Part 3 (1/2)

The Wensleydale Lad

Anonymous

When I were at home wi' my fayther an' mother, I niver had na fun; They kept me goin' frae morn to neet, so I thowt frae them I'd run.

Leeds Fair were coomin' on, an' I thowt I'd have a spree, So I put on my Sunday cooat an' went right merrily.

First thing I saw were t' factory, I niver seed one afore; There were threads an' tapes, an' tapes an' silks, to sell by monny a score.

Owd Ned turn'd iv'ry wheel, an' iv'ry wheel a strap; ”Begor!” says I to t' maister-man, ”Owd Ned's a rare strong chap.”

Next I went to Leeds Owd Church-- I were niver i' one i' my days, An' I were maistly ashamed o' misel, for I didn't knaw their ways; There were thirty or forty folk, i' tubs an' boxes sat, When up cooms a saucy owd fellow.

Says he, ”Noo, lad, tak off thy hat.”

Then in there cooms a great Lord Mayor, an' over his shooders a club, An' he gat into a white sack-poke,(1) an gat into t' topmost tub.

An' then there cooms anither chap, I thinks they call'd him Ned, An' he gat into t' bottommost tub, an' mock'd all t' other chap said.

So they began to preach an' pray, they prayed for George, oor King; When up jumps t' chap i' t' bottommost tub.

Says he, ”Good folks, let's sing.”

I thowt some sang varra weel, while others did grunt an' groan, Ivery man sang what he wad, so I sang ” Darby an' Joan.”(2)

When preachin' an' prayin' were over, an' folks were gangin' away, I went to t' chap i' t' topmost tub.

Says I, ”Lad, what's to pay?”

”Why, nowt,” says he, ”my lad.”

Begor! I were right fain, So I click'd hod(3) o' my gret club stick an' went whistlin' oot again.

1. Corn-sack 2. Another reading is ”Bobbing Joan.”

3. Took hold

A Song 1.

Thomas Browne (1771-1798)

Ye loit'ring minutes faster flee, Y' are all ower slow by hauf for me, That wait impatient for the mornin'; To-morn's the lang, lang-wish'd-for fair, I'll try to s.h.i.+ne the fooremost there, Misen in finest claes adornin', To grace the day.

I'll put my best white stockings on, An' pair o' new cauf-leather shoon, My clane wash'd gown o' printed cotton; Aboot my neck a muslin shawl, A new silk handkerchee ower all, Wi' sike a careless air I'll put on, I'll s.h.i.+ne this day.

My partner Ned, I know, thinks he, He'll mak hiss en secure o' me, He's often said he'd treat me rarely; But I's think o' some other fun, I'll aim for some rich farmer's son, And cheat oor simple Neddy fairly, Sae sly this day.

Why mud not I succeed as weel, An' get a man full oot genteel, As awd John Darby's daughter Nelly?

I think misen as good as she, She can't mak cheese or spin like me, That's mair 'an(1) beauty, let me tell ye, On onny day.

Then hey! for sports and puppy shows, An' temptin' spice-stalls rang'd i' rows, An' danglin' dolls by t' necks all hangin'; An' thousand other pratty seets, An' la.s.ses traul'd(2) alang the streets, Wi' lads to t' yal-hoose gangin'

To drink this day.

Let's leuk at t' winder, I can see 't, It seems as tho' 't was growin' leet, The cloods wi' early rays adornin'; Ye loit'ring minutes faster flee, Y' are all ower slow be hauf for me, At(3) wait impatient for the mornin'