Yorkshire Lyrics Part 21

An when away throo all mi friends, I' other taans aw rooam, Aw find ther's nowt con mak amends For what aw've left at hooam; But as aw hurry throo ther streets Noa matter tho aw'm thrang, Ha welcome if mi ear but greets Mi own, mi native tw.a.n.g.

Why some despise it, aw can't tell, It's plain to understand; An sure aw am it saands as weel, Tho' happen net soa grand.

Tell fowk they're courtin, they're enraged, They call that vulgar slang; But if aw tell 'em they're engaged, That's net mi native tw.a.n.g.

Mi father, tho' he may be poor, Aw'm net ashamed o' him; Aw love mi mother tho' shoo's deeaf, An tho' her e'en are dim; Aw love th' owd taan; aw love to walk Its crucken'd streets amang; For thear it is aw hear fowk tawk Mi own, mi native tw.a.n.g.

Aw like to hear hard-workin fowk Say boldly what they meean; For tho' ther hands are smeared wi' muck, May be ther hearts are cleean.

An them 'at country fowk despise, Aw say, "Why, let 'em hang;"

They'll nivver rob mi sympathies Throo thee, mi native tw.a.n.g.

Aw like to see grand ladies, When they're donn'd i' silks soa fine; Aw like to see ther dazzlin' e'en Throo th' carriage winders shine; Mi mother wor a woman, An tho' it may be wrang, Aw love 'em all, but mooastly them 'At tawk mi native tw.a.n.g.

Aw wish gooid luck to ivvery one; Gooid luck to them 'ats bra.s.s; Gooid luck an better times to come To them 'ats poor--alas!

An may health, wealth, an sweet content For ivver dwell amang True, honest-hearted, Yorkshire fowk, 'At tawk mi native tw.a.n.g.

Sing On.

Sing on, tha bonny burd, sing on, sing on; Aw connot sing; A claad hings ovver me, do what aw con Fresh troubles spring.

Aw wish aw could, like thee, fly far away, Aw'd leeav mi cares an be a burd to-day.

Mi heart wor once as full o' joy as thine, But nah it's sad; Aw thowt all th' happiness i'th' world wor mine, Sich faith aw had;-- But he who promised aw should be his wife Has robb'd me o' mi ivvery joy i' life.

Sing on! tha cannot cheer me wi' thi song; Yet, when aw hear Thi warblin' voice, 'at rings soa sweet an strong, Aw feel a tear Roll daan mi cheek, 'at gives mi heart relief, A gleam o' comfort, but it's varry brief.

This little darlin, cuddled to mi breast, It little knows, When snoozlin' soa quietly at rest, 'At all mi woes Are smothered thear, an mi poor heart ud braik But just aw live for mi wee laddie's sake.

Sing on; an if tha e'er should chonce to see That faithless swain, Whose falsehood has caused all mi misery, Strike up thy strain, An if his heart yet answers to thy trill Fly back to me, an we will love him still.

But if he heeds thee not, then shall aw feel All hope is o'er, An he that aw believed an loved soa weel Be loved noa more; For that hard heart, bird music cannot move, Is far too cold a dwellin-place for love.

Shoo's thi Sister.

(Written on seeing a wealthy Townsman rudely push a poor little girl off the pavement.)

Gently, gently, shoo's thi sister, Tho' her clooas are nowt but rags; On her feet ther's monny a blister: See ha painfully shoo drags Her tired limbs to some quiet corner: Shoo's thi sister--dunnot scorn her.

Daan her cheeks noa tears are runnin, Shoo's been shov'd aside befoor; Used to scoffs, an sneers, an shunnin-- Shoo expects it, 'coss shoo's poor; Schooil'd for years her grief to smother, Still shoo's human--tha'rt her brother.

Tho' tha'rt donn'd i' fine black cloathin, A kid glove o' awther hand, Dunnot touch her roughly, loathin-- Shoo's thi sister, understand: Th' wind maks merry wi' her tatters, Poor lost pilgrim!--but what matters?

Luk ha sharp her elbow's growin, An ha pale her little face; An her hair neglected, showin Her's has been a sorry case; O, mi heart felt sad at th' seet, When tha shov'd her into th' street.

Ther wor once a "Man," mich greater Nor thisen wi' all thi bra.s.s; Him, awr blessed Mediator,-- Wod He scorn that little la.s.s?

Noa, He called 'em, an He blessed 'em, An His hands divine caress'd 'em.

Goa thi ways! an if tha bears net Some regret for what tha's done, If tha con pa.s.s on, an cares net For that sufferin little one; Then ha'ivver poor shoo be, Yet shoo's rich compared wi' thee.

Oh! 'at this breet gold should blind us, To awr duties here below!

For we're forced to leeav behind us All awr pomp, an all awr show; Why then should we slight another?

Shoo's thi sister, unkind brother.

Another Babby.

Another!--well, my bonny lad, Aw wodn't send thee back; Altho' we thowt we hadn't raam, Tha's fun some in a crack.

It maks me feel as pleased as punch To see thi pratty face; Ther's net another child i'th' bunch Moor welcome to a place.

Aw'st ha to fit a peark for thee, I' some nook o' mi cage; But if another comes, raylee!

Aw'st want a bigger wage.

But aw'm noan feard tha'll ha to want-- We'll try to pool thee throo, For Him who has mi laddie sent, He'll send his baggin too.

He hears the little sparrows chirp, An answers th' raven's call; He'll nivver see one want for owt, 'At's worth aboon 'em all.

But if one on us mun goa short, (Altho' it's hard to pine,) Thy little belly shall be fill'd Whativver comes o' mine.

A chap con n.o.bbut do his best, An that aw'll do for thee, Leavin to providence all th' rest, An we'st get help'd, tha'll see.

An if thi lot's as bright an fair As aw could wish it, lad, Tha'll come in for a better share Nor ivver blessed thi dad.

Aw think aw'st net ha lived for nowt, If, when deeath comes, aw find Aw leeav some virtuous la.s.ses An some honest lads behind.

An tho' noa coat ov arms may grace For me, a sculptor'd stooan, Aw hooap to leeav a n.o.ble race, Wi' arms o' flesh an booan.

Then cheer up, lad, tho' things luk black, Wi' health, we'll persevere, An try to find a brighter track-- We'll conquer, nivver fear!

An may G.o.d shield thee wi' his wing, Along life's stormy way, An keep thi heart as free throo sin, As what it is to-day.

To a Roadside Flower.

Tha bonny little pooasy! aw'm inclined To tak thee wi' me: But yet aw think if tha could spaik thi mind, Tha'd ne'er forgie me; For i' mi jacket b.u.t.ton-hoil tha'd quickly dee, An life is short enuff, booath for mi-sen an thee.

Here, if aw leeav thee bi th' rooadside to flourish, Whear scoors may pa.s.s thee; Some heart 'at has few other joys to cherish May stop an bless thee: Then bloom, mi little pooasy! Tha'rt a beauty!

Sent here to bless: Smile on--tha does thi duty.

Aw wodn't rob another of a joy Sich as tha's gien me; For aw felt varry sad, mi little doy Until aw'd seen thee.

An may each pa.s.sin, careworn, lowly brother, Feel cheered like me, an leeav thee for another.