Yorkshire Lyrics Part 23

If yo happen to be sick, Then they nurse an tend yo, An when trubbles gether thick, They can best befriend yo.

An if sympathy yo need, Thear yo'll sure receive it, Yo accept it, but indeed, Yo but seldom give it.

If life's journey yo'd have breet, Mak yor wife yor treasure, Trustin her booath day an neet, Sharin grief an pleasure.

Then yo'll find her smilin face, Ivver thear to cheer yo, An yo'll run a n.o.bler race, Knowin 'at shoo's near yo.

Heart Brokken.

He wor a poor hard workin lad, An shoo a workin la.s.s, An hard they tew'd throo day to day, For varry little bra.s.s.

An oft they tawk'd o'th' weddin day, An lang'd for th' happy time, When poverty noa moor should part, Two lovers i' ther prime.

But wark wor scarce, an wages low, An mait an drink wor dear, They did ther best to struggle on, As year crept after year.

But they wor little better off, Nor what they'd been befoor; It tuk 'em all ther time to keep Grim Want aghtside o'th' door.

Soa things went on, wol Hope at last, Gave place to dark despair; They felt they'd nowt but lovin hearts, An want an toil to share.

At length he screw'd his courage up To leeav his native sh.o.r.e; An goa where wealth wor worshipped less, An men wor valued moor.

He towld his tale;--poor la.s.s!--a tear Just glistened in her e'e; Then soft shoo whispered, "please thisen, But think sometimes o' me: An whether tha's gooid luck or ill, Tha knows aw shall be glad To see thee safe at hooam agean, An welcome back mi lad."

"Awl labor on, an do mi best; Tho' lonely aw must feel, But awst be happy an content If tha be dooin weel.

But ne'er forget tho' waves may roll, An keep us far apart; Tha's left a poor, poor la.s.s behind, An taen away her heart."

"Dost think 'at aw can e'er forget, Whearivver aw may rooam, That bonny face an lovin heart, Aw've prized soa dear at hooam?

Nay la.s.s, nooan soa, be sure o' this, 'At till next time we meet Tha'll be mi first thowt ivvery morn, An last thowt ivvery neet."

He went away an years flew by, But tidins seldom came; Shoo couldn't help, at times, a sigh, But breathed noa word o' blame; When one fine day a letter came, 'Twor browt to her at th' mill, Shoo read it, an her tremblin hands, An beating heart stood still.

Her fellow workers gathered raand An caught her as shoo fell, An as her heead droop'd o' ther arms, Shoo sighed a sad "farewell."

Poor la.s.s! her love had proved untrue, He'd play'd a traitor's part, He'd taen another for his bride, An broke a trustin heart.

Her doleful stooary sooin wor known, An monny a tear wor shed; They took her hooam an had her laid, Upon her humble bed; Shoo'd nawther kith nor kin to come Her burial fees to pay; But some poor comrade's undertuk, To see her put away.

Each gave what little helps they could, From aght ther scanty stooar; I' hooaps 'at some 'at roll'd i' wealth Wod give a trifle moor.

But th' maisters ordered 'em away, Abaat ther business, sharp!

For shoo'd deed withaat a nooatice, An shoo hadn't fell'd her warp.

Lines, on finding a b.u.t.terfly in a weaving shed.

Nay surelee tha's made a mistak; Tha'rt aght o' thi element here; Tha may weel goa an peark up o'th' thack, Thi bonny wings shakin wi' fear.

Aw should think 'at theease rattlin looms Saand queer sooart o' music to thee; An tha'll hardly quite relish th' perfumes O' miln-greease,--what th' quality be.

Maybe tha'rt disgusted wi' us, An thinks we're a low offald set, But tha'rt sadly mistaen if tha does, For ther's hooap an ther's pride in us yet.

Tha wor n.o.bbut a worm once thisen, An as humble as humble could be; An tho we nah are like tha wor then, We may yet be as n.o.bby as thee.

Tha'd to see thi own livin when young, An when tha grew up tha'd to spin; An if labor like that wornt wrong, Tha con hardly call wayvin 'a sin.'

But tha longs to be off aw con tell: For tha shows 'at tha ar'nt content; Soa aw'll oppen thee th' window--farewell Off tha goas, bonny fly!--An it went.

Rejected.

Gooid bye, la.s.s, aw dunnot blame, Tho' mi loss is hard to bide!

For it wod ha' been a shame, Had tha ivver been the bride Of a workin chap like me; One 'ats nowt but love to gie.

Hard hoof'd neives like thease o' mine.

Surely ne'er wor made to press Hands so lily-white as thine; Nor should arms like thease caress One so slender, fair, an' pure, 'Twor unlikely, la.s.s, aw'm sure.

But thease tears aw cannot stay,-- Drops o' sorrow fallin fast, Hopes once held aw've put away As a dream, an think its past; But mi poor heart loves thi still, An' wol life is mine it will.

When aw'm seated, lone and sad, Wi mi scanty, hard won meal, One thowt still shall mak me glad, Thankful that alone aw feel What it is to tew an' strive Just to keep a soul alive.

Th' whin-bush rears o'th' moor its form, An' wild winds rush madly raand, But it whistles to the storm, In the barren home it's faand; Natur fits it to be poor, An 'twor vain to strive for moor.

If it for a lily sighed, An' a lily chonced to grow, When it found the fair one died, Powerless to brave the blow Of the first rude gust o' wind, Which had left its wreck behind.

Then 'twod own 'twor better fate Niver to ha' held the prize; Whins an' lilies connot mate, Sich is not ther destinies; Then 'twor wrang for one like me, One soa poor, to sigh for thee.

Then gooid bye, aw dunnot blame, Tho' mi loss it's hard to bide, For it wod ha' been a shame Had tha iver been mi bride; Content aw'll wear mi lonely lot, Tho' mi poor heart forgets thee not.

Persevere.

What tho' th' claads aboon luk dark, Th' sun's just waitin to peep throo; Let us buckle to awr wark, For ther's lots o' jobs to do: Tho' all th' world luks dark an drear, Let's ha faith, an persevere.

He's a fooil 'at sits an mumps 'Coss some troubles hem him raand!

Man mud allus be i'th dumps, If he sulk'd 'coss fortun fraand; Th' time 'll come for th' sky to clear:-- Let's ha faith, an persevere.

If we think awr lot is hard, Nivver let us mak a fuss; Lukkin raand, at ivvery yard, We'st find others war nor us; We have still noa cause to fear!

Let's ha faith, an persevere.

A faint heart, aw've heeard 'em say, Nivver won a lady fair: Have a will! yo'll find a way!

Honest men ne'er need despair.

Better days are drawin near:-- Then ha faith, an persevere.

Workin men,--nah we've a voice, An con help to mak new laws; Let us ivver show awr choice Lains to strengthen virtue's cause, Wrangs to reighten,--griefs to cheer; This awr motto--'Persevere.'

Let us show to foreign empires Loyalty's noa empty booast; We can scorn the thirsty vampires If they dar molest awr cooast: To awr Queen an country dear Still we'll cling an persevere.