Yorkshire Lyrics Part 39

An when shoo laffs, it saands as if A little crystal spring, Wor bubblin up throo silver rocks, Screened by an angel's wing.

It saands soa sweet, an yet soa low, One feels it forms a part Ov what yo love, an yo can hear Its echoes in yor heart.

It isn't likely aw shall win, An wed soa rich a prize; But ther's noa tellin what strange things Man may do, if he tries.

Love one Another.

Let's love one another, it's better bi far; Mak peace wi yor Brother--it's better nor war!

Life's rooad's rough enuff,--let's mak it mooar smooth, Let's sprinkle awr pathway wi kindness an love.

Ther's hearts at are heavy, and een at are dim, Ther's deep cups o' sorrow at's full up to th' brim; Ther's want an misfortun,--ther's crime an ther's sin; Let's feight 'em wi Love,--for Love's sarten to win.

Give yor hand,--a kind hand,--to yor brother i' need, Dooant question his conduct, or ax him his creed,-- Nor despise him becoss yo may think he's nooan reight, For, maybe, some daat whether yo're walkin straight.

Dooant set up as judge,--it's a dangerous plan, Luk ovver his failins,--he's n.o.bbut a man; Suppooas at he's one at yo'd call 'a hard case,'

What might yo ha been if yo'd been in his place?

Fowk praich abaat 'Charity,'--'pity the poor,'

But turn away th' beggar at comes to ther door;-- "Indiscriminate Charity's hurtful," they say, "We hav'nt got riches to throw em away!"

Noa! but if that Grand Book,--th' Grandest Book ivver writ, (An if ther's a true Book aw think at that's it,) Says "What yo have done to th' leeast one o' theas Yo did unto Me;"--Reckon that if yo pleeas.

Awm nooan findin fault,--yet aw cant help but see Ha some roll i' wealth, wol ther's some, starvin, dee; They grooan "it's a pity;--Poverty is a curse!"

But they b.u.t.ton ther pockets, an shut up ther purse.

Ther's few fowk soa poor, but they could if they wod, Do summat for mankind.--Do summat for G.o.d.

It wor Jesus commanded 'To love one another,'

Ther's no man soa lost but can claim thee as Brother.

Then let us each one, do what little we can, To help on to comfort a less lucky man; Remember, some day it may fall to thy lot To feel poverty's grip, spite o' all at tha's got.

But dooant help another i' hooaps at some day.

Tha'll get it all back.--Nay, a thaasand times Nay!

Be generous an just and wi th' futer ne'er bother;-- Tha'll nivver regret bein a friend to thi Brother.

d.i.c.k an Me.

Two old fogies,--d.i.c.k an me,-- Old, an grey as grey can be.

A'a,-but monny a jolly spree We have had;-- An tha ne'er went back o' me;-- Bonny lad!

All thi life, sin puppy days We've been chums:--tha knows mi ways;-- An noa matter what fowk says, On we jog.

'Spite what tricks dame Fortun plays,-- Tha'rt my dog.

Th' world wod seem a dreary spot,-- All mi joys wod goa to pot;-- Looansum be mi little cot, Withaat thee; A'a, tha knows awst freeat a lot If tha'd to dee.

Once on a time we rammeld far O'er hills an dales, an rugged scar; Whear fowk, less ventersum, ne'er dar To set ther feet; An nowt wor thear awr peace to mar;-- Oh, it wor sweet!

But nah, old chap, thi limbs are stiff;-- Tha connot run an climb--but if Tha wags thi tail,--why, that's eniff To cheer me yet; An th' fun we've had o'er plain an cliff, Awst ne'er forget.

If aw, like Burns, could sing thi praise; Could touch the strings to tune sich lays-- Tha'd be enshrined for endless days I' deathless song; But Fate has will'd it otherways.

Yet, love is strong.

Blest be that heart 'at finds i' me What nubdy else could ivver see;-- Summat to love.--Aye! even thee, Tha knows its true; We've shared booath wealth an poverty, An meean to do.

When fowk wi kindly hearts aglow, Say, "Poor old fogies," they dooant know 'At all they own is far below Thy worth to me; An all the wealth at they could show Wod ne'er tempt thee,

Time's creepin on,--we wait a chonce, When we shall quit life's mazy donee; But, please G.o.d! Tak us booath at once, Old d.i.c.k an me; When's time to quit,--why--that announce When best suits Thee.

Briggate at Setterdy Neet.

Sin Leeds wor a city it puts on grand airs, An aw've noa wish to bother wi' others' affairs; 'At they've mich to be praad on aw freely admit, But aw think thier's some things they mud alter a bit.

They've raised some fine buildings 'at's worth lookin at,-- They're a credit to th' city, thers noa daat o' that; But ther's nowt strikes a stranger soa mich as a seet O'th' craad 'at's i' Briggate at Setterdy neet.

Aw've travelled a bit i' booath cities an taans, An aw've oft seen big craads when they've stept aght o' baands;-- Well,--excitement sometimes will lead fowk astray, When they dooant meean owt wrang, but just rollikin play, But Leeds is a licker,--for tumult an din,-- For bullies an rowdies an brazzen-faced sin.

Aw defy yo to find me another sich street,-- As disgraceful, as Briggate at Setterdy neet.

Poleecemen are standin i' twos an i' threes, But they must be stooan blinnd to what other fowk sees; It must be for ornaments they've been put thear,-- It cant be nowt else, for they dooant interfere.

Young lads who imagine it maks 'em seem men If they hustle an shaat and mak fooils o' thersen.

Daycent fowk mun leeav th' cawsey for th' middle o'th' street For its th' roughs at own Briggate at Setterdy neet.

An if yo've a heart 'at can feel, it must ache When yo hear ther faal oaths an what coorse jests they make; Yet once they wor daycent an wod be soa still, But they've takken th' wrang turnin,--they're gooin daan hill.

Them la.s.ses, soa bonny, just aght o' ther teens, Wi' faces an figures 'at's fit for a queen's.

What is it they're dooin? Just watch an yo'll see 't, What they're hawkin i' Briggate at Setterdy neet.

They keep sendin praichers to th' heathen an sich, But we've heathen at hooam at require 'em as mich: Just luk at that craad at comes troopin along, Some yellin aght th' chorus o'th' new comic song; Old an young,--men an wimmen,--some b.u.mmers, some swells, Turned aght o' some dnnkin an singin room h.e.l.ls;-- They seek noa dark corners, they glory i'th' leet, This is Briggate,--their Briggate, at Setterdy neet.

Is it axin too mich ov "the powers that be,"

For a city's main street from sich curse to be free?

Shall Morality's claims be set all o' one side, Sich a market for lewdness an vice to provide?

Will that day ivver come when a virtuous la.s.s, Alone, withaat insult, in safety may pa.s.s?

Its time for a change, an awm langin to see 't,-- A respectable Briggate at Setterdy neet.

Them well-meeanin parents, at hooam at ther ease, Are oft wilfully blind to sich dangers as theas; Their sons an their dowters are honest an pure,-- That may be,--an pray G.o.d it may ivver endure.

But ther's noa poor lost craytur, but once on a time, Wor as pure as ther own an wod shudder at crime.

The devil is layin his snares for ther feet,-- An they're swarmin i' Briggate at Setterdy neet.

Awr Annie.

Saw yo that la.s.s wi' her wicked een?

That's awr Annie.

Shoo's th' pet o'th' haase, we call her 'queen,'

Shoo's th' bonniest wench wor ivver seen; Shoo laffs an frolics all th' day throo,-- Shoo does just what shoo likes to do,-- But then shoo's loved,--an knows it too;-- That's awr Annie.