Random Rhymes and Rambles Part 14

No doubt thou was at first designed To suit the palates o' mankind; Yet as I ponder now I find, Thy fame is gone: With dainty dish thou'rt behind With every one.

I've seen the time thy silvery sheen Were welcome both at morn and e'en, Or any hour that's in between, Thy name wer good; But now by some considered mean For human food.

When peace and plenty's smiling brow, And trade and commerce speeds the plough; Thy friends that were not long ago, Such game they make; Thy epitaph is soldier now, Or two-eyed snake.

When times are hard we're scant o' cash, And famine hungry bellies lash, And tripes and trollabobble's trash Begins to fail, Asteead o' soups an' oxtail ash, Hail! herring, hail!

Full mony a time t'as made me groan, To see thee stretched, despised, alone; While turned-up noses pa.s.sed have gone, O' purse-proud men!

No friends, alas! save some poor one Fra t' paddin can.

Whoe'er despise thee, let them know The time may come when they may go To some fish wife, and beg to know If they can buy The friendship o' their vanquished foe, We weeping eye.

To me nought could be better fun, Than see a duke or n.o.ble don, Or lord, or peer, or gentleman, In search o' thee: And they were bidden to move on, Or go t'at sea.

Yet I will sing thy praise, wee fish; To me thou art a dainty dish; For thee, 'tis true, we often wish, My little bloater; Either salted, cured, or shining fresh Fra yon great water.

If through thy pedigree we peep, Philosophy from thee can keep, To me I need not study deep, There's nothing foreign; For aw like thee, am sold too cheap, My little herring.

Our Poor Little Factory Girls.

They are up in the morning right early, They are up sometimes afore leet; Aw hear their clogs they are clamping, As t' little things goes dahn the street.

They are off in the morning right early, With their baskets o' jock on their arms; The bell is ting-tonging, ting-tonging, As they enter the mill in a swarm.

They are skarpring backward and forward, Their ends to keep up if they can; They are doing their utmost endeavours, For fear o' the frown o' man.

Wi' fingers so nimble and supple, They twist, an' they twine, an' they twirl, Such walking, an' running, an' kneeling, As the wee little factory girl.

They are bouncing abaht like a shuttle, They are kneeling an' rubbing the floor; While their wee little mates they are doffing, Preparing the spindles for more.

Them two little things they are thickest, They help one another 'tis plain; They try to be best and the quickest, The smiles o' their master to gain.

And now from her ten hours' labour, Back to her cottage sho shogs; Aw hear by the tramping and singing, 'Tis the factory girl in her clogs.

An' at night when sho's folded i' slumber, Sho's dreaming o' noises and drawls; Of all human toil under-rated, 'Tis our poor little factory girls.

We Him haw call my awn.

The branches o' the woodbine hide My little cottage wall, An' though 'tis but a humble thatch, Aw envy not the hall.

The wooded hills before my eyes Are spread both far and wide; An' Nature's grandeur seems to dress, In all her lovely pride.

It is, indeed, a lovely spot, O' singing birds an' flowers; 'Mid Nature's grandeur it is true, I pa.s.s away my hours.

Yet think not 'tis this lovely glen, So dear in all its charms; Its blossomed banks and rippled reels, Freed from the world's alarms.

For should love's magic change the scene, To trackless lands unknown; 'Twor Eden in the desert wild, Wi him aw call my own.

A Yorkshireman's Christmas.

Aw have ten or twelve pounds o gooid meit, A small cheese and a barrel o' beer; Aw'll welcome King Christmas to neet, For he n.o.bbut comes once in a year.

Send our Will dahn to Tommy Spoyle Wood's, And tell him to send up a log; An' tell him and Betty to come, For Tommy's a jolly oud dog.

Aw mean to forget all my debts, An' aw mean to harbour no greef; n.o.bbut emptying gla.s.ses an' plates O' their contents o' beer and gooid beef.

Them barns they care nought abaht drink, Like us at's advanced into years; So Sally, la.s.s, what does ta think, If ta buys um some apples an' pears?

Our David's a fine little lad, An' our Nancy's a fine little la.s.s; When aw see um aw do feel so glad, So bring me a quart an' a gla.s.s!

Come, Sally, an' sit be my side?

We've hed both were ups and were dahns; Awm fane at aw made thee my bride, An' am prahd o' both thee an' wer barns.

We're as happy as them at's more bra.s.s, E their festival holly-decked hall; We envy no mortal, old la.s.s; Here's peace and gooid will unto all.

And may every poor crater ta neet, If never before in his loife, Have plenty to drink an' ta eat, For both him, an' his barns, an' his woife.

The Fethered Captive.

My little dappled-wingged fellow, What ruffin's hand has made thee wellow?

Haw heard while down in yonder hollow, Thy troubled breast; But I'll return my little fellow, Back to its nest.

Some ruffin's hand has set a snickle, And left thee in a bonny pickle; Who e'er he be, haw hope old Nick 'al Rise his arm, And mak his heead an' ear-hoil tickle We summat warm.

How glad am aw that fate while roaming, Where milk-white Hawthorns' blossoms blooming, As sent me footsteps ere the gloaming Into this dell.

To stop some murdering hand fra drowning Thy bonny sell.

For thou wert doomed, my bird, for ever, Fra all thy fethered mates to sever; Were aw not near thee to deliver We my awn hand; Nor never more thou'd skim the river, Or fellowed land.

Thy fetherd friends, if thou has onny; Tho' friends aw fear there izant mony; But yet thy dam for her, we Johnny, Will fret to-day.

And think her watter-wagtail bonny Has flown away.