Aw dreeam ov her ivvery neet,
An aw think o' nowt else durin th' day;
An aw lissen for th' saand ov her feet,
But its melted i'th' distance away.
At mi lot aw cant help but repine,
When aw think ov her bonny black een,
For awm feeard shoo can nivver be mine;
That grand Yorksher lass 'at aw've seen.
Mi Old Umberel
What matters if some fowk deride,
An point wi' a finger o' scorn?
Th' time wor tha wor lukt on wi' pride,
Befooar mooast o'th' scoffers wor born.
But aw'll ne'er turn mi back on a friend,
Tho' old-fashioned an grey like thisen;
But aw'll try to cling to thi to th' end,
Tho' thart nobbut an old umberel.
Whear wod th' young ens 'at laff be to-day,
But for th' old ens they turn into fun?
Who wor wearm thersen bent an grey,
When their days had hardly begun.
Ther own youth will quickly glide past;
If they live they'll ail grow old thersel;
An they'll long for a true friend at last,
Tho' its nobbut an old umberel.
Tha's grown budgey, an faded, an worn,
Yet thi inside is honest an strong;
But thi coverin's tattered an torn,
An awm feeard 'at tha cannot last long.
But when th' few years 'at's left us have run,
An to th' world we have whispered farewells;
May they say at my duty wor done,
As weel as mi old umberel's
What it Comes to.
Young Alick gate wed, as all gradely chaps do,
An tuk Sally for better or war;
A daycenter felly ne'er foller'd a ploo,—
Th' best lad ov his mother's bi far.
An shoo wor as nice a young lass as yo'll see
In a day's march, aw'll wager mi hat;
But yo know unless fowk's dispositions agree,
Tho' they're bonny,—noa matter for that.
They'd better bi hawf have a hump o' ther rig,
Or be favvor'd as ill as old Flew;
If ther temper is sweet, chaps 'll net care a fig,
Tho' his wife may have one ee or two.
Young Sally had nivver been used to a farm,
An shoo seem'd to know nowt abaat wark;
Shoo set wi' her tooas up o'th' fender to warm,
Readin novels throo mornin to dark.