Yorkshire Lyrics. John Hartley
Shoo seemed possessed ov ivvery grace,
Did bonny Mary Ann.
To win her wod be heaven indeed,
Soa off aw went to woo;
Mi tale o' love shoo didn't heed,
Altho' mi heart spake too.
Aw axt, "what wants ta, onnyway?"
Shoo sed, "aw want a man,"
Then laffin gay, shoo tript away—
Mi bonny Mary Ann.
Thinks aw, well, aw'll be man enough
To leeav thi to thisen,
Some day tha'll net be quite as chuff,
Aw'll wait an try thi then.
'Twor hard—it ommost braik mi heart
To carry aght mi plan;
But honestly aw played mi part,
An lost mi Mary Ann.
For nah shoo's wed an lost yo see,
But oh! revenge is sweet;
Her husband's less bi th' hawf nor me,
His face is like a freet;
An what enticed her aw must own,
To guess noa mortal can;
For what it is, is nobbut known—
To him an Mary Ann.
That Christmas Puddin.
Ha weel aw remember that big Christmas puddin,
That puddin mooast famous ov all in a year;
When each lad at th' table mud stuff all he could in,
An ne'er have a word ov refusal to fear.
Ha its raand speckled face, craand wi' sprigs o' green holly
Seem'd sweeatin wi' juices ov currans an plums;
An its fat cheeks made ivvery one laff an feel jolly,
For it seem'd like a meetin ov long parted chums,
That big Christmas pudding—That rich steamin puddin—
That scrumptious plum puddin, mi mother had made.
Ther wor father an mother—awr Hannah an Mary,
Uncle Tom an ont Nancy, an smart cussin Jim;
An Jim's sister Kitty, as sweet as a fairy—
An Sam wi' his fiddle—we couldn't spare him.
We'd rooast beef an mutton, a gooise full o' stuffin,
Boil'd turnips an taties, an moor o' sich kind;
An fooamin hooam brewed—why—aw think we'd enuff in,
To sail a big ship if we'd been soa inclined.
An then we'd that puddin—That thumpin big puddin—
That rich Christmas puddin, mi mother had made.
Sam sat next to Mary an Jim tuk awr Hannah,
An Kitty ov coorse had to sit next to me—
An th' stuff wor sooin meltin away in a manner,
'At mi mother declared 't wor a pleasur to see.
They wor nowt could be mended, we sed when it ended,
An all seem'd as happy as happy could be;
An aw've nivver repented, for Kitty consented,
An shoo's still breet an bonny an a gooid wife to me.
An aw think o' that puddin—That fateful plum puddin—
That match makkin puddin mi mother had made.
A Bad Sooart.
Aw'd rayther face a redwut brick,
Sent flyin at mi heead;
Aw'd rayther track a madman's steps,
Whearivver they may leead;
Aw'd rayther ventur in a den,
An stail a lion's cub;
Aw'd rayther risk the foamin wave
In an old leaky tub.
Aw'd rayther stand i'th' midst o'th' fray,
Whear bullets thickest shower;
Nor trust a mean, black hearted man,
At's th' luck to be i' power.
A redwut brick may miss its mark,
A madman change his whim;
A lion may forgive a theft;
A leaky tub may swim.
Bullets may pass yo harmless by,
An leeav all safe at last;
A thaasand thunders shake the sky,
An spare yo when they've past.
Yo may o'ercome mooast fell disease;
Mak poverty yo're friend;
But wi' a mean, blackhearted man,
Noa mortal can contend.
Ther's malice in his kindest smile,
His proffered hand's a snare;
He's plannin deepest villany,
When seemingly mooast fair.
He leads yo on wi' oily tongue,
Swears he's yo're fastest friend;
He get's yo once within his coils,
An crushes yo i'th' end.
Old Nick, we're tell'd, gooas prowlin aght,
An seeks whom to devour;
But he's a saint, compared to some,
'At's th' luk to be i' power.
Fairly Weel-off.
Ov whooalsum food aw get mi fill—
Ov drink aw seldom want a gill;
Aw've clooas to shield me free throo harm,
Should winds be cold or th' sun be warm.
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