Yorkshire Ditties, Second Series | Page 7

It's sooap.
What is it we should mooast despise,
An' by its help refuse to rise,

Tho' poverty's befoor awr eyes?
It's sooap.
What is it, when life's wastin' fast,
When all this world's desires are
past,
Will prove noa use to us at last?
It's sooap.
Come thi Ways!
Bonny lassie, come thi ways,
An' let us goa together!
Tho' we've met wi stormy days,
Ther'll be some sunny weather:
An' if joy should spring for me,
Tha shall freely share it;
An' if trouble comes to thee,
Aw can help to bear it.
Tho thi mammy says us nay,
An' thi dad's unwillin';
Wod ta have me pine away
Wi' this love 'at's killin'?
Come thi ways, an' let me twine

Mi arms once moor abaght thee;
Weel tha knows mi heart is thine,
Aw couldn't live withaat thee.
Ivery day an' haar 'at slips,
Some pleasure we are missin',
For those bonny rooasy lips
Aw'm niver stall'd o' kissin',
If men wor wise to walk life's track
Withaat sith joys to glad 'em,
He must ha' made a sad mistak
'At gave a Eve to Adam.
Advice to Jenny.
Jenny, Jenny, dry thi ee,
An' dunnot luk soa sad;
It grieves me varry mich to see
Tha freeats abaat yon lad;
For weel tha knows, withaat a daat,
Wheariver he may be,
Tho fond o' rammellin' abaat,
He's allus true to thee.
Tha'll learn mooar sense, lass, in a while,
For wisdom comes wi' time,
An' if tha lives tha'll leearn to smile
At troubles sich as thine;
A faithful chap is better far,
Altho' he likes to rooam,
Nor one 'at does what isn't reight,
An' sits o'th' hearth at hooam.
Tha needn't think 'at wedded life

Noa disappointment brings;
Tha munnot think to keep a chap
Teed to thi appron strings:
Soa dry thi een, they're varry wet,
An' let thi heart be glad,
For tho' tha's wed a rooamer, yet,
Tha's wed a honest lad.
Ther's mony a lady, rich an' great,
'At's sarvents at her call,
Wod freely change her grand estate
For thine tha thinks soa small:
For riches cannot buy content,
Soa tho' thi joys be few,
Tha's one ther's nowt con stand anent,--
A heart 'at's kind an' true.
Soa when he comes luk breet an' gay,
An' meet him wi' a kiss,
Tha'll find him mooar inclined to stay
Wi treatment sich as this;
But if thi een luk red like that,
He'll see all's wrang at once,
He'll leet his pipe, an' don his hat,
An' bolt if he's a chonce.
Ther's mich Expected.
Life's pathway is full o' deep ruts,
An' we mun tak gooid heed lest we stumble;
Man is made up of "ifs"
and of "buts,"
It'seems pairt ov his natur to grumble.
But if we'd anxiously tak

To makkin' things smooth as we're able,
Ther'd be monny a better
clooath'd back,
An' monny a better spread table.
It's a sad state o' things when a man
Connot put ony faith in his brother,
An' fancies he'll chait if he can,
An' rejoice ovver th' fall ov another.
An' it's sad when yo see some 'at stand
High in social position an' power,
To know at ther fortuns wor
plann'd
An' built, aght o'th' wrecks o' those lower.
It's sad to see luxury rife,
An' fortuns being thowtlessly wasted;
While others are wearin' aat
life,
With the furst drops o' pleasure untasted.
Some in carriages rollin' away,
To a ball, or a rout, or a revel;
But their chariots may bear 'em some
day
Varry near to the gates ov the devil.
Oh! charity surely is rare,
Or ther'd net be soa monny neglected;
For ther's lots wi enuff an' to
spare,
An' from them varry mich is expected.

An' tho' in this world they've ther fill
Of its pleasures, an' wilfully blinded,
Let deeath come--as surely it
will--
They'll be then ov ther duties reminded.
An' when called on, they, tremblin' wi' fear,
Say "The hungry an' nak'd we ne'er knew,"
That sentence shall fall on
their ear--
"Depart from me; I never knew you."
Then, oh! let us do what we can,
Nor with this world's goods play the miser;
If it's wise to lend money
to man,
To lend to the Lord must be wiser.
A Strange Stooary.
Aw know some fowk will call it crime,
To put sich stooaries into ryhme,
But yet, contentedly aw chime
Mi simple ditty:
An if it's all a waste o' time,
The moor's the pity.

O'er Wibsey Slack aw coom last neet,
Wi' reekin heead and weary
feet,
A strange, strange chap, aw chonced to meet;
He made mi start;
But pluckin up, aw did him greet
Wi beatin heart.

His dress wor black as black could be,
An th' latest fashion aw could
see,
But yet they hung soa dawderly,
Like suits i' shops;
Bith heart! yo mud ha putten three
Sich legs i'th' slops.
Says aw, "Owd trump, it's rather late
For one at's dress'd i' sich a state,

Across this Slack to mak ther