To neame t' day.

1. Stolen. 2. Jogging 3. Stole.

A Natterin' Wife

George H. Cowling

The parson, the squire an' the divil Are troubles at trouble this life, Bud each on em's dacent an' civil Compared wi' a natterin'(1) wife.

A wife at mun argie an' natter, She maks a man's mortal life h.e.l.l.

An' that's t' gospel-truth o' t' matter, I knaws, 'cause I's got yan misel.

1. Nagging.

O! What do ye Wesh i' the Beck

George H. Cowling

"O! What do ye wesh i' the beck, awd wench?

Is it watter ye lack at heame?"

It's n.o.bbut a murderer's shrood, young man, A shrood for to cover his weam.(1)

"O! what do ye cut i' the slack, awd hag?

Is it fencin' ye lack for your beas'(2)?"

It's n.o.bbut a murderer's coffin, sir, A coffin to felt(3) his feace."

"O! what do ye greaye(4) at the crossroads, witch?

Is it roots ye lack for your swine?"

"It's n.o.bbut a murderer's grave, fair sir, A grave for to bury him fine."

"An' whea be-owes(5) coffin an' shrood, foul witch?

An' wheas is the grave i' the gra.s.s?"

"This spell I hae woven for thee, dear hairt, Coom, kill me, an' bring it to pa.s.s."

1. Belly. 2. Beasts, cattle.. 3. Hide.

4. Dig 5. Owns,

Part II

Traditional Poems

Cleveland Lyke-wake Dirge(1)

This ya neet, this ya neet, Ivvery neet an' all; Fire an' fleet(2) an' can'le leet, An' Christ tak up thy saul.

When thoo frae hence away art pa.s.sed(3) Ivvery neet an' all; To Whinny-moor thoo cooms at last, An' Christ tak up thy saul.

If ivver thoo gav owther hosen or shoon, Ivvery neet an' all; Clap thee doon an' put 'em on, An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Bud if hosen or shoon thoo nivver gav nean,(4) Ivvery neet an' all; T' whinnies 'll p.r.i.c.k thee sair to t' bean,(5) An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Frae Whinny-moor when(6) thoo mayst pa.s.s, Ivvery neet an' all; To t' Brig o' Dreead thoo'll coom at last, An' Christ tak up thy saul.

If ivver thoo gav o' thy siller an' gowd, Ivvery neet an' all; At t' Brig o' Dreead thoo'll finnd foothod, An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Bud if siller an' gowd thoo nivver gav nean, Ivvery neet an' all; Thoo'll doan, doon tum'le towards h.e.l.l fleames, An' Christ tak up thy saul.