Yorkshire Lyrics Part 16

To Let.

Aw live in a snug little cot, An' tho' poor, yet aw keep aght o' debt, Cloise by, in a big garden plot, Stands a mansion, 'at long wor "to let."

Twelve month sin or somewhear abaat, A fine lukkin chap donned i' black, Coom an luk'd at it inside an aght An decided this mansion to tak.

Ther wor whiteweshers coom in a drove An masons, an joiners, an sweeps, An a blacksmith to fit up a cove, An bricks, stooans an mortar i' heaps.

Ther wor painters, an glazzeners too, To mend up each bit ov a braik, An a lot 'at had nowt else to do, But to help some o'th t'others to laik.

Ther wor fires i' ivvery range, They nivver let th' harston get cooiled, Throo th' cellar to th' thack they'd a change, An ivverything all in a mooild.

Th' same chap 'at is th' owner o'th' Hall, Is th' owner o'th' cot whear aw dwell, But if aw ax for th' leeast thing at all; He tells me to do it mysel.

This hall lets for fifty a year, Wol five paand is all 'at aw pay; When th' day come mi rent's allus thear, An that's a gooid thing in its way.

At th' last all th' repairers had done, An th' hall wor as cleean as a pin, Aw wor pleased when th' last lot wor gooan, For aw'd getten reight sick o' ther din.

Then th' furnitur started to come, Waggon looads on it, all spankin new, Rich crimson an gold covered some, Wol some shone i' scarlet an blue.

Ov sofas aw think hauf a scoor, An picturs enuff for a show?

They fill'd ivvery corner aw'm sure, Throo th' garret to th' kitchen below.

One day when a cab drove to th' gate, Th' new tenant stept aght, an his wife, (An tawk abaat fashion an state!

Yo ne'er saw sich a spreead i' yor life.)

Ther war sarvents to curtsey 'em in, An aw could'nt help sayin, "bi th' ma.s.s;"

As th' door shut when they'd booath getten in, "A'a, it's grand to ha plenty o' bra.s.s."

Ther wor butchers, an bakers, an sn.o.bs, An grocers, an milkmen, an snips, All seekin for orders an jobs, An sweetenin th' sarvents wi' tips.

Aw sed to th' milk-chap 'tother day, "Ha long does ta trust sich fowk, Ike?

Each wick aw'm expected to pay,"

"Fine fowk," he says, "pay when they like."

Things went on like this, day bi day, For somewhear cloise on for a year; Wol aw ne'er thowt o' lukkin that way, Altho' aw wor livin soa near.

But one neet when aw'd finished mi wark, An wor tooastin mi shins anent th' fire, A chap rushes in aght 'o'th' dark Throo heead to fooit plaistered wi' mire.

Says he, "does ta know whear they've gooan?"

Says aw, "Lad, pray, who does ta meean?"

"Them at th' hall," he replied, wi a grooan, "They've bolted an diddled us cleean."

Aw tell'd him aw'd ne'er heeard a word, He cursed as he put on his hat, An he sed, "well, they've flown like a burd, An paid nubdy owt, an that's what."

He left, an aw crept off to bed, Next day aw'd a visit throo Ike, But aw shut up his maath when aw sed, "Fine fowk tha knows pay when they like."

Ther's papers i'th' winders, "to let,"

An aw know varry weel ha 't 'll be; They'll do th' same for th' next tenant awl bet, Tho they ne'er do a hawpoth for me.

But aw let 'em do just as they pleease, Aw'm content tho' mi station is low, An awm thankful sich hard times as thease If aw manage to pay what aw owe.

This precept, friends, nivver forget, For a wiser one has not been sed, Be detarmined to rise aght o' debt Tho' yo go withaat supper to bed.

Lost Love.

Shoo wor a bonny, bonny la.s.s, Her e'en as black as sloas; Her hair a flyin thunner claad, Her cheeks a blowin rooas.

Her smile coom like a sunny gleam Her cherry lips to curl; Her voice wor like a murm'ring stream 'At flowed throo banks o' pearl.

Aw long'd to claim her for mi own, But nah mi love is crost; An aw mun wander on alooan, An mourn for her aw've lost.

Aw could'nt ax her to be mine, Wi' poverty at th' door: Aw nivver thowt breet e'en could shine Wi' love for one so poor; */ 92 */ But nah ther's summat i' mi breast, Tells me aw miss'd mi way: An lost that la.s.s I loved the best Throo fear shoo'd say me nay.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.

Aw saunter'd raand her cot at morn, An oft i'th' dark o'th' neet, Aw've knelt mi daan i'th' loin to find Prints ov her tiny feet.

An under th' window, like a thief, Aw've crept to hear her spaik; An then aw've hurried hooam agean For fear mi heart wod braik.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.

Another bolder nor misen, Has robb'd me o' mi dear; An nah aw ne'er may share her joy, An ne'er may dry her tear.

But tho' aw'm heartsick, lone, an sad, An tho' hope's star is set; To know shoo's lov'd as aw'd ha lov'd Wod mak me happy yet.

Aw long'd to claim her for mi own, &c.

Drink.

When yo see a chap covered wi' rags, An hardly a shoe to his fooit, Gooin sleawshin along ovver th' flags, Wi' a pipe in his maath black as sooit; An he tells yo he's aght ov a job, An he feels wellny likely to sink,-- An he hasn't a coin in his fob, Yo may guess what he's seekin--it's Drink.

If a woman yo meet, poorly dressed, Untidy, an spoortin black e'en; Wi' a babby hawf clammed at her breast, Neglected an shame-to-be-seen; If yo ax, an shoo'll answer yo true, What's th' cause of her trouble? Aw think, Yo'll find her misfortuns are due To that warst o' all enemies,--Drink.

Ax th' wretches convicted o' crime, What caused 'em to plunge into sin, An they'll say ommost ivvery time, It's been th' love o' rum, whisky or gin.

Even th' gallus, if it could but tell Ov its victims dropt ovver life's brink; It wod add a sad lot moor to swell The list ov those lost throo strong Drink.

Yet daily we thowtlessly pa.s.s, The h.e.l.l-traps 'at stand like a curse; Bedizened wi' glitter an gla.s.s, To mak paupers, an likely do worse.

Some say 'at th' millenium's near, But they're reckonin wrang aw should think, When they fancy the King will appear, In a world soa besotted wi' Drink.

Duffin Johnny. (A Rifleman's Adventure.)