Yorkshire Ditties, Second Series | Page 4

an' smiled.
At last her spirit pass'd away;
Her once breet een wor dim;?Shoo'd heeard her Maker whisper 'come,'
An' hurried off to Him.
Fowk tell'd us t'wor a sin to grieve,
For God's will must be best;?But when yo've lost a child yo've loved,
It puts yor Faith to th' test.
We pick'd a little bit o' graand,
Whear grass and daisies grew,?An' trees wi spreeadin boughs aboon
Ther solemn shadows threw.
We saw her laid to rest, within
That deep grave newly made;?Wol th' sexton let a tear drop fall,
On th' handle ov his spade.
It troubled us to walk away,
An' leeav her bi hersen;?Th' full weight o' what we'd had to bide,
We'd niver felt till then.
But th' hardest task wor yet to come,
That pang can ne'er be towld;?'Twor when aw feszend th' door at nee't,
An' locked her aat i'th' cowld.
'Twor then hot tears roll'd daan mi cheek,
'Twor then aw felt mooast sad;?For shoo'd been sich a tender plant,
An' th' only lass we had.
But nah we're growin moor resign'd,
Although her face we miss;?For He's blest us wi another,
An we've hopes o' rearin this,
Give it 'em Hot.
Give it 'em hot, an be hanged to ther feelins!
Souls may be lost wol yor choosin' yor words!?Out wi' them doctrines 'at taich o' fair dealins!
Daan wi' a vice tho' it may be a lord's!?What does it matter if truth be unpleasant?
Are we to lie a man's pride to exalt!?Why should a prince be excused, when a peasant
Is bullied an' blamed for a mich smaller fault?
O, ther's too mich o' that sneakin and bendin;
An honest man still should be fearless and bold;?But at this day fowk seem to be feeared ov offendin,
An' they'll bow to a cauf if it's nobbut o' gold.?Give me a crust tho' it's dry, an' a hard 'en,
If aw know it's my own aw can ait it wi' glee;?Aw'd rayther bith hauf work all th' day for a farden,
Nor haddle a fortun wi' bendin' mi knee.
Let ivery man by his merit be tested,
Net by his pocket or th' clooas on his back;?Let hypocrites all o' ther clooaks be divested,
An' what they're entitled to, that let em tak.?Give it 'em hot! but remember when praichin,
All yo 'at profess others failins to tell,?'At yo'll do far moor gooid wi' yor tawkin an' taichin,
If yo set an example, an' improve yorsel.
Th' Honest Hard Worker.
It's hard what poor fowk mun put u'p wi'!
What insults an' snubs they've to tak!?What bowin an' scrapin's expected,
If a chap's a black coit on his back.?As if clooas made a chap ony better,
Or riches improved a man's heart,?As if muck in a carriage smell'd sweeter
Nor th' same muck wod smell in a cart.
Give me one, hard workin, an' honest,
Tho' his clooas may be greasy and coorse;?If it's muck 'ats been getten bi labor,
It does'nt mak th' man ony worse.?Awm sick o' thease simpering dandies,
'At think coss they've getten some brass,?They've a reight to luk daan at th' hard workers,
An' curl up their nooas as they pass.
It's a poor sooart o' life to be leadin,
To be curlin an' partin ther hair;?An' seekin one's own fun and pleasure,
Niver thinkin ha others mun fare.?It's all varry weel to be spendin
Ther time at a hunt or a ball,?But if th' workers war huntin an' doncin,
Whativer wad come on us all?
Ther's summat beside fun an' frolic
To live for, aw think, if we try;?Th' world owes moor to a honest hard worker
Nor it does to a rich fly-bi-sky.?Tho' wealth aw acknowledge is useful,
An' awve oft felt a want on't misen,?Yet th' world withaat brass could keep movin,
But it wodn't do long withaat men.
One truth they may put i' ther meersham,
An' smoke it--that is if they can;?A man may mak hooshuns o' riches,
But riches can ne'er mak a man.?Then give me that honest hard worker,
'At labors throo marnin to neet,?Tho' his rest may be little an' seldom,
Yet th' little he gets he finds sweet.
He may rank wi' his wealthier brother,
An' rank heigher, aw fancy, nor some;?For a hand 'at's weel hoofed wi' hard labor
Is a passport to th' world 'at's to come.?For we know it's a sin to be idle,
As man's days i' this world are but few;?Then let's all wi' awr lot 'be contented,
An' continue to toil an' to tew.
For ther's one thing we all may be sure on,
If we each do awr best wol we're here,?'At when, th' time comes for reckonin, we're called on,
We shall have varry little to fear.?An' at last, when, we throw daan awr tackle,
An' are biddin farewell to life's stage,?May we hear a voice whisper at partin,
"Come on, lad! Tha's haddled thi wage;"
Niver Heed.
Let others boast ther bit o' brass,
That's moor nor aw can do;?Aw'm nobbut one o'th' working class,
'At's strugglin to pool throo;?An' if it's little 'at aw get,
It's littie 'at aw need;?An' if sometimes aw'm pinched a bit,
Aw try to niver heed.
Some fowk they tawk o' brokken hearts,
An'