Yorkshire Lyrics Part 18

His dress wor black as black could be, An th' latest fashion aw could see, But yet they hung soa dawderly, Like suits i' shops; Bi'th' heart! yo mud ha putten three Sich legs i'th' slops.

Says aw, "Owd trump, it's rayther late For one 'at's dress'd i' sich a state, Across this Slack to mak ther gate: Is ther some pairty?

Or does ta allus dress that rate-- Black duds o'th' wairty?"

He twisted raand as if to see What sooart o' covy aw could be, An grinned wi' sich a maath at me, It threw me sick!

"Lor saves!" aw cried, "an is it thee 'At's call'd owd Nick?"

But when aw luk'd up into th' place, Whear yo'd expect to find a face; A awful craytur met mi gaze, It took mi puff: "Gooid chap," aw sed, "please let me pa.s.s, Aw've seen enuff!"

Then bendin cloise daan to mi ear, He tell'd me 'at aw'd nowt to fear, An soa aw stop't a bit to hear What things he'd ax; But as he spake his teeth rang clear, Like knick-a-nacks.

"A'a, Jack," he sed, "aw'm cap't wi' thee Net knowin sich a chap as me; For oft when tha's been on a spree, Aw've been thear too; But tho' aw've reckon'd safe o' thee, Tha's just edged throo.

Mi name is Deeath--tha needn't start, An put thi hand upon thi heart, For tha may see 'at aw've noa dart Wi' which to strike; Let's sit an tawk afoor we part, O'th edge o'th d.y.k.e."

"Nay, nay, that tale wea'nt do, owd lad, For Bobby Burns tells me tha had A scythe hung o'er thi shoulder, Gad!

Tha worn't dress'd I' fine black clooath; tha wore a plad Across thi breast!"

"Well, Jack," he said, "thar't capt no daat To find me wanderin abaght; But th' fact is, lad, 'at aw'm withaat A job to do; Mi scythe aw've had to put up th' spaat, Mi arrows too."

"Yo dunnot mean to tell to me, 'At fowk noa moor will ha to dee?"

"Noa, hark a minnit an tha'll see When th' truth aw tell!

Fowk do withaat mi darts an me, Thev kill thersel.

They do it too at sich a rate Wol mi owd system's aght o' date; What we call folly, they call fate; An all ther pleasur Is ha to bring ther life's estate To th' shortest measur.

They waste ther time, an waste ther gains, O' stuff 'at's brew'd throo poisoned grains, Throo morn to neet they keep ther brains, For ivver swimmin, An if a bit o' sense remains, It's fun i'th wimmen.

Tha'll find noa doctors wi ther craft, Nor yet misen wi' scythe or shaft, E'er made as monny deead or daft, As Gin an Rum, An if aw've warn'd fowk, then they've lafft At me, bi gum!

But if they thus goa on to swill, They'll not want Wilfrid Lawson's bill, For give a druffen chap his fill, An sooin off pops he; An teetotal fowk moor surely still, Will dee wi' th' dropsy.

It's a queer thing 'at sich a nation Can't use a bit o' moderation; But one lot rush to ther d.a.m.nation Throo love o'th' bottle: Wol others think to win salvation Wi' bein teetotal."

Wi' booany neive he stroked mi heead, "Tak my advice, young chap," he sed, "Let liquors be, sup ale asteead, An tha'll be better, An dunnot treat th' advice tha's heard Like a deead letter."

"Why Deeath," aw sed, "fowk allus say, Yo come to fotch us chaps away!

But this seems strange, soa tell me pray, Ha wor't yo coom?

Wor it to tell us keep away, Yo hav'nt room?"

"Stop whear tha art, Jack, if tha dar But tha'll find spirits worse bi far Sarved aght i' monny a public bar, 'At's thowt quite lawful; Nor what tha'll find i'th' places parsons call soa awful."

"Gooid bye!" he sed, an off he shot, Leavin behind him sich a lot O' smook, as blue as it wor hot!

It set me stewin!

Soa hooam aw cut, an' gate a pot Ov us own brewin.

If when yo've read this stooary throo, Yo daat if it's exactly true, Yo'll n.o.bbut do as others do, Yo may depend on't.

Blow me! aw ommost daat it too, So thear's an end on't.

What Wor it?

What wor it made me love thee, la.s.s?

Aw connot tell; Aw know it worn't for thi bra.s.s;-- Tho' poor misel Aw'd moor nor thee, aw think, if owt, An what _aw_ had wor next to nowt.

Aw didn't love thi 'coss thi face Wor fair to see: For tha wor th' plainest la.s.s i'th' place, An as for me, They called me "nooasy," "long-legs," "walkin prop,"

An sed aw freetened customers throo th' shop.

Aw used to read i' Fairy books Ov e'en soa breet, Ov gowden hair, angelic looks, An smiles soa sweet; Aw used to fancy when aw'd older grown, Aw'd claim some lovely Fairy for mi own.

An weel aw recollect that neet,-- 'Twor th' furst o'th' year, Aw tuk thi hooam, soaked throo wi' sleet, An aw'd a fear Lest th' owd man's clog should give itsen a treat, An be too friendly wi' mi britches seeat.

What fun they made, when we went in;-- They cried, "Yo're catched!"

An then thi mother sed i'th' midst o'th' din "They're fairly matched, An beauty's in th' beholder's e'e they say, An they've booath been gooid childer, onyway."

An then aw saw a little tear, Unbidden flow, That settled it!--for then an thear Aw seemed to know, 'At we wor meant to share each others lot, An Fancy's Fairies all could goa to pot.

Full thirty years have rolled away, Sin that rough time; What won mi love aw connot say, But this is mine, To know, mi greatest prize on earth is thee, But pray, whativver made thee fancy me?

Billy b.u.mble's Bargain.

Young Billy b.u.mble bowt a pig, Soa aw've heeard th' neighbors say; An monny a mile he had to trig One sweltin' summer day; But Billy didn't care a fig, He sed he'd mak it pay; He _knew_ it wor a bargain, An he cared net who said nay.

He browt it hooam to Ploo Croft loin, But what wor his surprise To find all th' neighbors standing aght, We oppen maaths an eyes; "By gow!" sed Billy, to hissen, "This pig _must_ be a prize!"

An th' wimmen cried, "Gooid gracious fowk But isn't it a size?"

Then th' chaps sed, "Billy, where's ta been?

Whativver has ta browt?

That surely isn't crayture, lad, Aw heeard 'em say tha'd bowt?

It luks moor like a donkey, Does ta think 'at it con rawt?"

But Billy crack'd his carter's whip.

An answered 'em wi' nowt.

An reight enuff it wor a pig, If all they say is true, Its length wor five foot eight or nine, Its height wor four foot two; An when it coom to th' pig hoil door, He couldn't get it throo, Unless it went daan ov its knees, An that it wodn't do.

Then Billy's mother coom to help, An hit it wi' a mop; But thear it wor, an thear it seem'd Detarmined it 'ud stop; But all at once it gave a grunt, An oppen'd sich a shop; An finding aght 'at it wor lick'd, It laup'd cleean ovver th' top.

His mother then shoo shook her heead, An pool'd a woeful face; "William," shoo sed, "tha should'nt bring Sich things as theas to th' place.

Aw hooap tha art'nt gooin to sink Thi mother i' disgrace; But if tha buys sich things as thease Aw'm feared it will be th' case!"

"Nah, mother, nivver freat," sed Bill, "Its one aw'm gooin to feed, Its rayther long i'th' legs, aw know, But that's becoss o'th' breed; If its a trifle long i'th' grooin, Why hang it! nivver heed!

Aw know its net a beauty, _But its cheap, it is, indeed!"_