Yorkshire Lyrics Part 35

A Millionaire.

Aw wodn't gie a penny piece To be a millionaire, For him 'at's little cattle, is The chap wi' little care.

Jewels may flash o'er achin broos, An silken robes may hide Bosoms all fair to look upon, Whear braikin hearts abide.

Gie me enuff for daily needs, An just a bit to spend; Enuff to pay mi honest way, An help a strugglin friend.

Aw'll be contented it aw keep The wolf from off mi door; Aw'll envy nubdy o' ther bra.s.s, An nivver dream awm poor.

Dewdrops 'at shine i'th' early morn Are diamons for me.

An jewels glint i' ivvery tint, On th' hill or daan i'th' lea.

My sweet musicianers are burds At tune their joyous lay, Araand mi cottage winder, An nivver strike for pay.

Aw lang for noa fine carriages To drag me raand about!

Shanks galloway my purpose fits Far better, beyond daat.

An when at times aw weary grow, An fain wod have a rest; Aw toddle hooam an goa to bed,-- That allus answers best.

"Insomnia;" ne'er bothers me,-- It's tother way abaght; Aw sleep throo tummelin into bed, Wol th' time to tummel aght.

Aw nivver want a "pick-me-up,"

To tempt mi appet.i.te; Aw ait what's set anent me, An aw relish ivvery bite.

What pleasure has a millionaire 'At aw've net one to match?

Awd show 'em awm best off o'th' two, If they'd come up to th' scratch.

Ov one thing aw feel sartin sewer, They've mooar nor me to bear; Yo bet! its net all "Lavender,"

To be a millionaire.

Mi Fayther's Pipe.

AW'VE a treasure yo'd laff if yo saw, But its mem'ries are dear to mi heart; For aw've oft seen it stuck in a jaw, Whear it seem'd to form ommost a part.

Its net worth a hawpny, aw know, But its given mooar pleasure maybe, Nor some things at mak far mooar show, An yo can't guess its vally to me.

Mi fayther wor fond ov his pipe, An this wor his favorite clay; An if mi ideas wor ripe, Awd enshrine it ith' folds ov a lay; But words allus fail to express What aw think when aw see its old face; For aw know th' world holds one friend the less, An mi hearth has one mooar vacant place.

Ov trubbles his life had its share, But he kept all his griefs to hissen; Tho aw've oft seen his brow knit wi care, Wol he tried to crack jooaks nah an then.

But one comfort he'd ivver i' stooar, An he'd creep to his favorite nook, An seizin his old pipe once mooar, All his trubbles would vanish i' smook.

If his fare should be roughish or scant, He nivver repined at his lot; He seem'd to have all he could want, If he knew he'd some bacca ith' pot.

An he'd fill up this little black clay, An as th' reek curled away o'er his heead, Ivvery trace ov his sorrow gave way, An a smile used to dwell thear asteead.

He grew waiker as years rolled along, An his e'eseet an hearin gave way; An his limbs at had once been soa strong, Grew shakier day after day.

Yet his heart nivver seem'd to grow old, Tho life's harvest had long been past ripe For his ailments wor allus consoled, When he'd getten a whiff ov his pipe,

Aw'll keep it as long as aw can, For its all aw've been able to save, To bind mi heart still to th' old man, At's moulderin away in his grave.

He'd noa strikin virtues to booast, Noa vices for th' world to condemn; To be upright an honest an just, In his lifetime he ne'er forgate them,

As a fayther, kind, patient and true, His mem'ry will allus be dear; For he acted soa far as he knew, For th' best to all th' fowk he coom near.

An aw ne'er see this blackened old clay, But aw find mi een dimmed wi a tear; An aw ne'er put th' old relic away But aw wish mi old fayther wor here.

Let th' La.s.ses Alooan!

What a lot ov advice ther is wasted;-- What praichin is all thrown away;-- Young fowk lang for pleasures untasted, An its little they'll heed what yo say.

Old fowk may have wisdom i' plenty, But they're apt to forget just one thing; What suits sixty will hardly fit twenty, An youth ivver will have its fling.

__________

Old Jenny sat silently freeatin,-- Sed Alec, "Pray la.s.s, what's to do?"

But his old wife went on wi her knittin, As if shoo'd a task to get throo.

Then shoo tuk off her specs, and sed sadly, "Awm capt ha blind some fowk can be; Ther's reason for me lukkin badly, But nowt maks a difference to thee."

Ther's awr Reuben, he's hardly turned twenty, An awr Jim isn't nineteen wol May;-- Aw provide for em gooid things i plenty, An ne'er a wrang word to em say; But they've noa sooiner swoller'd ther drinkin, Nor they're don'd, an away off they've gooan, An awm feared,--for aw connot help thinkin, At they dunnot let th' la.s.ses alooan.

Ther's that forrad young hussy, Sal Sankey, Awm thankful shoo's noa child o' mine:-- When awr Reuben's abaat shoo's fair cranky;-- An shoo's don'd like some grand lady fine.

An Reuben's soa soft he can't see it, An aw mud as weel praich to a stooan, He does nowt but grin when aw tell him, To mind, an let th' la.s.ses alooan.

Awr Jim follers Reuben's example, He hasn't a morsel o' wit!

An yond la.s.s o' Braans,--shoo's a sample Ov a gigglin, young impitent chit.

An he'd cheek to tell me shoo wor bonny,-- One like her!!--Why, shoo's just skin an booan Awd have better nor her if awd onny, But he'd better let th' la.s.ses alooan.

"All th' four went to th' meetin last Sundy,-- Aw dursn't think what they'll do next; An ther worrit one on em at Mundy Could tell what th' chap tuk for his text.

Tha may laff, like a child at a bubble, But thi laff may yet end in a grooan; For they're sartin to get into trubble, If they dunnot lei th' la.s.ses alooan."

"Aw connot help laffin, old beauty!

Tho' aw know at tha meeans to do reight; Tha's nivver neglected thi duty, An tha's kept thi lads honest an straight.

Just think ha ther father behaved when He met thee i'th' days at are gooan; Tha knows ha aw beg'd, an aw slaved, then To win th' la.s.s at aw ne'er let alooan."

"Aw've nivver regretted that mornin, When aw made thi mi bonny young bride, An although we're nah past life's turnin, We still jog along, side bi side.

We've shared i' booath pleasures an bothers, An ther's noa reason why we should mooan; An its folly to try to stop others, For lads willn't let th' la.s.ses alooan,"

A Breet Prospect.

As aw pa.s.sed Wit'orth chapel 'twor just five o'clock, Aw'd mi can full o' teah, an a bundle o' jock; An aw thowt th' bit o' bacca aw puffed on mi way Wor sweeter nor ivver aw'd known it that day.

An th' burds sang soa sweetly, An th' sun shone soa breetly, An th' trees lukt soa green;--it wor th' furst day i' May.

Aw wor lazy that mornin, an could'nt help thinkin, As aw'd getten booath braikfast, an dinner, an drinkin, An bacca, an matches,--'at just a odd day For a stroll, could'nt braik monny squares onnyway, But it tuk me noa little, To screw up mi mettle, For if th' wife gate to know aw'd a guess what shoo'd say.

Soa aw thowt aw'll let wark goa to pot for a bit, Its net once i'th' year 'at aw get sich a treeat; But aw'll have a day aght just bi th' way ov a change, For aw've moped i' yond miln wol aw raylee feel strange: For mi heead's full o'th' whirlin, O'th' twistin an twirlin;-- Mun aw'm feeard aw'st goa crackt if aw've nivver a change.