Yorkshire Lyrics Part 15

What do they call thi, lad? Tell me thi name; Have they been ooinion thi? Why, its a shame.

Here, tak this hawpny, an buy thi some spice, Rocksticks or humbugs or summat 'at's nice.

Then run of hooam agean, fast as tha can; Thear,--tha'rt all reight agean; run like a man.

He wiped up his tears wi' his little white brat, An he tried to say summat, aw couldn't tell what; But his little face breeten'd wi' pleasure all throo:-- A'a!--its cappin, sometimes, what a hawpny can do.

Th' Better Part.

A poor owd man wi' tott'ring gait, Wi' body bent, an snowy pate, Aw met one day;-- An daan o'th' rooad side gra.s.sy banks He sat to rest his weary shanks; An aw, to while away mi time, O'th' neighbourin hillock did recline, An bade "gooid day."

Said aw, "Owd friend, pray tell me true, If in your heart yo nivver rue Th' time 'at's past?

Does envy nivver fill yor breast When pa.s.sin fowk wi' riches blest?

An do yo nivver think it wrang At yo should have to trudge along, Soa poor to th' last?"

"Young man," he sed, "aw envy nooan; But ther are times aw pity some, Wi' all mi heart; To see what trubbl'd lives they spend, What cares upon their hands depend; Then aw in thowtfulness declare 'At 'little cattle little care'

Is th' better part.

Gold is a burden hard to carry, An tho' Dame Fortun has been chary O' gifts to me; Yet still aw strive to feel content, An think what is, for th' best is meant; An th' mooast ov all aw strive for here, Is still to keep mi conscience clear, From dark spots free.

An while some tax ther brains to find What they'll be foorced to leeav behind, When th' time shall come; Aw try bi honest word an deed, To get what little here aw need, An live i' hopes at last to say, When breeath gooas flickerin away, 'Aw'm gooin hooam.'"

Aw gave his hand a hearty shake, It seem'd as tho' the words he spake Sank i' mi heart: Aw walk'd away a wiser man, Detarmined aw wod try his plan I' hopes at last 'at aw might be As weel a.s.sured ov Heaven as he; That's th' better part.

Th' Lesser Evil.

Young Harry wor a single chap, An wod have lots o' tin, An monny a la.s.s had set her cap, This temptin prize to win.

But Harry didn't want a wife, He'd rayther far be free; An soa escape all care an strife 'At wedded couples see.

But when at last his uncle deed, An left him all his bra.s.s, 'Twor on condition he should wed, Some honest Yorksher la.s.s.

Soa all his dreamin day an neet Abaat what sprees he'd have; He had to bury aght o'th' seet, Deep in his uncle's grave.

To tak a wife at once, he thowt Wor th' wisest thing to do, Soa he lukt raand until he browt His choice daan between two.

One wor a big, fine, strappin la.s.s, Her name wor Sarah Ann, Her height an weight, few could surpa.s.s, Shoo'r fit for onny man.

An t'other wor a little sprite, Wi' lots o' bonny ways, An little funny antics, like A kitten when it plays.

An which to tak he could'nt tell, He rayther liked 'em booath; But if he could ha pleased hissen, To wed one he'd be looath.

A wife he thowt an evil thing, An sewer to prove a pest; Soa after sometime studyin He thowt th' least wod be th' best.

They sooin wor wed, an then he faand He'd quite enuff to do, For A'a! shoo wor a twazzy haand, An tongue enuff for two.

An if he went aght neet or day, His wife shoo went as weel; He gat noa chonce to goa astray;-- Shoo kept him true as steel.

His face grew white, his heead grew bald, His clooas hung on his rig, He grew like one 'at's getten stall'd, Ov this world's whirligig.

One day, he muttered to hissen, "If aw've pickt th' lesser evil, Th' poor chap 'at tackles Sarah Ann, Will wish he'd wed the D---l."

Take Heart!

Roughest roads, we often find, Lead us on to th' nicest places; Kindest hearts oft hide behind Some o'th' plainest-lukkin faces.

Flaars whose colors breetest are, Oft delight awr wond'ring seet; But ther's others, humbler far, Smell a thaasand times as sweet.

Burds o' monny color'd feather, Please us as they skim along, But ther charms all put together, Connot equal th' skylark's song.

Bonny women--angels seemin,-- Set awr hearts an brains o' fire; But its net ther beauties; beamin, Its ther gooidness we admire.

Th' bravest man 'at's in a battle, Isn't allus th' furst i'th' fray; He best proves his might an' mettle, Who remains to win the day.

Monkey's an vain magpies chatter, But it doesn't prove 'em wise; An it's net wi noise an clatter, Men o' sense expect to rise.

'Tis'nt them 'at promise freely, Are mooast ready to fulfill; An 'tis'nt them 'at trudge on dreely 'At are last at top o'th' hill.

Bad hauf-craans may pa.s.s as payment, Gaudy flaars awr e'en beguile; Women may be loved for raiment, Show may blind us for a while;

But we sooin grow discontented, An for solid worth we sigh, An we leearn to prize the jewel, Tho' it's hidden from the eye.

Him 'at thinks to gether diamonds As he walks along his rooad, Nivver need be tired wi' huggin, For he'll have a little looad.

Owt 'at's worth a body's winnin Mun be toiled for long an hard; An tho' th' struggle may be pinnin, Perseverance wins reward.

Earnest thowt, an constant strivin, Ever wi' one aim i'th' seet; Tho' we may be late arrivin, Yet at last we'st come in reet.

He who WILL succeed, he MUST, When he's bid false hopes farewell, If he firmly fix his trust In his G.o.d, and in hissel.

They all do it.

They're all buildin nests for thersen, One bi one they goa fleetin away; A suitable mate comes,--an then, I'th' old nest they noa longer can stay.

Well,--it's folly for th' old en's to freeat, Tho' it's hard to see loved ones depart,-- An we sigh,--let a tear drop,--an yet, We bless 'em, an give 'em a start.

They've battles to feight 'at we've fowt, They've trubbles an trials to face; I'th' futer they luk an see nowt 'At can hamper ther coorse i' life's race.

Th' sun's shinin soa breetly, they think Sorrow's claads have noa shadow for them, They walk on uncertainty's brink, An they see in each teardrop a gem.

Happy dreams 'at they had long ago, Too sweet to believe---could be true, Are realized nah, for _they know_ Th' world's pleasures wor made for them two.

We _know_ 'at it's all a mistak, An we pity, an yet we can pray, 'At when th' end comes they'll nivver luk back Wi' regret to that sweet weddin day.

G.o.d bless 'em! may happiness dwell, I' ther hearts, tho' they beat in a cot; An if in a palace,--well,--well,-- Shall ther young love be ever forgot.

Nay,--nay,--tho' old Time runs his plough, O'er fair brows an leaves monny a grove; May they cloiser cling, th' longer they grow, Till two lives blend i' one sacred love.

Bless th' bride! wi' her bonny breet e'en!

Bless th' husband, who does weel his part; Aye! an bless those old fowk where they've been, The joy an the pride ov ther heart.

May health an prosperity sit At ther table soa long as they live!

An accept th' gooid wishes aw've writ, For they're all 'at aw'm able to give.