Aw'd rayther face a redwut brick, Sent flyin at mi heead; Aw'd rayther track a madman's steps,
Bet wor a stirrin, strappin lass, Shoo lived near Woodus Moor; - An varry keen shoo wor for brass,
Just listen to mi stooary lads, It's one will mak yo grieve; It's full ov sich strange incidents;
"Come, John lad, tell me what's to do, Tha luks soa glum an sad; Is it becoss tha'rt short o' brass?
It nobbut luks like tother day, Sin Jane an me first met; Yet fifty years have rolled away,
A'a dear, what it is to be big! To be big i' one's own estimation, To think if we shake a lawse leg,
Who is it, when one starts for th' day A cheerin word is apt to say, At sends yo leeter on yor way?
"Another day will follow this," Ah, - that shall sewerly be, But th' day 'at dawns to-morn, my lad,
Some tawk becoss they think they're born Wi' sich a lot o' wit; Some seem to tawk to let fowk know
Aw wander'd aght one summer's morn, Across a meadow newly shorn; Th' sun wor shinin breet and clear,
She may be dark or may be fair, If beauty she possesses; But she must have abundant hair -
Backward turn, oh! recollection! Far, far back to childhoods' days; To those treasures of affection,
Bide thi time! it's sure to come, Tho' it may seem tardy, - Thine's a better fate nor some:
Young Billy Bumble bowt a pig, Soa aw've heeard th' neighbors say; An monny a mile he had to trig
When but a little toddlin thing, I'th' heather sweet shoo'd play, An like a fay on truant wing,
Bonny Yorksher! how aw love thi! Hard an rugged tho' thi face is; Ther's an honest air abaat thi,
If yo've a fancy for a spree, Goa up to Lundun, same as me, Yo'll find ther's lots o' things to see,
Little patt'rin, clatt'rin feet, Runnin raand throo morn to neet; Banishin mi mornin's nap, -
He wor a poor hard workin lad, An shoo a workin lass, An hard they tew'd throo day to day,
Ye little flowrets, wild an free, Yo're welcome, aye as onny! Ther's but few seets 'at meet mi ee
"Come, help thisen, lad, - help thisen!" Wor what mi uncle sed. We'd just come in throo makkin hay,
He'd had his share ov ups an daans, His sprees an troubles too; Ov country joys an life i' taans,
One limpin Jimmy wed a lass; An this wor th' way it coom to pass - He'd saved a little bit o' brass,
Whew! - Tha'rt in a famous hurry! Awm nooan baan to try to catch thi! Aw've noa dogs wi' me to worry
Have yo seen awr Mary's bonnet? It's a stunner, - noa mistak! Ther's a bunch o' rooasies on it,
Matilda Jane wor fat an fair, An nobbut just sixteen; Shoo'd ruddy cheeks an reddish hair,
At Wibsey Slack lived modest Jack, No daat yo knew him weel; His cheeks wor red, his een wor black,
Yo fowk 'ats tempted to goa buy Be careful what yo do; Dooant be persuaded coss "its cheap,"
Aw wodn't care to live at all, Unless aw could be jolly! Let sanctimonious skinflints call
They tell me aw'm a vulgar chap, An ow't to goa to th' schooil To leearn to talk like other fowk,
Annie - Oh! what a weary while It seems since that sad day; When whispering a fond "good bye,"
Let others boast ther bit o' brass, That's moor nor aw can do; Aw'm nobbut one o'th' workin class,
This world is net a paradise, Tho' railly aw dooant see, What fowk should growl soa mich abaat; -
Awm havin a smook bi misel, Net a soul here to spaik a word to, Awve noa gossip to hear nor to tell,
Aw've heeard ov Mary Mischief, An aw've read ov Natterin Nan; An aw've known a Grumlin Judy,
What tho' th' claads aboon luk dark, Th' sun's just waitin to peep throo; Let us buckle to awr wark,
"Sup up thi gill, owd Peter Prime, Tha'st have a pint wi' me; It's worth a bob at onny time
His face wor varry thin an pale, His een wor strangely breet; His old rags flapt i'th' wintry gale,
Plain Jane - plain Jane; This wor owd Butterworth's favourite strain: For wealth couldn't buy,
A'a! it's grand to ha plenty o' brass! It's grand to be able to spend A trifle sometimes on a glass
Gooid bye, lass, aw dunnot blame, Tho' mi loss is hard to bide! For it wod ha' been a shame,
Sing on, tha bonny burd, sing on, sing on; Aw connot sing; A claad hings ovver me, do what aw con
What's a poor lass like me to do, 'At langs for a hooam ov her own? Aw'm a hale an bonny wench too,
"Tha wodn't goa an leave me, Jim, All lonely by mysel? My een at th' varry thowts grow dim -
Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife, An Johnny is a druffen sot; He spends th' best portion of his life
Roughest roads, we often find, Lead us on to th' nicest places; Kindest hearts oft hide behind
Little bonny, bonny babby! How tha stares, an' weel tha may, For its but an haar or hardly
Some poets sing o' gipsy queens, An some o' ladies fine; Aw'll sing a song o' other scenes, -
A little lad, but thinly clad, All day had roamed the street; With stitled groans and aching bones,
Little linnet, - stop a minnit, - Let me have a tawk with thee: Tell me what this life has in it,
Those days have gone, those happy days, When we two loved to roam, Beside the rivulet that strays,
Its long sin th' parson made us one, An yet it seems to me, As we've gooan thrustin, toilin on,
Bonny burd! aw'm fain to see thee, For tha tells ov breeter weather; But aw connot quite forgi thee,
Look around and see the great men Who have risen from the poor Some are judges, some are statesmen,
Draw closer to my side to-night, Dear wife, give me thy hand, My heart is sad with memories
Bells ring out a joyful sound, Old and young alike seem gay; One more year has gone its round,
A'a, Willie, lad, aw'm fain to hear Tha's won a wife at last; Tha'll have a happier time next year,