Yorkshire Lyrics. John Hartley
but aw proved maister,
An aw punced him aght o'th' door.
Then like a Tigercat, at me
Flew ragin Mary Hammer;—
Yo bet! shoo could thump summat else,
Besides her loud peanner!
Aw had to stand an tak her blows,
Until shoo'd geeten winded;
"Tha scamp!" shoo says, "tha little knows
What bargainin tha's hindered!
Awr Jack had nobbut coom to pay,
Becoss he's bowt th' peanner,
An nah tha's driven him away!"
"Forgie me, Mary Hanner."
Aw ran aghtside an sooin fan Jack,
An humbly begged his parden;—
"All reight,"—he sed, "aw'm commin back,"
He didn't care a farden.
He paid her th' brass, then fetched a cart,
An hauled away th' peanner;—
We're wed sin then, an nowt shall part,
Me an mi Mary Hanner.
Grondad's Lullaby.
Sleep bonny babby, thi grondad is near,
Noa harm can touch thee, sleep withaat fear;
Innocent craytur, soa helpless an waik,
Grondad wod give up his life for thy sake,
Sleep little beauty,
Angels thee keep,
Grondad is watchin,
Sleep, beauty, sleep.
Through the thick mist of past years aw luk back,
Vainly aw try to discover the track
Buried, alas! for no trace can aw see,
Ov the way aw once trod when as sinless as thee,
Sleep little beauty,
Angels thee keep,
Grondad is watchin,
Sleep, beauty, sleep.
Smilin in slumber—dreamin ov bliss,
Feelin in fancy a fond mother's kiss;
Richer bi far nor a king on his throne,
Fearlessly facing a future unknown.
Sleep little beauty,
Angels thee keep,
Grondad is watchin,
Sleep, beauty, sleep.
What wod aw give could aw once agean be,
Innocent, spotless an trustin as thee;
May noa grief give thee occasion to weep,
Blessins attend thee!—Sleep, beauty, sleep.
Sleep little beauty,
Angels thee keep,
Grondad is watchin,
Sleep, beauty, sleep.
Sixty, Turned, To-day.
Aw'm turned o' sixty, nah, old lass,
Yet weel aw mind the time,
When like a young horse turned to grass,
Aw gloried i' mi prime.
Aw'st ne'er forget that bonny face
'At stole mi heart away;
Tho' years have hurried on apace:—
Aw'm sixty, turned, to-day.
We had some jolly pranks an gams,
E'en fifty year ago,
When sportive as a pair o' lambs,
We nivver dreeamed ov woe.
When ivvery morn we left us bed,
Wi' spirits leet an gay—
But nah, old lass, those days have fled:—
Aw'm sixty, turned, to-day.
Yet we've noa reason to repine,
Or luk back wi' regret;
Those youthful days ov thine an mine,
Live sweet in mem'ry yet.
Thy winnin smile aw still can see,
An tho' thi hair's turned grey;
Tha'rt still as sweet an dear to me,
Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.
We've troubles had, an sickness too,
But then in spite ov all,
We've somha managed to pool throo,
Whativver might befall.
Awr pleasurs far outweighed the pain
We've met along life's way;
An losses past aw caant as gain—
When sixty, turned, to-day.
Awr childer nah are wed an gooan,
To mak hooams for thersels;
But we shall nivver feel alooan,
Wol love within us dwells.
We're drawin near awr journey's end,
We can't much longer stay;
Yet still awr hearts together blend,
Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.
Then let us humbly bow the knee,
To Him, whose wondrous love,
Has helpt an guided thee an me,
On th' pathway to above.
His mercies we will ne'er forget,
Then let us praise an pray,
To Him whose wings protect us yet;
Tho' sixty, turned, to-day.
That Lad Next Door.
Aw've nowt agean mi naybors,
An aw wod'nt have it sed
'At aw wor cross an twazzy,
For aw'm kind an mild asteead.
But ther's an end to patience,
E'en Job knew that aw'm sewer;—
An he nivver had noa dealins
Wi' that lad 'at lives next door.
It wod'nt do to tell 'em
What aw think abaat that lad,
One thing aw'm sarten sewer on,
Is, he's ivverything 'at's bad.
He's nivver aght o' mischief,
An he nivver stops his din—
He's noa sooiner aght o' one scrape,
Nor he's another in.
If he wor mine aw'd thresh him,
Wol th' skin coom off his back;
Aw'd cure him teein door-snecks,
Then givin th' door a whack.
Aw'd leearn him to draw th' shape o' me
Wi' chalk on th' nessy door,
An mak mud pies o' awr front steps
An leeav 'em thear bi th' scooar.
He's been a trifle quieter
For this last day or two;
He's up to some new devilment—
Aw dooant know what he'll do.
But here's his father comin,