POEMS.
A Yorkshire Dialogue between an awd Wife a Lass and a butcher. (1673)
Anonymous
Printed at York as a broadside by Stephen Bulkley in 1673. The original broadside is lost, but a manuscript transcript of it was purchased by the late Professor Skeat at the sale of Sir F. Madden's books and papers, and published by him in volume xxxii. of the Dialect Society's Transactions, 1896.
AWD WIFE. Pretha now, lass, gang into t' hurn(1)
An' fetch me heame a skeel o' burn(2);
Na, pretha, barn, mak heaste an' gang,
I's mar my deagh,(3) thou stays sae lang.
LASS. Why, Gom,(4) I's gea, bud, for my pains,
You's gie me a frundel(5) o' your grains.
AWD WIFE. My grains, my barn! Marry! not I;
My draugh's(6) for t' gilts an' galts(7) i' t' sty.
Than, pretha, look i t' garth and see
What owsen(8) i' the stand-hecks(9) be.
LASS. Blukrins! they'll put,(10) I dare not gang
Oute'en(11) you'll len' me t' great leap-stang.(12)
AWD WIFE. Tak t' frugan,(13) or t' awd maulin-shaft,(14)
Coom tite(15) agean an' be not daft.
LASS. Gom, t' great bull-segg(16) he's brokken lowse,
An' he, he's hiked(17) your broad-horned owse;
An' t' owse is fall'n into t' swine-trough,
I think he's brokken his cameril-hough.(18)
AWD WIFE. Whaw! Whaw! lass, mak heaste to t' smedy,(19)
He's noo dead, for he rowts(20) already;
He's boun; oh! how it bauks an' stangs!(21)
His lisk(22) e'en bumps an' bobs wi' pangs.
His weazen-pipe's(23) as dry as dust,
His dew-lap's swelled, he cannot hoast.(24)
He beals(25); tak t' barghams(26) off o' t' beams
An' fetch some breckons(27) frae the clames.(28)
Frae t' banks go fetch me a weam-tow(29)
My nowt's(30) e'en wrecken'd, he'll not dow.(31)
E'en wellanerin!(32) for my nowt,
For syke a musan(33) ne'er was wrowt.
Put t' wyes(34) amell(35) yon stirks an' steers
I' t' owmer,(36) an' sneck the lear-deers.(37)
See if Goff Hyldroth be gain-hand (38)
Thou helterful,(39) how dares ta stand!
LASS. He'll coom belive,(40) or aibles titter,(41)
For when he hard i' what a twitter(42)
Your poor owse lay, he took his flail
An' hang'd 't by t' swipple(43) on a nail;
An' teuk a mell(44) fra t' top o' t' wharns(45)
An' sware he'd ding your owse i' t' harns.(46)
He stack his shak-fork up i' t' esins(47)
An' teuk his jerkin off o' t' gresins.(48)
Then teuk his mittens, reached his bill,
An' off o' t' yune-head(49) teuk a swill(50)
To kep t' owse blude in. Leuk, he's coom.
AWD WIFE. Than reach a thivel(51) or a strum(52)
To stir his blude; stand not to tauk.
Hing t' reckans(53) up o' t' rannel-bauk.(54)
God ye good-morn, Goff; I's e'en fain
You'll put my owse out o' his pain.
BUTCHER. Hough-band him, tak thir(55) weevils hine(56)
F'rae t' rape's end; this is not a swine
We kill, where ilkane hauds a fooit.
I's ready now, ilkane leuk to it.
Then "Beef!" i' God's name I now cry.
Stretch out his legs an' let him lie
Till I coom stick him. Where's my swill?(57)
Coom hither, lass; haud, haud, haud still.
LASS. What mun I do wi' t' blude? BUTCHER. Thou fool,
Teem(58) 't down i' t' garth, i' t' midden-pool.
Good beef, by t' mass! an' when 'tis hung
I's roll it down wi' tooth an' tongue,
An' gobble 't down e'en till I worry.
An' whan neist mell(59) we mak a lurry(60)
A piece o' this frae t' kimlin(61) browt
By t' Rood! 't will be as good as owt.
AWD WIFE. Maut-hearted(62) fool, I e'en could greet(63)
To see my owse dead at my feet.
I thank you, Goff; I's wipe my een
An', please, you too. BUTCHER. Why, Gom Green?
1. Corner. 2. Bucket of water. 3. Dough. 4. Grand-mother.
5. Handful. 6. Draff. 7. Sows and boars. 8. Oxen. 9. Stalls.
10. Gore. 11. Unless. 12. Pole. 13. Oven-fork.
14. Handle of oven-mop. 15. Quickly. 16. Bullock. 17. Gored.
18. Bend of hind.leg. 19. Smithy. 20. Snorts. 21. Swells and stings.
22. Flank. 23. Windpipe. 24. Cough. 25. Bellows. 26. Horse-collars.
27. Bracken. 28. Heaps. 29. Belly-band. 30. Ox. 31. Recover.
32. Alas! 33. Wonder. 34. Heifers. 35. Among. 36. Shade.
37. Barn-doors. 38. Near at hand. 39. Halter-full. 40. Soon.
41. Perhaps sooner. 42. Perilous state. 43. Flap-end. 44. Mallet.
45. Hand-mill. 46. Brains. 47. Eaves. 48. Stairs. 49. Oven-top.
50. Bucket. 51. Porridge-stick. 52. Stick.
53. Iron chains for pot-hooks. 54. Chimney cross-beam. 55. Those.
56. Away. 57. Bucket. 58. Pour. 59. Next harvest-supper.
60. Merry feast. 61. Tub. 62. Maggot-hearted. 63. Weep.
An Honest Yorkshireman
Henry Carey (Died 1748)
I is i' truth a coontry youth,
Nean used to Lunnon fashions;
Yet vartue guides, an' still presides
Ower all my steps an' passions.
Nea coortly leer, bud all sincere,
Nea bribe shall iver blinnd me ;
If thoo can like a Yorkshire tike,
A rogue thoo'll niver finnd me.
Thof envy's tongue, so slimly hung,
Would lee aboot oor coonty,
Nea men o' t' earth boast greater worth,
Or mair extend their boonty.
Oor northern breeze wi' us agrees,
An' does for wark weel fit us ;
I' public cares, an' love affairs,
Wi' honour We acquit us.
Sea great a maand(1) is ne'er confaand(2)
'Tiv onny shire or nation,
They gie un meast praise whea weel displays
A larned eddication;
Whaal rancour rolls i' laatle souls,
By shallow views dissarnin',
They're nobbut wise at awlus prize
Good manners, sense, an' larnin'.
1. Mind 2. Confined
From "Snaith Marsh" (1754)
Anonymous
This was written at the time of the Enclosure Acts
which robbed the peasent farmer of his rights to use Commons.
Alas! will Roger e'er his sleep forgo,
Afore larks sing, or early cocks 'gin Crow,
As I've for thee, ungrateful maiden, done,
To help thee milking, e'er day wark begun?
And when thy well-stripp'd kye(1) would yield no more,
Still on my head the reeking kit(2) I bore.
And, Oh! bethink thee, then, what lovesome talk
We've held together, ganging down the balk,
Maund'ring(3) at time which would na for us stay,
But now, I ween, maes(4) no such hast away.
Yet, O! return eftsoon and ease my woe,
And to some distant parish let us go,
And there again them leetsome days restore,
Where, unassail'd by meety(5) folk in power,
Our cattle yet may feed, tho' Snaith Marsh be no more.
But wae is me! I wot I fand(6) am grown,
Forgetting Susan is already gone,
And Roger aims e'er Lady Day to wed;
The banns last Sunday in the church were bid.
But let me, let me first i' t' churchyard lig,
For soon I there must gang, my grief's so big.
All others in their loss some comfort find;
Though Ned's like me reduc'd, yet Jenny's kind,
And though his fleece no more our parson taks,
And roast goose, dainty food, our table lacks,
Yet he, for tithes ill paid, gets better land,
While I am ev'ry o' t' losing hand.
My adlings wared,(7) and yet my rent to pay,
My geese, like Susan's faith, flown far away;
My cattle, like their master, lank and poor,
My heart with hopeless love to pieces tore,
And all these sorrows came syne(8) Snaith Marsh was no more
1. Well-milked kine (cattle) 2. Pail 3. Finding Fault
4. Makes 5. Mighty 6. Fond, Foolish 7. Earnings spent
8. Since