Yorkshire Dialect Poems Part 6

Abey preached a lang time about summat to boot, Insistin' that his were the liveliest brute; But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, Till Abey shook hands, an' said, Well, Tommy I done!

"O! Tommy," said Abey, "I's sorry for thee, I thowt thou'd hae hadden mair white i' thy ee; Good luck's wi' thy bargain, for my horse is deead."

"Hey!" says Tommy, "my lad, so is mine, an' it's fleead(5)!"

So Tommy got t' better o' t' bargain a vast, An' cam' off wi' a Yorks.h.i.+reman's triumph at last; For thof 'twixt deead horses there's not mich to choose, Yet Tommy were richer by t' hide an' fower shooes.

1 Near.2 Nag.3 Worse. 4. Quick, living 5. Flayed.

The Lucky Dream

John Castillo (1792-1845)

Ya Kessmas neet, or then aboot, When measons all were frozzen oot, I went to see a country friend, An hospitable hoor to spend.

For gains, I cut across o' t' moor, Whoor t' snaw sea furiously did stoor.(1) The hoose I gain'd an' enter'd in, An' were as welcome as a king.

The storm agean t' windey patter'd, An' hail-steans doon t' chimley clatter'd.

All hands were in, an' seem'd content, An' nean did frost or snaw lament.

T' la.s.ses all were at their sewing, Their cheeks wiv health an' beauty glowing.

Aroond the hearth, in cheerful chat, Twea or three friendly neighbours sat, Their travels telling, whoor they'd been, An' what they had beath heeard an' seen.

Till yan did us all mich amuse, An' thus a story introduce.

"I recollect lang saan,"(2) says he, "A story that were tell'd to me, At seems sea strange i' this oor day That true or false I cannot say.

A man liv'd i' this neighbourhood, Nea doot of reputation good, An' lang taame strave wi' stiddy care, To keep his hoosehod i' repair.

At length he had a curious dream, For three neets runnin' 't were the seame, At(3) if on Lunnon Brig he stood, He'd hear some news would dea him good, He labour'd hard, beath neet an' day, Tryin' to draave those thowts away; Yet daily grew mair discontent Till he at last to Lunnon went.

Being quite a stranger to that toon, Lang taame he wander'd up an' doon, Till, led by some mysterious hand, On Lunnon Brig he teak his stand.

An' there he waited day by day, An' just were boun(4) to coom away, Sea mich he thowt he were to bleame To gang sea far aboot a dream, When thus a man, as he drew near, Did say, "Good friend, what seek you here, Where I have seen you soon and late?"

His dream tiv him he did relate.

"Dreams," says the man, " are empty things, Mere thoughts that flit on silver'd wings; Unheeded we should let them pa.s.s.

I've had a dream, and thus it was, That somewhere round this peopled ball, There's such a place as Lealholm Hall(5); Yet whether such a place there be, Or not, is all unknown to me.

There in a cellar, dark and deep, Where slimy creatures nightly creep, And human footsteps never tread, There is a store of treasure hid.

If it be so, I have no doubt, Some lucky wight will find it out.

Yet so or not is nought to me, For I shall ne'er go there to see."

The man did slyly twice or thrice The c.o.c.kney thenk for his advice; Then heame agean withoot delay He cherfully did tak his way.

An' set aboot the wark, an' sped, Fun' ivvery thing as t' man had said; Were iver efter seen to flourish T' fanest gentleman iv all t' parish.

Folks wonder'd sair, an' ,weel they might, Whoor he gat all his guineas bright.

If it were true, i' spite o' fame, Tiv him it were a lucky dream."

1. Drive. 2. Long ago. 3. That. 4. Ready.

5. In the neighbourhood of Whitby.

The Milkin'-Time

J. H. Dixon (1803-1876)

Meet me at the fowd at the milkin'-time, Whan the dusky sky is gowd at the milkin'-time; Whan the fog(1) is slant(2) wi' dew, An' the clocks(3) go hummin' thro'

The wick-sets(4) an' the branches of the owmerin'(5) yew.

Weel ye knaw the hour of the milkin'-time, The girt bell sounds frev t' tower at the milkin'-time; Bud as gowd sooin turns to gray, An' I cannot have delay, Dunnot linger by the way at the milkin'-time.

Ye'll find a la.s.s at's true at the milkin'-time, Shoo thinks of nane bud you at the milkin'-time; Bud my fadder's gittin' owd, An' he's gien a bit to scowd, Whan I's ower lang at the fowd at the milkin'-time.

Happen ye're afeard at the milkin'-time; Mebbe loike ye've heerd at the milkin'-time The green fowk shak their feet, Whan t' moon on Heeside's breet, An' it chances so to-neet, at the milkin'-time.

There's yan, an' he knaws weel whan it's milkin'-time; He'd feace the varra de'il at the milkin'-time.

He'd nut be yan to wait Tho' a barguest(6) war i' t' gate,(7) If the word I'd n.o.bbud say 't at the milkin'-time.

1. Aftermath. 2. Wet. 3. Beetles 4. Quick-sets. 5. Overshadowing 6. The barguest is an apparition, taking usually the form of a big black dog with saucer eyes. 7. Way, road.

I Niver can call Her my Wife

Ben Preston (1819-1902)

I'm a weyver, ye knaw, an' awf deead, So I do all at iver I can To put away aat o' my heead The thowts an' the aims of a man.

Eight s.h.i.+llin' i' t'wick's what I arn, When I've varry gooid wark an' full time, An' I think it's a sorry consarn For a fella at's just in his prime.

Bud aar maister says things is as weel As they have been or iver can be, An' I happen sud think so misel If he'd n.o.bbud swop places wi' me.

Bud he's welcome ta all he can get, I begrudge him o' noan of his bra.s.s, An' I'm nowt bud a madlin(1) to fret, Or to think o' yon beautiful la.s.s.

I niver can call her my wife, My love I sal niver mak knawn, Yit the sarra that darkens her life Thraws its shadda across o' my awn.

When I knaw at her heart is at eease, Theer is suns.h.i.+ne an' singin' i' mine; An' misfortunes may come as they pleease, Yit they seldom can mak me repine.

Bud that Chartist wor nowt bud a slope(2)-- I were fooild by his speeches an' rhymes, For his promises wattered my hope, An' I leng'd for his suns.h.i.+ny times; Bud I feel at my dearest desire Within me 'll wither away; Like an ivy-stem trailin' i' t' mire, It's deein for t' want of a stay.

When I laid i' my bed day an' neet, An' were geen up by t' doctors for deead, G.o.d bless her! shoo'd coom wi' a leet An' a basin o' grewil an' breead.

An' I once thowt I'd aat wi' it all, Bud so kindly shoo chatted an' smiled, I were fain to turn ovver to t' wall, An' to bluther an' roar like a child.

An' I said, as I thowt of her een, Each breeter for t' tear at were in 't, It's a sin to be niver forgeen, To yoke her to famine an' stint; So I'll e'en travel forrad throo life, Like a man throo a desert unknawn; I mun ne'er have a home nor a wife, Bud my sorras 'll all be my awn.

So I trudge on alone as I owt, An' whativer my troubles may be, They'll be sweetened, poor la.s.s, wi' the thowt At I've niver browt trouble to thee.

Yit a bird has its young uns to guard, A wild beast a mate in his den, An' I cannot bud think at it's hard Nay, deng it, I'm roarin' agen!

1. Fool 2. Impostor.

Come to thy Gronny, Doy(1)

Ben Preston

Come to thy gronny, doy, come to thy gronny, Bless thee, to me tha'rt as pratty as onny; m.u.t.h.e.rla.s.s barn of a dowter unwed, Little tha knaws, doy, the tears at I've shed; Trials I've knawn both for t' heart an' for t' heead, Shortness o' wark, ay, an' shortness o' breead.