Yorkshire Tales Volume II Part 1

Yorkshire Ditties.

Second Series.

by John Hartley.

Th' Better Part.

A poor owd man wi' tott'ring gait, Wi' body bent, and snowy pate, Aw met one day;-- An' daan o' th' rooad side gra.s.sy banks He sat to rest his weary shanks; An' aw, to wile away my time, O'th' neighbouring hillock did recline, An' bade "gooid day."

Said aw, "Owd friend, pray tell me true, If in your heart yo niver rue The time 'ats past?

Does envy niver fill your breast When pa.s.sin fowk wi' riches blest?

An' do yo niver think it wrang At yo should have to trudge alang, Soa poor to th' last?"

"Young man," he said "aw envy nooan; But ther are times aw pity some, Wi' all mi heart; To see what troubled lives they spend, What cares upon their hands depend; Then aw in thoughtfulness declare 'At 'little cattle little care'

Is th' better part.

Gold is a burden hard to carry, An' tho' Dame Fortune has been chary O' gifts to me; Yet still aw strive to feel content, An' think what is, for th' best is meant; An' th' mooast ov all aw strive for here, Is still to keep mi conscience clear, From dark spots free.

An' while some tax ther brains to find What they'll be forced to leave behind, When th' time shall come; Aw try bi honest word an' deed, To get what little here aw need, An' live i' hopes at last to say, When breath go as flickerin away, 'Awm gooin hooam.'"

Aw gave his hand a hearty shake, It seem'd as tho' the words he spake Sank i' mi heart: Aw walk'd away a wiser man, Detarmined aw wod try his plan I' hopes at last 'at aw might be As weel a.s.sured ov Heaven as he; That's th' better part.

Done Agean.

Aw've a rare lump o' beef on a dish, We've some bacon 'at's hung up o' th' thack, We've as mich gooid spike-cake as we wish, An' wi' currens its varry near black; We've a barrel o' gooid hooam brewed drink, We've a pack o' flaar reared agean th' clock, We've a load o' puttates under th' sink, So we're pretty weel off as to jock.

Aw'm soa fain aw can't tell whear to bide, But the cause aw dar hardly let aat; It suits me moor nor all else beside; Aw've a paand 'at th' wife knows nowt abaat.

Aw can nah have a spree to misel?

Aw can treat mi old mates wi' a gla.s.s; An' aw sha'nt ha' to come home an' tell My old la.s.s, ha' aw've shut all mi bra.s.s.

Some fowk say, when a chap's getten wed, He should nivver keep owt thro' his wife; If he does awve oft heard 'at it's sed, 'At it's sure to breed trouble an' strife; If it does aw'm net baan to throw up, Tho' aw'd mich rayther get on withaat; But who wodn't risk a blow up, For a paand 'at th' wife knows nowt abaat.

Aw hid it i' th' coil hoil last neet, For fear it dropt aat o' mi fob, Coss aw knew, if shoo happened to see 't, At mi frolic wod prove a done job.

But aw'll gladden mi een wi' its face, To mak sure at its safe in its nick;-- But aw'm blest if ther's owt left i' th' place!

Why, its hook'd it as sure as aw'm wick.

Whear its gooan to's a puzzle to me, An' who's taen it aw connot mak aat, For it connot be th' wife, coss you see It's a paand 'at shoo knew nowt abaat.

But thear shoo is, peepin' off th' side, An' aw see'at shoo's all on a grin; To chait her aw've monny a time tried, But I think it's nah time to give in.

A chap may be deep as a well, But a woman's his maister when done; He may chuckle and flatter hissel, But he'll wakken to find at shoo's won.

It's a rayther unpleasant affair, Yet it's better it's happened noa daat; Aw'st be fain to come in for a share O' that paand at th' wife knows all abaat.

Latter Wit.

Awm sittin o' that old stooan seeat, Wheear last aw set wi' thee; It seems long years sin' last we met, Awm sure it must be three.

Awm wond'rin what aw sed or did, Or what aw left undone: 'At made thi hook it, an' get wed, To one tha used to shun.

Aw dooant say awm a handsom chap, Becoss aw know awm net; But if aw wor 'ith' mind to change, He isn't th' chap, aw'll bet.

Awm net a scoller, but aw know A long chawk moor ner him; It couldn't be his knowledge box 'At made thi change thi whim.

He doesn't haddle as mich bra.s.s As aw do ivery wick: An' if he gets a gradely shop, It's seldom he can stick.

An' then agean,--he goes on th' rant; Nah, that aw niver do;-- Aw allus mark misen content, Wi' an odd pint or two.

His brother is a lazy lout,-- His sister's nooan too gooid,-- Ther's net a daycent 'en ith' bunch,-- Vice seems to run ith' blooid.

An yet th'art happy,--soa they say, That caps me moor ner owt!

Tha taks a deal less suitin, la.s.s, Nor iver awst ha' thowt.

Aw saw yo walkin aat one neet, Befoor yo'd getten wed; Aw guess'd what he wor tawkin, tho Aw dooant know what he sed.

But he'd his arm araand thi waist, An tho' thi face wor hid, Aw'll swear aw saw him kuss thi:-- That's what aw niver did.

Aw thowt tha'd order him away, An' mak a fearful row, But tha niver tuk noa nooatice, Just as if tha didn't know.

Awm hawf inclined to think sometimes, Aw've been a trifle soft, Aw happen should a' dun't misen?

Aw've lang'd to do it oft.

Thar't lost to me, but if a chonce Should turn up by-an-by, If aw get seck'd aw'll bet me booits, That isn't t'reason why.

My Gronfayther's Days.

A'a, Jonny! a'a Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee!

But come thi ways to me, an' sit o' mi knee, For it's shockin' to hearken to th' words 'at tha says:-- Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronofayther's days.

When aw wor a lad, lads wor lads, tha knows, then, But nahdays they owt to be 'shamed o' thersen; For they smook, an' they drink, an' get other bad ways; Things wor different once i' thi gronfayther's days.

Aw remember th' furst day aw went a coortin' a bit, An' walked aght thi granny;--awst niver forget; For we blushed wol us faces wor all in a blaze;-- It wor nooa sin to blush i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's nooa la.s.ses nah, John, 'at's fit to be wed; They've false teeth i' ther maath, an false hair o' ther heead; They're a make up o' buckram, an' waddin', an' stays, But a la.s.s wor a la.s.s i' thi gronfayther's days.

At that time a tradesman dealt fairly wi' th' poor, But nah a fair dealer can't keep oppen th' door; He's a fooil if he fails, he's a scamp if he pays; Ther wor honest men lived i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's chimleys an' factrys i' ivery nook nah, But ther's varry few left 'at con fodder a caah; An' ther's telegraff poles all o'th edge o'th' highways, Whear grew bonny green trees i' thi gronfayther's days.

We're teld to be thankful for blessin's at's sent, An' aw hooap 'at tha'll allus be blessed wi' content; Tha mun make th' best tha con o' this world wol tha stays, But aw wish tha'd been born i' thi gronfayther's days.