Fra Hawarth tahn the other day,
Bi’t rout o’ Thornton height,
Joe Hobble an’ his better hauf,
Went inta Bradford streight.
Nah Joe i’ Bradford wor afoor,
But sho hed nivver been;
Bud assomivver thay arrived
Safe intat Bowling Green.
Thay gav a lad a parkin pig,
As on the street thay went;
Ta point um aht St. George’s Hall,
An Oastler’s Monument.
Bud t’ little jackanapes being deep,
An thought thay’d nivver knaw,
Show’d Joseph Hobble an’ iz wife
T’ furst monument he saw.
Az sooin as Joe gat up t’ rails,
Hiz e’en blazed in hiz heead;
Exclaiming, thay mud just as weel
A goan an robb’d the deead.
Bud ’o ivvers tane them childer dahn,
Away fra poor oud Dick,
Desarvs hiz heaad weel larapin,
We a dahn gooid hazel stick.
T’ lad seeing Joe froth ate at maath,
He sooin tuke to hiz heels,
Fer at steead o’ Oastlers’ Monument,
He’d shown um Bobby Peel’s.
O, Welcome, Lovely Summer.
O! welcome, lovely summer,
With thi golden days so long,
When the throstle and the blackbird
Charm us with their song;
When the lark in early morning
Taks his aireal flight;
An’ the humming bat, an’ buzzard,
Frolic in the night.
O! welcome, lovely summer,
With her rainbow’s lovely form;
Her thunder an’ her leetnin,
An’ her grandeur in the storm:
With her sunshine and her shower,
And her wurlin of the dust;
An the maiden with her flagon,
To slack the mower’s thirst.