Yorkshire Lyrics Part 5

Second Thowts.

Aw've been walkin up th' loin all ith weet, Aw felt sure tha'd be comin that way; For tha promised tha'd meet me to-neet, An answer me "Aye" or else "Nay."

Tho aw hevn't mich fear tha'll refuse, Yet awd rayther mi fate tha'd decide, For this trailin abaat is no use, Unless tha'll at last be mi bride.

Aw dooant like keepin thus i' suspense, An aw think tha'rt too full o' consait; If aw get thee tha'll bring me expense, To provide thee wi clooas an wi mait.

If tha fancies all th' gain's o' my side Tha'rt makkin a sorry mistak, For when a chap tackles a bride, He's an extra looad on his back.

An in fact, when aw study things o'er, Awm nooan sorry tha hasn't shown up, For awm nooan badly off nah awm sure, For awve plenty to ait an to sup.

Aw've noa wife to find fault if awm lat, Aw've noa childer to feed nor to clam, An when aw put this thing to that, Aw think aw shall stop as aw am.

A Neet when aw've Nowt to do.

Why lad, awm sewer tha'rt ommost done, This ovvertime is killin; 'Twor allus soa sin th' world begun, They put o' them at's willin.

Tha's ne'er a neet to call thi own,-- Tha starts furst thing o' Mundy, An works thi fingers fair to th' booan, Booath day an neet wol Sundy.

Aw know tha addles extra pay,-- We couldn't weel do baght it, But if tha'rt browt hooam sick some day, We'st ha to do withaat it.

Aw seldom get to see thi face, Exceptin when tha'rt aitin; Neet after neet aw caar ith' place Wol awm fair sick o' waitin.

An when tha comes, tha'rt off to bed, Befoor aw've chonce o' spaikin, An th' childer luk, aw've ofttimes sed, Like orphans when they're laikin.

Come hooam at six o'clock to-morn, An let wark goa to hummer, Thi face is growin white an worn:-- Tha'll nivver last all summer.

Besides ther's lots o' little jobs, At tha can tak a hand in,-- That kist o' drawers has lost two n.o.bs, An th' table leg wants mendin.

Ther's th' fixin up oth' winderblind, An th' chaymer wants whiteweshin, Th' wall's filled wi marks o' ivvery kind,-- (Yond lads desarve a threshin.) Aw can't shake th' carpet bi misen, Nor lig it square an straightly;-- Th' childer mud help me nah an then, But they ne'er do nowt reightly.

That bed o' awrs wants shakin up, All th' flocks has stuck together, Tha knows they all want braikin up, Or they'll get tough as leather.

An th' coilhoil wants a coit o' lime, Then it'll smell mich sweeter, An th' cellar should be done this time, It maks it soa mich leeter.

Ther's lots o' little things beside;-- All th' childer's clogs want spetchin, Jack's hurts his toa, tha'll mak em wide, Wi varry little stretchin.

Besides, tha raillee wants a rest, For a neet, or maybe two, An tha can fix theas trifles best, Some neet when tha's nowt to do.

Awm net like some at connot feel For others, aw a.s.sure thi: Tha's tewd until tha'rt owt but weel; An nowt but rest can cure thi.

Soa come hooam sooin an spend a neet, Wi me an Jack an Freddy, They'll think it's ivver sich a treat; An aw'll have th' whitewesh ready.

Ther's much Expected.

Life's pathway is full o' deep ruts, An we mun tak gooid heed lest we stumble; Man is made up of "ifs" and of "buts,"

It seems pairt ov his natur to grumble.

But if we'd all anxiously tak To makkin things smooth as we're able, Ther'd be monny a better clooath'd back, An' monny a better spread table.

It's a sad state o' things when a man Cannot put ony faith in his brother, An fancies he'll chait if he can, An rejoice ovver th' fall ov another.

An it's sad when yo see some at stand High in social position an power, To know at ther fortuns wor plann'd, An built, aght oth' wrecks o' those lower.

It's sad to see luxury rife, An fortuns being thowtlessly wasted; While others are wearin out life, With the furst drops o' pleasure untasted.

Some in carriages rollin away, To a ball, or a rout, or a revel; But ther chariots may bear em some day Varry near to the gates ov the devil.

Oh! charity surely is rare, Or ther'd net be soa monny neglected; For ther's lots wi enuff an' to spare, An from them varry mich is expected.

An tho' in this world they've ther fill Of its pleasures, an wilfully blinded, Let deeath come--an surely it will-- They'll be then ov ther duties reminded.

An when called on, they, tremblin wi fear, Say "The hungry an nak'd we ne'er knew,"

That sentence shall fall o' ther ear-- "Depart from me; I never knew you."

Then, oh! let us do what we can, Nor with this world's goods play the miser; If it's wise to lend money to man, To lend to the Lord _must_ be wiser.

Coortin Days.

Coortin days,--Coortin days,--loved one an lover!

What wod aw give if those days could come ovver?

Weddin is joyous,--its pleasur unstinted; But coortin is th' sweetest thing ivver invented.

Walkin an talkin, An nursin Love's spark, Charmin an warmin Tho th' neet may be dark.

Oh! but it's nice when yor way's long and dreary, To walk wi yor arm raand th' waist ov yor dearie; Tellin sweet falsehoods, the haars to beguile em, (If yo tell'd em ith' dayleet they'd put yo ith' sylum.) But ivverything's fair I' love an i' war, But be sewer to act square;-- An do if yo dar!

Squeezin an kissin an kissin an squeezin,-- Laughin an coughin an ticklin an sneezin,-- But remember,--if maybe, sich knowledge yo lack, Allus smile in her face, but, sneeze at her back.

Yo may think, if a fooil, Sich a thing nivver mattered, But a la.s.s, as a rule, Doesn't want to be spattered.

When th' coortin neet comes, tho' yor appet.i.te's ragin, Dooant fill up wi oonions, wi mar'gum an sage in, Remember, the darlin, where centred yor bliss is, Likes to fancy, yor livin on love an her kisses.

An yor linen, if plain, Have all spotless an fresh: Then shoo connot complain, When shoo has it to wesh.

When Love's flame's been lit, an burst into a glow, Th' best thing yo can do,--(that's as far as aw know;) Is to goa to a parson an pay him his price, An to join yo together he'll put in a splice, Then together yo'll face This world's battle an bother, An if that isn't th' case, Yo can feight for each other.

Sweet Mistress Moore.

Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife, An Johnny is a druffen sot; He spends th' best portion of his life Ith' beershop wi a pipe an pot.

At schooil together John an me Set side by side like trusty chums, An nivver did we disagree Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs.

At John shoo smiled, An aw wor riled; Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me; Her bonny e'en Aw've seldom seen Sin that sad day shoo slighted me.

Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want, For Johnny ofttimes gets oth' spree; He spends his wages in a rant, An leeaves his wife to pine or dee.

An monny a time awve ligged i' bed, An cursed my fate for bein poor, An monny a bitter tear awve shed, When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore.

For shoo's mi life Is Johnny's wife, An tho to love her isn't reet, What con aw do, When all th' neet throo Awm dreamin ov her e'en soa breet.

Aw'll goa away an leeave this spot, For fear at we should ivver meet, For if we did, as sure as shot Awst throw me daan anent her feet.

Aw know shoo'd think aw wor a fooil, To love a woman when shoo's wed, But sin aw saw her furst at schooil, It's been a wretched life aw've led.

But th' time has come To leeave mi hooam, An th' sea between us sooin shall roar, Yet still mi heart Will nivver part Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore.