Yorkshire Dialect Poems Part 14

Says as how my little terrier Mun foind kennellin' elsewheer.

I expect awst(4) have to bury 'er; Shoo'll rest nowheer else bur(5) here.

Says as I mun wear a app.r.o.n Throo my shoulder to my knee; An' (naa, listen! this puts t' capper on) Says how cleanly it mun be.

Each ten men mun have a basin, Fastened, mark you, fixed and sure, For to wesh ther hands and face in; Not to throw it aat o' door.

There's to be two ventilators, In good order and repair; Us at's short o' beef an' taters, Has to fatten on fresh air.

Each shop floor mun be substantial- Concrete, pavement, wood, or brick- So that water from the branch'll Keep the dust from lyin' thick.

An' for iv'ry bloomin' stiddie(6) There's so many cubic feet, We'st(7) ha' room to play at hiddie(8) Us at isn't aat i' t' street.

Eh, I can't tell hauf o' t' tottle(9) Of these Regulations steep; I expect a suckin'-bottle Will be t' next we have to keep.

Eh! I know, mun! who knows better?

It's for t' good of all, is this.

Iv'rybody's teed to t' letter, 'Cause o' t' few at's done amiss.

Eytin' leead-dust brings leead-colic, Sure as mornin' brings the day.

Does te think at iver I'll lick Thumb and fingers' dirt away?

Well, good-bye, my good owd beauty-- Liberty, naa left to few!

Since the common-weal's my duty, Dear owd Liberty--adieu!

1. Perplexed. 2. Bewildered. 3. File-cutter.

4. I shall. 5. But. 6. St.i.thy 7. We shall. 8. Hide and seek. 9. Total.

A Kuss (1912)

John Malham-Dembleby

Ye may bring me gowd bi t' bowlful, Gie me lands bi t' mile, Fling me dewy roses, Stoor(1) set on my smile.

Ye may caar(2) ye daan afoor me, Castles for me build, Twine me laurel garlands, Let sweet song be trilled.

Ye may let my meyt be honey, Let my sup be wine, Gie me haands an' hosses, Gie me sheep an' kine.

Yit one flaid(3) kuss fra her would gie Sweeter bliss to me Nor owt at ye could finnd to name, Late(4) ye through sea tul sea.

I've seen her hair gleam gowden In t' Kersmas yollow sun, An' ivery inch o' graand she treeads Belang her sure it mun.

Her smile is sweet as roses, An' sweeter far to me, An' praad she hods her heead up, As la.s.s o' heigh degree.

Bonnie are green laurel leaves, I'd sooiner my braa feel T' laughin' lips o' t' la.s.s I love, Though bays be varry weel.

I'm varry fond o' singin', What bonnier could be Nor my fair la.s.s hersen agate(5) A-singin' love to me?

It's reight to live on spice an' sich, An' sup a warmin' gla.s.s, But sweet-stuff's walsh,(6) an' wine is cowd, Aside my lovely la.s.s.

Tak ye your haands an' hosses, Tak ye your sheep an' kine; To finnd my la.s.s ower t' hills I'll ride, She sal be iver mine.

1. Value. 2. Cower. 3. Trembling.

4. Search. 5. Busy. 6. Insipid.

Huntin' Song

Richard Blakeborough

It's neet an' naa we're here, lads, We're in for gooid cheer, lads; Yorkshiremen we all on us are, Yorkshiremen for better or war(1); We're tykes an' we're ghast(2) uns, We're paid uns an' fast uns, Awther for better or awther for war!

All t' lot

Then shaat till ye've gor hooast,(3) lads, Sing, Yorkshiremen, wer tooast, lads, Wer king, wer heeath, wer haands, lads, Wer hooam, wer hearth, wer baans,(4) lads."

There's some at nooan are here, lads, Forger em we sal ne'er, lads; Yorkshiremen they all on 'em war, Yorkshiremen yit all on 'em are.

There's thrang(5) uns an' looan(6) uns, There's wick uns an' gooan uns, They're all reight somewheer, an' we 'st be no war!

All t' lot

Then shaat till ye've gor hooast, lads, Sing, "Yorkshiremen, wer tooast, lads, Wer king, wer heeath, wer haands, lads, Wer hooam, wer hearth, wer baans, lads."

1. Worse. 2. Spirited. 3. Got hoa.r.s.e.

4. Children. 5. Busy. 6. Lonely

Spring (1914)

F. J. Newboult

Owd Winter gat notice to quit, 'Cause he'd made sich a pigsty o' t' place, An' Summer leuked raand when he'd flit, An' she says, I"t's a daanreyt disgrace!

Sich-like ways!

I niver did see sich a haase to come intul i' all my born days!

But Spring says, "It's my job, is this, I'll sooin put things streyt, niver fear.

Ye go off to t' Spaws a bit, Miss, An' leave me to fettle up here!"

An' sitha!

Shoo's donned a owd app.r.o.n, an' tucked up her sleaves, an' set to, with a witha!

Tha can tell, when t' hail pelts tha like mad, At them floors bides a bit of a scrub; Tha knaws t' flegstuns mun ha' been bad, When she teems(1) aat all t' wotter i' t' tub.

Mind thy eyes!

When shoo gets hod o' t' long brush an' sweeps aat them chamers, I'll tell tha, t' dust flies!

Whol shoo's threng(2) tha'll be best aat o' t' gate(3): Shoo'll care nowt for soft tawk an' kisses.

To tell her thy mind, tha mun wait Whol shoo's getten things ready for t' missis.

When shoo's done, Shoo'll doff her owd app.r.o.n, an' slip aat i' t' garden, an' call tha to come.

Aye, Summer is t' roses' awn queen, An' shoo sits i' her state, grandly dressed; But Spring's twice as bonny agean, When shoo's donned hersen up i' her best Gaan o' green, An' stands all i' a glow,- wi' a smile on her lips an' a leet i' her een.