Yorkshire Tales Volume II Part 6

A year or two moor an' another seemed longin to goa, An' all we could do wor to smooth his deeath bed, 'at he might sleep sweeter-- Then th' third seemed to sicken an' pine, an' we couldn't say "noa,"

For he said his sister had called, an' he wor most anxious to meet her--

An' how we watched th' youngest, noa mortal can tell but misen, For we prized it moor, becoss it wor th' only one left us to cherish; At last her call came, an' shoo luked sich a luk at us then, Which aw ne'er shall forget, tho mi mem'ry ov all other things perish.

A few years moor, when awr griefs wor beginnin to lighten, Mi friends began askin my wife, if shoo felt hersen hearty an' strong?

An' aw niver saw at her face wor beginning to whiten, Till sho grew like a shadow, an' aw couldn't even guess wrong.

Then aw stood beside th' grave when th' saxton wor shovin in th' gravel, An' he said "this last maks five, an' aw think ther's just room for another,"

An' aw went an' left him, lonely an' heartsick to travel, Till th' time comes when aw may lig daan beside them four bairns an' ther mother.

An' aw think what a glorious Christmas day 'twod ha been If aw'd gooan to that place where ther's noa moor cares, nor partin, nor sorrow; An aw knaw they're thear, or that dream aw should niver ha seen, But aw'll try to be patient, an' maybe shoo'll come fotch me to-morrow.

Billy b.u.mble's Bargain.

Young Billy b.u.mble bowt a pig, Soa aw've heeard th' neighbors say; An' mony a mile he had to trig One sweltin' summer day; But Billy didn't care a fig, He said he'd mak it pay; He _knew_ it wor a bargain, An' he cared net who said nay.

He browt it hooam to Ploo Croft loin, But what wor his surprise To find all th' neighbors standing aat, We oppen maaths an' eyes; "By gow!" sed Billy, to hissen, "This pig _must_ be a prize!"

An' th' wimmen cried, "Gooid gracious fowk!

But isn't it a size?"

Then th' chaps sed, "Billy, where's ta been?

Whativer has ta browt?

That surely isn't crayture, lad, Aw heeard 'em say tha'd bowt?

It luks moor like a donkey, Does ta think 'at it con rawt?"

But Billy crack'd his carter's whip.

An' answered' em wi' nowt.

An' reight enuff it war a pig, If all they say is true, Its length war five foot eight or nine, Its height wor four foot two; An' when it coom to th' pig hoil door, He couldn't get it through, Unless it went daan ov its knees, An' that it wodn't do.

Then Billy's mother coomed to help, An' hit it wi' a mop; But thear it wor, an' thear it seem'd Detarmined it 'ud stop; But all at once it gave a grunt, An' oppen'd sich a shop; An' finding aat 'at it wor lick'd, It laup'd clean ovver th' top.

His mother then shoo shook her heead, An' pool'd a woeful face; "William," shoo sed, "tha shouldn't bring Sich things as theas to th' place.

Aw hooap tha art'nt gooin to sink Thi mother i' disgrace; But if tha buys sich things as thease Aw'm feared it will be th' case!"

"Nah, mother, niver freat." sed Bill, "Its one aw'm goin to feed, Its rayther long i'th' legs, aw know, But that's becoss o'th' breed; If its a trifle long i'th' grooin, Why hang it! niver heed!

Aw know its net a beauty, _But its cheap, it is, indeed!"_

"Well time 'ul try," his mother sed,-- An' time at last did try; For niver sich a hungry beeast Had been fed in a sty.

"What's th' weight o'th' long legged pig, Billy!"

Wor th' neighbors' daily cry; "Aw connot tell yo yet," sed Bill, "Aw'll weigh it bye an' bye."

An' hard poor Billy persevered, But all to noa avail, It swallow'd all th' mait it could get, An' wod ha' swallow'd th' pail; But Billy took gooid care to stand O'th' tother side o'th' rail; But fat it didn't gain as mich As what 'ud greeas its tail.

Pack after pack o' mail he bowt, Until he'd bought fourteen; But net a bit o' difference I'th' pig wor to be seen: Its legs an' snowt wor just as long As iver they had been; Poor Billy caanted rib bi rib An' heaved a sigh between.

One day he, mix'd a double feed, An' put it into th' troff; "Tha greedy lukkin beeast," he sed, "Aw'll awther stawl thee off, Or else aw'll brust thi hide--that is Unless 'at its to toff!"

An' then he left it wol he went His mucky clooas to doff.

It worn't long befoor he coom To see ha matters stood; He luk'd at th' troff, an' thear it wor, Five simple bits o' wood, As cleean sc.r.a.ped aat as if it had Ne'er held a bit o' food; "Tha slotch!" sed Bill, "aw do believe Tha'd ait me if tha could."

Next day he browt a butcher, For his patience had been tried, An' wi a varry deeal to do, Its legs wi rooap they tied; An' then his shinin knife he drew An' stuck it in its side-- It mud ha been a crockadile, Bi th' thickness ov its hide.

But blooid began to flow, an' then Its long legg'd race wor run; They scalded, sc.r.a.ped, an' hung it up, An' when it all wor done, Fowk coom to guess what weight it wor, And mony a bit o' fun They had, for Billy's mother said "It ought to weigh a ton."

Billy wor walkin up an' daan, Dooin nowt but fume an' fidge!

He luk'd at th' pig--then daan he set, I'th nook o'th' window ledge, He saw th' back booan wor sticken aght, Like th' thin end ov a wedge; It luk'd like an' owd blanket Hung ovver th' winterhedge.

His mother rooar'd an' th' wimmen sigh'd, But th' chaps did nowt but laff; Poor Billy he could hardly bide, To sit an' hear ther chaff-- Then up he jumped, an' off he run, But whear fowk niver knew; An' what wor th' warst, when mornin' coom, Th' deead pig had mizzled too.

Th' chaps wander'd th' country far an' near, Until they stall'd thersen; But nawther Billy nor his pig Coom hooam agean sin then; But oft fowk say, i'th' deead o'th' neet, Near Shibden's ruined mill, The gooast o' Billy an' his pig May be seen runnin still.

Moral.

Yo fowk 'ats tempted to goa buy Be careful what yo do; Dooant be persuaded coss "its _cheap_,"

For if yo do yo'll rue; Dooant think its lowerin to yor sen To ax a friend's advice, Else like poor Billy's pig, 't may be Bowt dear at ony price.

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 hoot'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.