Yorkshire Lyrics. John Hartley
think o' them at's poor;
Aw'd have yo' childer workin less,
An mak yor wages moor.
Poor lassie wan, &c.
"There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign,
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain."
Noa fact'ry bell shall greet thi ear,
I' that sweet home ov love;
An' those at scorn thi sufferins here
May envy thee above.
Poor lassie wan, &c.
Sol an' Doll.
Awm a young Yorksher lad as jolly an gay,
As a lark on a sunshiny mornin,
An Dolly's as fair as the flaars i' May,
An trubbles we meean to be scornin.
If we live wol to-morn aw shall make her mi wife,
An we'll donce to a rollickin measure,
For we booath are agreed to begin wedded life,
As we mean to goa throo it, wi pleasure.
Then we'll donce an be gay,
An we'll laff care away,
An we'll nivver sit broodin o'er sorrow,
An mi Dolly an me,
Ax yo all to a spree;
Come an donce at awr weddin to-morrow.
Awst be bashful awm sewer, aw wor ne'er wed befoor,
An aw feel rayther funny abaat it;
But Dolly aw guess can drag me aght o'th' mess,
An if ther's owt short we'll do baat it.
Mi mother says "Sol, if tha'll leave it to Doll,
Tha'll find shoo can taich thee a wrinkle,
Shoo's expectin some fun befoor it's all done
Aw can tell, for aw saw her e'en twinkle."
Then we'll donce &c.
We've a haase to step in, all as smart as a pin,
An we've beddin an furnitur plenty;
We've a pig an a caah, an aw connot tell ha
Monny paands, but aw think abaat twenty.
We've noa family yet, but ther will be aw'll bet,
For true comfort aw think ther's nowt licks it
An if they dooant come, aw'll just let it alooan,
An aw'll leave it for Dolly to fix it.
Then we'll donce &c.
Their Fred.
"He's a nowt!
If ther's owt
At a child shouldn't do,
He mun try,
Or know why,
Befoor th' day's getten throo.
An his dad,
Ov his lad
Taks noa nooatice at all,
Aw declare
It's net fair
For Job's patience he'd stall.
Awm his mam—
That aw am,
But awm ommost worn aght,
A gooid lick
Wi a stick,
He just cares nowt abaght.
Thear he goes,
Wi a nooas
Like a chaneller's shop!
Aw may call,
Or may bawl,
But th' young imp willn't stop.
Thear's a cat,
He spies that,
Nah he's having a race!—
That's his way
Ivvery day
If a cat's abaght th' place.
But if aw
Wor near by,
Awd just fotch him a seawse!
Come thee here!
Does ta hear?
Come thi ways into th' haase!
Who's that flat?
What's he at?
If he touches awr Fred,
If aw live
Aw'll goa rive
Ivvery hair off his head!
What's th' lad done?
It's his fun!
Tried to kill yor old cat?
Well suppooas
At he does!
Bless mi life! What bi that?
He's mi own,
Flesh an' booan,
An aw'll net have him lickt;
If he's wild,
He's a child,
Pray what can yo expect!
Did um doy!
Little joy!
Let's ha nooan o' them skrikes
Nowty man!
Why he can
Kill a cat if he likes.
Hush a bee, hush a bye,
Little Freddy munnot cry."
Love an' Labor.
Th' swallows are buildin ther nests, Jenny,
Th' springtime has come with its flowers;
Th' fields in ther greenest are drest, Jenny,
An th' songsters mak music ith' bowers.
Daisies an buttercups smile, Jenny,
Laughingly th' brook flows along;—
An awm havin a smook set oth' stile, Jenny,
But this bacca's uncommonly strong.
Aw wonder if thy heart like mine, Jenny,
Finds its love-burden hard to be borne;
Do thi een wi' breet tears ov joy shine, Jenny,
As they glistened an shone yestermorn?
Ther's noa treasure wi' thee can compare, Jenny,
Aw'd net change thi for wealth or estate;—
But aw'll goa nah some braikfast to share, Jenny,
For aw can't live baght summat to ait.
Like a nightingale if aw could sing, Jenny,
Aw'd pearch near thy winder at neet,
An mi choicest love ditties aw'd bring, Jenny,
An lull thi to rest soft an sweet.
Or if th' wand ov a fairy wor mine, Jenny,
Aw'd grant thi whate'er tha could wish;—
But theas porridge are salty as brine, Jenny,
An they'll mak me as dry as a fish.
A garland ov lillies aw'd twine, Jenny,
An place on thy curls golden bright,
But aw know 'at they quickly wod pine, Jenny,
I' despair at thy brow's purer white.