Yorkshire Dialect Poems Part 18

Blushing, theer oor Peggy sits, St.i.tchin', faane st.i.tchin', Love-knots roond her braadal bands, Witchin', bewitchin'.

T' braade's maids all mun dea a st.i.tch, St.i.tchin', faane st.i.tchin', An' they mun binnd it roond her leg, Witchin', bewitchin'.

Bud some bauf(1) swain at's soond o' puff, St.i.tchin', faane st.i.tchin', Will claim his reet to tak it off, Witchin', bewitchin'.

An' he aroond his awn love's leg, St.i.tchin', faane st.i.tchin', Will lap(2) it roond to binnd his love, Witchin', bewitchin'.

Whal she, sweet maid, 'll wear his troth, St.i.tchin', faane st.i.tchin', Maanding each taame she taks it off, Witchin', bewitchin',

That day when she will hae to wear, St.i.tchin', faane st.i.tchin', Nut yan, bud twea, a braadal pair, Witchin', bewitchin'.

Oh! happy day, when she sal st.i.tch, St.i.tchin', faane st.i.tchin', Her braadal bands, the wearin' which Maks maids bewitchin'.

1 St.u.r.dy. 2. Wrap.

The Bridal Garter(1)

A Catch

Traditional

Here's health to t' la.s.s whea donn'd this band To grace her leg, An' ivvery garter'd braade i' t' land: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.(2)

Aroond her leg it has been bun', I wish I'd bun' it.

A trimmer limb could nut be fun': Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

May ivvery yan at lifts his gla.s.s To this faane band Uphod(3) he gans wi' t' best-like la.s.s: Sae sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

Frae wrist to wrist this band we pa.s.s, As han' clasps han'; I' turn we through it draw each gla.s.s: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

An' here's tiv her at fast(4) did weer A braadal band Bun' roond her leg; gie her a cheer: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

An' here's to Venus; let us beg A boon at she Will gie each braade a pattern leg: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it do on your wizan.

1 From Mr. Richard Blakeborough's "Old Songs of the Dales,"

appended to his T' Hunt o' Yatton Brigg, p. 57, 2nd edition..

2 Throat. 3 Uphold, maintain. 4 First.

Nance and Tom

Traditional

From Mr. R. Blakeborough's "Old Songs of the Dales,"

appended to his T' Hunt o' Yatton Brigg, p. 44, 2nd edition.

I' t' merry taame o' harvestin'

Lang sen,(1) aye well a day!

Oar Nancy, t' bonniest la.s.s i' t' field Had varra laal to say.

An' Tom whea follow'd, follow'd her, An' neigh as dumb were he, An' thof he wark'd some wiv his hands He harder wark'd his ee.

For Nan were buxom, Nan were fair, Her lilt were leet an' free; An' Tom could hardlins hod(2) his wits, He couldn't hod his ee Frae Nancy's face; an' her breet smaale Made Tom's heart lowp(3) an' thump; Whal Nancy awn'd t' fost kiss he gav, Her stays mun git a b.u.mp

Bud o' ya neet, Tom set her yam, " Noo, Nance,"tell'd he," I've gitten A cauvin' coo, an' twea fat pigs; Wi' thy fair charms I'm smitten.

Thoo knaws I have a theak,(4) my la.s.s, An' gear, baith gert an' small, I've fotty pund ligg'd by at yam, Tak me, la.s.s, tak it all."

Nance hing'd her heead an' dropp'd her een, An' then she sighed, "Ah, dear!

Noo hod thy whisht,(5) thoo's tell'd t' same tale To monny a maid, I fear."

Bud Tom just bowdly sleev'd(6) her waist An chuck'd her unner t' chin.

"O' Sunday neet," said he, " I'll wait To hug(7) thy milk-skeel(8) in.

(A verse is missing)

She bun' aboot her matchless cauf Four cletchin' streas,(9) did Nan, Twea wheaten an' twea oaten streas, Bud niver tell'd her man.

She platted 'em when t' harvest mean Her colour'd cheek made pale, For nea la.s.s plats her band for bairns And then blirts(10) out her tale.

An' t' mean for sham' ahint a clood Her smaalin' feace did hide; Sea nea hedge-skulker gat a peep At Nan's leg when 't were tied.

An' nean i' t' village would have knawn, At roond her leg, like thack,(11) She'd bun' a band to gie her bairns, Bud she tummel'd offen(12) t' stack,

An' deaz'd she ligg'd, her shapely limb Laid oot for all to see; An' roond her leg a platted band Were bun' belaw her knee.

Then up she sprang, an' laughin' said, "Noo, Tom warn't here to see; An' nean can say I's scrawmy(13) cauf'd, An' t' band still guards my knee."

1. Long ago. 2 .Hold. 3, Leap. 4. Thatched roof.

5. Hold thy tongue. 6. Encircled. 7. Carry.

8. Milk-pail. 9. Thatching straws. 10. Blurts.

11. Thatch. 12. Off. 13. Unshapely.

The Witch's Curse(1)

Traditional

Fire coom, Fire gan, Curlin' smeak Keep oot o' t' pan.

Ther's a tead(2) i' t' fire, a frog on t' hob, Here's t' heart frev a crimson ask(3); Here's a teath fra t' heead O' yan at's deead, At niver gat thruf his task.

Here's p.r.i.c.k'd i' blood a maiden's prayer, At t' ee o' man maunt(4) see; It's p.r.i.c.k'd upon a yet warm mask,(5) An' lapp'd(6) aboot a breet green ask, An' it's all fer him an' thee.

It boils, Thoo'll drink; He'll speak, Thoo'll think: It boils, Thoo'll see; He'll speak, Thoo'll dee.

1 From R. Blakeborough's T' Hunt o' Yatton Brigg, p. 12; see also the same author's Yorkshire Wit, Character, Folklore, and Customs, p. 169.