Edwin Waugh

“ God bless these poor folk that are strivin’ By means that are honest an’ true, For something to keep ’em alive in This world ’at we’re scramblin’ through; As th’ life ov a mon’s full o’ feightin’, A poor soul that wants to feight fair, Should never be grudged ov his heytin’, For th’ hardest o’th battle’s his share.
Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
This world’s kin to trouble; i’th best on’t, There’s mony sad changes come reawnd; We wandern abeawt to find rest on’t, An’ th’ worm yammers for us i’th’ greawnd; [13] May he that’ll wortch while he’s able, Be never long hungry nor dry ”

“ There’s folk that are weary o’ livin’, That never fear’t hunger nor cowd; An’ there’s mony a miserly nowmun At’s deed ov a surfeit o’ gowd. [26]
One feels, neaw at times are so nippin’, A mon’s at a troublesome schoo’, That slaves like a horse for a livin’, An’ flings it away like a foo; But, as pleasur’s sometimes a misfortin’, An’ trouble sometimes a good thing,— Though we livin’ o’th’ floor same as layrocks, We’n go up, like layrocks, to sing!
[27]
JAMIE’S FROLIC.
One neet aw crope whoam when my weighvin’ were o’er, To brush mo, an’ wesh mo, an’ fettle my yure ”

“ Aw’ve worn my bits o’ shoon away, Wi’ roving up an’ deawn, To see yon moorlan’ valleys, an’ Yon little country teawn: The dule tak shoon, and stockins too! My heart feels warm an’ fain; An’, if aw trudge it bar-fuut, lads, Aw’ll see yon teawn again!
It’s what care I for cities grand,— We never shall agree; Aw’d rayther live where th’ layrock sings,— A country teawn for me! A country teawn, where one can meet Wi’ friends, an’ neighbours known; Where one can lounge i’th market-place, An’ see the meadows mown. ”

“ But life’s sich a quare bit o’ travel,— A marlock wi’ sun an’ wi’ shade,— An’ then, on a bowster o’ gravel, They lay’n us i’ bed wi’ a spade; It’s no use a peawtin’ an’ fratchin’— As th’ whirligig’s twirlin’ areawnd, Have at it again; an’ keep scratchin’ As lung as your yed’s aboon greawnd.
Iv one could but grope i’th inside on’t, There’s trouble i’ every heart; An’ thoose that’n th’ biggest o’th pride on’t, Oft leeten o’th keenest o’th’ smart. Whatever may chance to come to us, Let’s may th’ best we con ov e’r share,— For there’s mony a fine suit o’ clooas That covers a terrible care. ”

“ One minute he’s trouble’t, next minute he’s fain, An’ then, they’re so blended i’ one, It’s hard to tell whether he’s laughin’ through pain, Or whether he’s peawtin’ for fun;— He stumbles, an’ grumbles, He struggles, an’ juggles,— He capers a bit,—an’ he’s gone. ”

“ An’ when aw’ve done for th’ day, Aw never can sattle this heart o’ mine, Beawt walkin’ deawn that way.
It’s noather garden, nor posied lea, Nor wayter rindlin’ clear; But deawn i’th vale there’s a rosy nook, An’ my true love lives theer. It’s olez summer where th’ heart’s content, Tho’ wintry winds may blow; An’ there’s never a gate ’at’s so kind to th’ fuut, As th’ gate one likes to go. ”

“ Through th’ woodlan’ green aw tooted keen, For th’ little window winkin’;— Th’ stars may shine, they’re noan as fine As Matty’s candle blinkin’; O’er th’ rosy hedge aw went to th’ ridge O’th lonesome-shaded plantin’, To get another blink o’ th’ leet That set my heart a-pantin’. [36]
Then deawn bi’th well i’th fairy-dell, Wi’ trees aboon it knittin’, Where, near an’ fur, ther nowt astur But bats i’th eawl-leet flittin’; An’ fearfo’ seawnds that rustle’t reawnd Wi’ mony a goblin-twitter, As swarmin’ dark to flaysome wark They flew wi’ hellish titter. ”

“ Aw watched her e’en groo breet again,— A layrock tootin’ eawt for day! Neaw, guess, owd brid, What’s beawn to be; For I like Nan,— An’ hoo likes me!
Oh, Nanny’s fair, an’ trim, an’ rare; A modest lass, an’ sweet to see; Her e’en are blue, her heart it’s true,— But Nanny’s hardly twenty-three; An’ life it’s strung, when folk are yung; An’ waitin’ lunger wouldno do; For, th’ moor-end lads, hoo turns their yeds,— Hoo’s bin a widow lung enoo! Then guess, owd brid, What’s beawn to be; For I like Nan,— An’ hoo likes me! ”

“ What would to do iv ’twur thee? “Aw’d tak him just while he’re inclined, An’ a farrantly bargain he’d be; For Jamie’s as gradely a lad As ever stept eawt into th’ sun;— Go, jump at thy chance, an’ get wed, An’ may th’ best o’th job when it’s done!”
Eh, dear, but it’s time to be gwon,— Aw shouldn’t like Jamie to wait; Aw connut for shame be to soon, An’ aw wouldn’t for th’ world be to late; Aw’m o’ ov a tremble to th’ heel,— Dost think at my bonnet’ll do?— “Be off, lass,—thae looks very weel; He wants noan o’th bonnet, thae foo!”
[24]
TICKLE TIMES.
Here’s Robin, he looks very gloomy ”

“ An’ though thi cloas are rough, An’ gettin’ very owd, They’n onswer weel enough To keep thi limbs fro’ th’ cowd; A foo would pine away I’ such a suit as thine, But, thaer’t the stuff to may A fustian jacket fine.
A tattered clowt may lap A very noble prize; A king may be, by hap, A beggar i’ disguise. When t’one has laft his feast, An’ t’other done his crust, Then, which is which at last,— These little piles o’ dust? ”

“ Aw’ll poo mi gronny eawt o’th nook, An’ send for Dolly Maybo’, For, when hoo’s gradely donned, hoo’ll look As grand as th’ queen o’ Shayba; An’ little Nell shall doance wi’ me,— Eawr Nelly’s yung an’ bonny; An’ when aw’ve had a doance wi’ thee, Aw’ll caper wi’ my gronny! [71]
Then, Mally, fill it up again; An’ dunnot look so deawldy; There’s nought can lick a marlock, when One’s brains are gettin’ meawldy! We’re yung an’ hearty; dunnot croak Let’s frisk it neaw, or never; So, here’s good luck to country folk An’ country fun, for ever! ”

“ But yon’s the fleawer ov o’ this lond,— Gentle Jone! His heart’s as true as guinea-gowd He’s good to folk at’s ill an’ owd; Childer poo’n his lap i’th fowd,— Gentle Jone!
“I’ll bet a groat he’s off to th’ vale, Just neaw, to yer some soory tale; I never knowed his kindness fail,— Gentle Jone! O’er hill, an’ cloof, an’ moss, an’ moor, He’s reet weel known to folk at’s poor, A welcome fuut at every door,— Gentle Jone!
“He taks delight i’ roving reawnd, To nooks where trouble’s mostly feawnd; He comes like rain to drufty greawnd,— Gentle Jone! He’s very slow at thinkin’ ill ”

“ It’s ten to one hoo’ll co’ in here, An’ poo tho eawt o’th corner cheer; So, sit fur back, where th’ runnin’s clear; Aw’ll keep my e’en o’th window; Thae’m mind te hits, an’ when aw sheawt Be limber-legged, an’ lammas eawt; An’—though hoo’ll not believe, aw deawt, Aw’ll swear aw never sin tho.
Aw’ll bite my tung aw will, bith mon, An’ plug my ears up till hoo’s gwon; A grooin’ tree could hardly ston A savage woman flytin’; Iv folk were nobbut o’ i’th mind To make their bits o’ booses kind, There’d be less wanderin’ eawt to find A corner to be quiet in. ”

“ At foot race, or at wrostlin’-beawt, Or aught he buckled to At wark or play, reet gallantly He laid into his game: An’ he’re very fond o’ singing-brids— That’s heaw he geet his name.
He’re straight as ony pickin’-rod, An’ limber as a snig: He’re th’ heartist cock o’ th’ village clod, At every country rig: His shinin’ e’en wur clear an’ blue; His face wur frank an’ bowd; An’ th’ yure abeawt his monly broo Wur crispt i’ curls o’ gowd. [20]
Young Chirrup donned his clinker’t shoon, An’ startin’ off to th’ fair, He swore by th’ leet o’th’ harvest moon, He’d have a marlock there ”

“ An’ when aw come to dee, An’ death has ta’en his tow, Aw hope to leet o’ thee,— God bless thi snowy pow!
[44]
MARGIT’S COMIN’. Air—“Th’ Rakes o’ Mellor.”
Eh! Sam, whatever doesto meeon; Aw see thae’rt theer i’th nook again; Where aw’ve a gill thae’s nine or ten: Thae mun have heir’t a fortin! Aw wonder heaw a mon can sit An’ waste his bit o’ wage an’ wit: If aw’re thi wife aw’d make tho flit, Wi’ little time to start in.
But, houd; yor Margit’s up i’th teawn; Aw yerd her ax for thee at th’ Crown; An’, just meet neaw, aw scampert deawn;— It’s true as aught i’th Bible! ”

“ He’s rich that, contented wi’ little, lives weel, An’ nurses his little to moor; He’s weel off ’at’s rich, iv he nobbut can feel He’s brother to thoose that are poor; An’ to him ’at does fair, Though his livin’ be bare, Some comfort shall olez be sure. [40]
We’n nobbut a lifetime a-piece here below, An’ th’ lungest is very soon spent; There’s summat aboon measur’s cuts for us o’, An’ th’ most on ’em nobbut a fent; Lung or short, rough or fine, little matter for that, We’n make th’ best o’th stuff till it’s done, An’ when it leets eawt to get rivven a bit, Let’s darn it as weel as we con ”

“ To dreawsy ears it’s useless quite To scatter holy teychin’: Why don’t yo bring a bit o’ snuff, An’ tak it while I’m preychin’.”
“Well, well,” said aw, “There’s mony a way O’ keepin’ e’en fro’ closin’; A needle would keep th’ body wake, An’ th’ soul met still be dozin’; But this receipt would set it reet, Iv th’ mixture wur a warm un,— Yo’m get some stingin’ gospel-snuff, An’ put it into th’ sarmon.” ”

“ Bith mon, aw never yerd o’ sich A world for change o’ fortin! They’re gooin’ groanin’ eawt o’th seet, They’re comin’ cryin’ into th’ leet; But howd! aw yerd last Monday neet A tale abeawt a cwortin’.
Poo up! aw’ll tell it iv aw con;— Thae knows that bow-legged railway mon?— But, heigh, owd lad! yor Margit’s yon,— Hoo’s comin’ like a racer!— Some foo’ has put her upo’ th’ track; Cut, Sam; hoo’ll have us in a crack! Aw said hoo’d come—let’s run eawt th’ back; Bith’ mass, aw dar not face her!
[47]
EAWR FOLK.
Eawr Johnny gi’s his mind to books ”