Yorkshire Ditties, Second Series | Page 6

tail.
A cat to purr o'th' fender rims,
To freeten th' mice away;
A cosy bed to rest mi limbs
Throo neet to commin day.
Gie me all this, an' aw shall be
Content, withaat a daat,
But if denied, then let me be
Content to live withaat.
For 'tisn't th' wealth one may possess
Can purchase pleasures true;
For he's th' best chonce o' happiness,
Whose wants are small an' few.
What it is to be Mother.
A'a, dear! what a life has a mother!
At leeast, if they're hamper'd like me,
Thro' mornin' to neet ther's

some bother,
An' ther will be, aw guess, wol aw dee.
Ther's mi chap, an misen, an' six childer,
Six o'th' roughest, aw think, under th' sun,
Aw'm sartin sometimes
they'd bewilder
Old Joab, wol his patience wor done.
They're i' mischief i' ivery corner,
An' ther tongues they seem niver at rest;
Ther's one shaatin' "Little
Jack Horner,"
An' another "The realms o' the blest."
Aw'm sure if a body's to watch 'em,
They mun have een at th' back o' ther yed;
For quiet yo niver can
catch 'em
Unless they're asleep an' i' bed.
For ther's somdy comes runnin to tell us
'At one on em's takken wi' fits;
Or ther's two on 'em feightin for th'
bellus,
An' rivin' ther clooas all i' bits.
In a mornin' they're all weshed an' tidy'd,
But bi nooin they're as black as mi shoe;
To keep a lot cleean, if yo've
tried it,
Yo know 'at ther's summat to do.

When my felly comes hooam to his drinkin',
Aw try to be gradely, an' straight;
For when all's nice an' cleean, to mi
thinkin',
He enjoys better what ther's to ait.
If aw tell him aw'm varry near finished
Wi allus been kept in a fuss,
He says, as he looks up astonished,
"Why, aw niver see owt 'at tha does."
But aw wonder who does all ther mendin',
Weshes th' clooas, an cleans th' winders an' flags?
But for me they'd
have noa spot to stand in--
They'd be lost i' ther filth an' ther rags.
But it allus wor soa, an' it will be,
A chap thinks' at a woman does nowt;
But it ne'er bothers me what
they tell me,
For men havn't a morsel o' thowt.
But just harken to me wol aw'm tellin'
Ha aw tew to keep ivery thing straight;
An' aw'l have yo for th' judge
if yor willin',
For aw want nowt but what aw think's reight.
Ov a Monday aw start o' my weshin',
An' if th' day's fine aw get um all dried;
Ov a Tuesday aw fettle mi
kitchen,

An' mangle, an' iron beside.
Ov a Wednesday, then aw've mi bakin';
Ov a Thursday aw reckon to brew;
Ov a Friday all th' carpets want
shakin',
An' aw've th' bedrooms to clean an' dust throo.
Then o'th' Setterday, after mi markets,
Stitch on buttons, an' th' stockins' to mend,
Then aw've all th' Sundy
clooas to luk ovver,
An' that brings a week's wark to its end.
Then o'th' Sundy ther's cooking 'em th' dinner,
It's ther only warm meal in a wick;
Tho' ther's some say aw must be a
sinner,
For it's paving mi way to Old Nick.
But a chap mun be like to ha' summat,
An' aw can't think it's varry far wrang,
Just to cook him an' th' childer
a dinner,
Tho' it may mak me rayther too thrang.
But if yor a wife an' a mother,
Yo've yor wark an' yor duties to mind;
Yo mun leearn to tak nowt as
a bother,
An' to yor own comforts be blind.
But still, just to seer all ther places,

When they're gethred raand th' harston at neet,
Fill'd wi six roosy-red,
smilin' faces;
It's nooan a despisable seet.
An, aw connot help thinkin' an' sayin',
(Tho' yo may wonder what aw can mean),
'At if single, aw sooin
should be playin'
Coortin tricks, an' be weddin' agean.
What is It.
What is it maks a crusty wife
Forget to scold, an' leeave off strife?

What is it smoothes the rooad throo life?
It's sooap.
What is it maks a gaumless muff
Grow rich, an' roll i' lots o' stuff,

Woll better men can't get enough?
It's sooap.
What is it, if it worn't theear,
Wod mak some fowk feel varry queer,

An' put 'em: i' ther proper sphere?
It's sooap.
What is' it maks fowk wade throo th' snow,
To goa to th' church,
becoss they know
'At th' squire's at hooam an' sure to goa?
It's sooap.
What is it gains fowk invitations,
Throo them 'at live i' lofty stations?

What is it wins mooast situations?
It's sooap.

What is it men say they detest,
Yet alus like that chap the best
'At
gives 'em twice as mich as th' rest?
It's sooap.
What is it, when the devil sends
His agents raand to work his ends,

What is it gains him lots o' friends?