Yorkshire Ditties, First Series eBook

John Hartley (poet)
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 64 pages of information about Yorkshire Ditties, First Series.
coom,
Aw should varry near sink into th’ graund. 
Aw knew it wor Jim bi his traid,
An’ aw tried to get aght ov his gate;
But a’a! tha minds, lass, aw wor flaid,
Aw wor niver i’ sich en a state. 
Then aw felt som’dy’s arm raand my shawl,
An’ aw said, “nah, leave loise or aw’ll screeam! 
Can’t ta let daycent lasses alooan,
Consarn thi up! what does ta mean?”
But he stuck to mi arm like a leach,
An’ he whispered a word i’ mi ear;
It took booath my breeath an’ my speech,
For aw’m varry sooin thrown aght o’ gear. 
Then he squeezed me cloise up to his sel,
An’ he kussed me, i’ spite o’ mi teeth: 
Aw says, “Jimmy, forshame o’ thisel!”
As sooin as aw’d getten mi breeath: 
But he wodn’t be quiet, for he said
‘At he’d loved me soa true an’ soa long—­
Aw’d ha’ geen a ear off my yed
To get loise—­but tha knows he’s so a strong—­
Then he tell’d me he wanted a wife,
An’ he begged ’at aw wodn’t say nay;—­
Aw’d ne’er heeard sich a tale i’ mi life,
Aw wor fesen’d whativer to say;
Cos tha knows aw’ve a likin’ for Jim;
But yo can’t allus say what yo mean,
For aw tremeld i’ ivery limb,
But at last aw began to give way,
For, raylee, he made sich a fuss,
An aw kussed him an’ all—­for they say,
Ther’s nowt costs mich less nor a kuss. 
Then he left me at th’ end o’ awr street,
An’ aw’ve felt like a fooil all th’ neet throo;
But if aw should see him to neet,
What wod ta advise me to do? 
But dooant spaik a word—­tha’s noa need,
For aw’ve made up mi mind ha to act,
For he’s th’ grandest lad iver aw seed,
An’ aw like him th’ best too—­that’s a fact!

Stop at Hooam

“Tha wodn’t goa an leave me, Jim,
   All lonely by mysel? 
My een at th’ varry thowts grow dim—­
   Aw connot say farewell.

Tha vow’d tha couldn’t live unless
   Tha saw me every day,
An’ said tha knew noa happiness
   When aw wor foorced a way.

An th’ tales tha towld, I know full weel,
   Wor true as gospel then;
What is it, lad, ’at ma’s thee feel
   Soa strange—­unlike thisen?

Ther’s raam enuff, aw think tha’ll find,
   I’th taan whear tha wor born,
To mak a livin, if tha’ll mind
   To ha’ faith i’ to-morn.

Aw’ve mony a time goan to mi wark
   Throo claads o’ rain and sleet;
All’s seem’d soa dull, soa drear, an’ dark,
   It ommust mud be neet.

But then, when braikfast time’s come raand,
   Aw’ve seen th’ sun’s cheerin ray,
An’ th’ heavy lukkin claads have slunk
   Like skulkin lads away.

An’ then bi nooin it’s shooan soa breet
   Aw’ve sowt some shade to rest,
An’ as aw’ve paddled hooam at neet,
   Glorious it’s sunk i’th west.

An’ tho’ a claad hangs ovver thee,
   (An’ trouble’s hard to bide),
Have patience, lad, an’ wait an’ see
   What’s hid o’th’ tother side.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Yorkshire Ditties, First Series from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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