Part 5 (1/2)

So I gat ower a fence ther wor, An' peeping threw a gate, Determin'd to be satisfied, If I'd a while to wait.

At last two figures com ta t'spot Whear I hed hid misel, Then walkers'-earth and brimstone, Most horridly did smell.

Wun on em hed a nine-tail'd cat, His face as black as sooit, His name, I think wor Nickey Ben, He hed a clovven fooit.

An' t'other wor all skin an' bone His name wor Mr. Deeath; Withaat a st.i.tch o' clooas he wor, An' seem'd quite aght o' breeath.

He hed a scythe, I plainly saw, He held it up aloft, Just same as he wor bahn ta maw Owd Jack O'Doodle's Croft.

”Where are ta bahn ta neet, grim phiz?”

Sed Nickey, wi' a grin, ”Tha knaws I am full up below, An' cannot tak more in.”

”What is't ta thee?” said Spinnel Shanks, ”Tha ruffin of a dog, I'm n.o.bbut bahn mi raands ageean, Ta see wun John o't' Bog.

”I cannot see it fer mi life, What it's ta dew wi' thee; Go mind thi awn affairs, owd Nick, An' nivver thee heed me.”

”It is my business, Spinnel Shanks, Whativver tha may say, Fer I been rostin' t'human race Fer monny a weary day.”

Just luke what wark, I've hed wi' thee, This last two yer or so; Wi' Germany an Italy, An' even Mexico.

An' then tha knaws that Yankey broil Browt in some thaasands more; An' sooin fra Abyssinia, They'll bring black Theodore.

”So drop that scythe, owd farren deeath, Let's rest a toathree wick; Fer what wi' t'seet o't' frying pan, Tha knows I'm ommost sick.”

”I sall do nowt o't' sort,” says Deeath, Who s.p.a.ck it wi' a grin, I's just do as I like fer thee, So tha can hod thi din.”

This made owd Nick fair raging mad, An' liftin' up his whip, He gav owd Spinnel Shanks a lash Across his upper lip.

Then like a neighin' steed, lean Shanks, To give owd Nick leg bail, He started off towards the tahn, Wi' Nick hard on his trail.

Then helter-skelter off they went, As ower t'fence I lape; I thowt-well, if it matters owt, I've made a nice escape.

But nah the mooin began ta s.h.i.+ne As breet as it could be; An dahn the vale of t'Aire I luked, Whear I could plainly see.

The trees wor deeadly pale wi' snaw, An' t'windin' Aire wor still, An' all wor quite save t'hullats, At wor screamin' up o't' hill.

Owd Rivock End an' all arahnd Luk'd like some fiendish heead, Fer t'more I star'd an' t'more I thowt It did resemble t'deead.

The Friendly Oaks wor alter'd nah, Ta what I'd seen afore; An' luk'd as though they'd nivver be T'owd Friendly Oaks no more.

Fer wun wor like a giant grim, His nooas com to a point, An' wi' a voice like thunner sed- ”The times are aaght o't'joint!”

An' t'other, like a whippin'-post, Bud happen net as thin, Sed ”T' times el alter yet, owd fooil, So pray nah, hod thi din!”

I tuke no farther gawm o' them, But paddl'd on mi way; Fer when I ivver mak a vah, I stick ta what I say.

I heddant goan so far agean, Afoar I heeard a voice, Exclaiming-wi' a fearful groan- ”Go mak a hoil i' t'ice!”

I turned ma rahnd wheer t'sahnd com fro, An' cautiously I bowed, Sayin' ”Thenk ye, Mr. Magic Voice, I'm flaid o' gettin' cowd.”