Warblin's fro' an Owd Songster. With an introductory sketch by W. Trevor

Preface

. Twenty-nine years ago, at the time when the great struggle between the Northern and Southern States of America was taking place, which gave rise to what is still known in Lanca shire as the lL Cotton Panic," I published my first small volume of Poems and Songs. That little bantling was very cordially received by the press, and it met with a most liberal patronage at the hands of an appreciative public. Eleven years later, a somewhat larger edition of my writings was published ; and this second child of my fancy met with the same kindly welcome and generous treatment. I would here record my heart-felt thanks to the Reviewers who gave my first volumes such an encouraging and flattering reception ; and to the friends who then aided me with their sympathy and practical support. For several years these two volumes have been out of print ; and I have been repeatedly urged by my many friends to bring out, in one book, a complete collection of the best of mylife's work ; with which request I now comply.

In this volume many new poems will be found which have not previously been printed; and others which have from time to time appeared only in sheet form, or in the magazines and newspapers of the day, In bringing out this more presentable, and pretentious volume, I feel that I should be ungrateful if I did not express my indebtedness to the Artists, and other friends, who have so willingly and generouslyassisted me in my efforts to make my latest work successful. Although compelled to exclude from this collection a large number of poems and songs of a private nature, and others relating to subjects of passing interest, I venture to think that in what I now submit to the public, it will be seen that I have always had before me some well-defined and useful object ; and I trust I have not wholly failed to pourtray the worthy sentiments of lowly Lancashire folk in their own familiar dialect.

If I have succeeded in doing this, in ever so small a degree, the " Owd Songster" will feel that his " Warblin's" have not been in vain. SAMUEL LAYCOCK. Fo.vhall Road, Blackpool, September, 1S93. Prefatory Sketch of the Author. AMUEL LAYCOCK was born at Marsden, near Huddersfield, on the 17th January, 1826, a year of great drought and scarceness. His father, John Laycock, was a handloom weaver. Trade was extremely bad, provisions were clear, breadflour cost six shillings a dozen, and among the poor there was great privation, so that he might well say : — " Aw've often yei'd mi feyther tell 'At when aw coom i' th' world misel Trade wur slack." When six years old he attended, for a short time, a day school taught by a Congregational minister ; he also went to the Sunday school, where, as was not uncommon in those days, writing was taught, and it was here he acquired the free flowing hand which conduces so greatly even yet to the pleasure of reading his communications.

" So far as I can recollect," he says, " we seldom, if ever, missed going to school and chapel on Sundays. My father used to carry on his back those of us who were too young to walk." When nine years old he commenced work in a woollen mill for two shillings a week, and, though his hours of labour were from six in the morning till eight at night, he managed to do something in the way of self-improvement. In 1837, when eleven years old, the family removed to Stalybridge. He now entered the cotton mill, and for seventeen years followed the occupation of a weaver, and his first effort at rhyming, written on a copticket, was addressed to a fellow operative. Speaking of his parents, he remarks, " They were very strict with us, and made us keep good hours, and always attend school and chapel on Sundays.

I can easily see now, at my advanced age, what a blessing this must have been, especially to a man of my sensitive temperament, to be surrounded by so many good influences, and kept from so many temptations." PREFATORY SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. VIII For the next eight years he was clothlooker at mills in Stalybridge and Dukinfiefd, when, in 1S62, the great Civil War in America caused what is known as the " Cotton Panic," and Laycock, amongst others, found himself without occupation. As a record of patient endurance and unquenchable hope fulness the history of that portion of our Lancashire life has never been surpassed ; and it is noteworthy that the ingenuity and public spirit of the time were wisely directed to finding something useful for "idle hands to do ;" and so elementary schools lor men, and sewing classes for women, were estab lished on every hand.

In his "Sewin' Class Song" Laycock has most accurately portrayed the determined cheerfulness which marked the conduct of the suffering workpeople through out those dark days : — ' Come, lasses, let's cheer up an' sing, it's no use lookin' sad, " We'll mak eawr sewin' skoo to ring, an' stitch away like mad. Indeed, his writings during that period, inspired as they were by constant exhibitions of patient privation, are a very fair indication of the intelligent sympathetic attitude of Lancashire folk toward the great American struggle. In 1868 continued ill-health induced him to settle at Blackpool, and it is from that popular seaside resort that many of his sermons in verse have been sent forth. Laycock, as an interpreter of thought and feeling, is full of that energetic buoyancy and relish for fun so peculiar to Lancashire working folk ; and though essentially the poor man's poet, having sounded the depths of poverty and felt the pinch of want, there is in him nothing of disappointed mean ness, and nothing morbid.

Indeed, he impresses one as being mostly on the verge of playing some practical joke. Even in his " Ode to th' Sun," so impressive from one point of view, there is an original confidential familiarity with the great orb of day, almost comical in its surprising ease and conversational fluency. So with "Rowl away, theaw grand owd ocean." We are pleasantly carried along with this same easy fluency, whilst still conscious that the Lancashire dialect does not readily lend itself to the description of grand scenes. "Welcome, Bonny Brid," must tell its own tale. In this short poem there is an interchanging tenderness and delicate humour, which, for felicity of expression, is unrivalled in any poem of its kind. PREFATORY SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. IX There is in him, too, a strain of deep reverence, without which humour is liable to descend to mere cynicism.

In " An Evening Prayer " occur these impressive lines : — " The moon shed forth her silvery light " O'er mountain, dale, and ocean ; " And all I saw and heard that night " Inspired me with devotion." It is, however, as a teacher of sound morals, and delineator of homely Lancashire folks and ways, that Laycock will be remembered. He appeals to us in " our own tongue," and he reaches the heart. He has done his own work, and in his own way has taught us the value of human sympathy and the power of humble goodness, and through him many a quiet blessing has fallen upon Lancashire hearthstones, and wholesome laughter has brightened many a fireside. The painter who transfers to canvas the forms of beauty in a passing cloud, the mellow light of an autumn evening, or the dimpling laugh on a child's sweet face, inspires feelings not only of admiration but of gratitude, for we feel that but for the exercise of his genius, these transient visions would have been but as forgotten dreams.

It is so with our best thoughts and feelings. We have our brief seasons of elevated thought, in which the mind refreshes itself amid scenes of its own creation, and sensibly grows in strength by its own purifying efforts. This is our life at its best, and it is at times such as these that we long for adequate powers of expression. The subjects which prompt our meditation and move our sympathies may from our very surroundings be homely and even commonplace, but the man who can give them expression and permanent record is to us a benefactor, and we keep him in grateful memory as one who arrested some of our fleeting joys, and who peopled our little world with forms and faces familiar, but always welcome. W. TREVOR. CONTENTS. PAGE Preface v_ Sketch of the Author's Life vn. Poems and Songs in the Lancashire Dialect.

Bowton's Yard , CLEAWDS AN' SUNSHOINE i; Coartin' Days 7 Thee an' Me 9 Teetotal? Of Course Awm Teetotal ... 11 A Respectable Mon ... r-j Foot Passengers, Keep to the Right 15 Th' Quack Doctor 17 Mally an' Jonas 19 Oh! this Boil! 21 Help Yo'rsel's Lads 23 To Poverty 25 Feight Fair 27 Owd Playmates 29 Ode to th' Sun 31 Uncle Dick's Advoice to Wed Women ,-,3 Uncle Dick's Advoice to Sengle Women 35 Uncle Dick's Advoice to Sengle Men ... 37 Uncle Dick's Advoice to Wed Men 39 Welcome, Bonny Brid 41 There's No Good i' Ceawrin' i' th' Dust 43 Aw've Hard Wark to Howd up mi Yead 45 Sewin' Class Song 47 It's Hard to Ceawer i' th' Chimney Nook 49 Th' Shurat Weaver's Song 51 Th' Owd Barber Eawt o' Wark 53 God Bless 'Em, It Shows They'n Some Thowt 55 Aw've Turned Mi Bit o' Garden O'er 57 What's Up Wi' Thee, Tum? 59 Aw ve Just Been A-Lookin at th' Scholars 61 Cheer Up a Bit Longer 63 Homely Advice to th' Unemployed 65 Rowl Away, Theaw Grand Owd Ocean ... 67 Quality Row ... contents.

PAGE Starved to Death 72 Written for a Meeting held at Great Eccleston 74 Joe an' Alice : A Yawshur Tale 77 To mv Friend, Edwin Waugh 79 Dick o' th' Merrydale 81 Mi Gronny 82 Cock-Cock-aw-Laid 83 To tu' Owd Derbyshire Bard, Joseph Cooper 85 Cheer Up, Irish Brothers S6 Thank God for o' these Bonny Fleawers ? 88 Th' Queen's Visit to Liverpool, to Oppen th' Exhibition... 91 R. R. Bealey's Furst Choilt .. 93 To William Edwards (in reply to his "Words of Welcome" ... 95 Mary an' Betty 97 Second Visit to Quality Row 98 Sam Bamford 100 Read at th' "Bonny Brid's" Wedding Party, 8th Nov. 18S6.. 102 Forty-Eight... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... 104 To my Owd Friend, Thomas Kenworthy 106 What! Another Cracked Poet ! 107 A Tribute to the Drowned 109 To George Harry Bardsley on His Eighteenth Birthday ... n 1 Sixty-Six 112 Isaac Bradshaw u_|.

Owd Fogey n_ To Superintendent James Bent 118 Th' Pulpit an' th' Pews ... ... ... ... ... ... 120 Heaw to Raise th' Woind 123 Cure for th' Tooth-Warch 125 Cheer Up, Toilin' Brothers 127 Th' Village Pedt.ar ,29 A Little Bit o' Boath Sides — Part First 13! A Little Bit o' Boath Sides — Part Second 133 Prayin' Jemmy ... ... ... ... ... ... ,,<- Eawr Jim , ,, j ... ... ... 1^7 Good-Bye, Owd Year ! ,,„ Eighteen' Ninety ... 141 John Booth an' th' Vicar ,., A Trip to Grimsby ,,, Jack o' th' Nook an' th' Lan'lord i4g Adam an' Mary... ,,, Thinks I to Misel'. (Read at a Harvest Festival in Blackpool)... contents. XIII PAGE Good Templars' War Song 155 Jim Lee an' th' Pooast-Office Clerk 158 Th' Owd Bellman I59 A "Smart" Way o' Curin' Drunkards 162 John Bull an' His Tricks ,64 What's to do 'at thou'rt lookin' soa sulky, John ? 166 Shut Up!

Yo' Liberals ! . 168 Eighty-Seven. (Sent to Mr. Joseph Livesey, on his 87th Birthday) 170 Th' Peers an' th' People 174 Prologue : Written on the occasion of the Presentation to Robert Bickerstaffe on his retirement as Coxswain of the Blackpool Lifeboat, December 5th, 18S7 ... ... ... ... ... 175 Th' Owd Dur Sneck 179 Allis To' Lat' 18! Mashers 183 Th' Storm at Blackpool 185 Bispham 187 Lines Written in a Volume of Poems, and sent to the Rev. Robert Collyer, America 188 To my Friend, Isaac Bardsley 1F9 Th' Owd Pedlar's Gone Whoam 191 Th Coartin' Neet — Part First 193 Th' Coartin' Neet — Part Second 195 Eawr Pooastmen 197 Ch.rles Bradlaugh 199 Thank Yo', Sir ! (On receivin' a Kesmas Goose fro' a Parson) 200 To my Daughter, Bertha, on Her 20TH Birthday 202 Poor Pussy ! 204 To my Friend, Councillor Joseph Heap, Blackpool 206 Th' "Bonny Brid's" Birthday 207 Th' Stricken Stokers 209 To Henry Nutter, on receiving a Volume of his Poems ... 210 "G Sharp" an' th' Band of Hope Organ 212 Only a Poet 214 What is Home Without a Mother !

Lines on receiving a card bearingthe inscription "What is Home without a Mother!" the writer's wife being away at the time holiday-making ... 216 To my Son John Edward, on His Birthday 218 To my Friend, Samuel Ashton 221 Loines Read at th' Owd Foalk's Tea Party, held at Stubbins Vale Schoo', on Saturday evening, January Sth, 1870 223 Mi Gronfeyther 226 Read on the occasion of a Presentation to Edwin Waugh, April nth, 1SS7 contents. PAGE A Lancashire Candidate for the Laureateship. (Read at the Christmas Dinner of the Manchester Literary Club, December 20th, 1892) ■■ 231 Read at a Meeting held at Mossley, to Celebrate Mr. William Heap's Birthday ... 235 Read at a Band of Hope Meeting at South Shore 238 Life 242 John Bull. (Tune — " John Brown.") 243 To a Cricket 244 On Receiving a Letter from a Friend, who had previously written another one, but had neglected to post it ... 247 To my Brother John on His Sixty-First Birthday 249 What Aw Loike To See ... 250 Tommy o' Dan's 252 On the Death of James Whittaker, the Popular and Well- Known Vocalist ... ... ... ... .. ... ... 254 Ireland's Vice-Royalty Underpaid ... . 256 Marsden : The Author's Birthplace ... ... 258 A Sea-Side Incident 260 My Garden ., ... 261 John.

Bright 262 Blackpool: Light and Shade 264 An Evening Prayer 267 To a Son on His Thirtieth Birthday 268 O Give me a Home in some quiet Glen 270 Lines Written in Mrs. Fisher's Album 271 John Critchley Prince 271 Lines on the Death of a Young Mother 272 Whitsuntide Hymns. No. i 274 Do. No. 2 27- Do. No. 3 276 Do. No. 4 277 Do. No. 5 278 Do No. 6 279 Do. No. 7 2S0 On the Death of Ernest Jones 281 Bright Days 2g2 To a Literary Friend 2g, A Song for Summer 2g_ To my Friend, S. Wolstenholme 2g7 God Help Us go An Affectionate Tribute to the Memory of my Mother 290 Rest To-Morrow 293 Sunshine and Shade ••• 295 To a Friend on His Birthday CONTENTS, XV. PAGE A Thorn Grows Near the Rose 297 Seaside Pictures 2qg Roger Bell .„_, To Hugh Mason, Esq.. M.P 302 To an Unknown Friend, on receiving from him some verses, enlitled "Words of Cheer" ... ... ... ... 30r Beware ! for the Clouds are Gathering 306 A Father's Lament for His Absent Son 308 An Appeal on Behalf of Sunday Schools.

(Read at a Bazaar at Oswaldtwhistle) ... ... ... .. 3IO Oh! This Rain! 3,2 An Essay on a Cow ,,3 A Winter's Night at Blackpool 314 At the Grave of Joseph Cooper (the Derbyshire Bard) 316 On the Death of the late Richard Oastler 317 Mr. Sopkin's Misadventures at Blackpool. (After Ingoldsby's Misadventures at Margate) ... ... ... ... ... ... 319 To Uncle Matthew 323 The Reformer's Monument. (Supposed to be discovered on re-visiting the earth) ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 324 To my Friend Councillor W. H. Buckley, J. P., on receiving from him a number of old Manchester Observers, containing, amongst other matter, an account of the trial of Henry Hunt, and others ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... 326 Jubilee Song .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 327 To my Son Arthur, on His Twenty-First Birthday 328 Dear Old England, Good-Bye.

(Tune— "The Mistletoe Bough") 329 Bethesda. (Read at a Meeting held to celebrate the Re-opening of Bethesda Chapel, Blackpool, February 16th, 1876 ... ... 331 Christmas Song 333 Verses Read at a Jubilee Tea Meeting, held in the Congregational School, Stalybridge, on Saturday evening, April 23rd, •887 334 A STALYBRIDGE SUPPER HOAX 337 To my Broth er-Bard, Thomas Barlow (Born on the same day as myself) ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 340 Hugh Mason 342 The Excursionists' Song 343 An Appeal on Behalf of a Hospital for Blackpool ... 344 Read at a Temperance Meeting, of which the Writer was Chairman ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 348 Get in Harness, Young Men ! 351 To my Brother, on Re-Visiting my Birthplace . 353 Heaw Billy Armatage Managed To Get a Neet's Lodgin's. 355 A Wholesale Kessunin' Dooment at Torrington 362 Lancashire Kesmas Singin', Fifty Year' Sin' List of Illustrations.

Portrait of the author . . j FT°wilT"°. *" ?' °\ \ F'°"lisPie" TH\ar»ES SK°°' BOVJT°™'S\ByJ.HouShton Hague. Face page 3 Th' owd cobbler, bowton's yard ByJ.Houghton Hague. „ 4 Ode to th' sun. . . . j %%$?"* Cm"^ j .. 3' Welcome, bonny brid . . By George Perkins . ,, 41 Rowl away, theaw grand owd \ By J. R. G. Grundy,\ , ocean j" R.C.A. . . .) " ' Thank god for o' these bonny )„,_-_.,,. Co fleawers . . . \ By J. Shacklelon . „ 88 Th' village pedlar . . .By Charles Auly . ,, 129 Th' owd bellman . . . By Charles Auly . „ 159 I From a Pa in ling by \ The Blackpool lifeboat . 7 GJ°Z8e JZafZeiU} ,*> 1/S J Photographed by D. i " '° ( Mitchell . . .} Th' coartin' neet . . .By James Heap . ,, 193 Poor pussy! . . . -By Tom Heywood . ,, 204 Ml gronfeyther. . . . By Charles Auty . ,, 2i6 Intake Head, Marsden, the ) _, _, author's birthplace . .\By Charl<:s Auly . ,, 25S Roger bell By William Robinson ,, WARBLIN'S FRO' AN OwD SONGSTER.

At Number One i' Bowton's Yard, mi gronny keeps a shoo' ; But hasn't mony scholars yet ; hoo's only one or two ; 'They say thZ owd woman's rayther cross ; — well, well, it may he so; — _*4 w knoiv lioo bojcet/. me rarely once, an jzoo'ti ■m.i ears an.* a?. BOWTON'S YARD T number one, i' Bowton's yard, mi gronny keeps a skoo, But hasn't mon)- scholars yet, hoo's only one or two; They sen th' owd woman's rather cross, — well, well, it may be so ; Aw know hoo box'd me rarely once, an' pood mi ears an' o. At number two lives widow Burns — hoo weshes clooas for folk Their Billy, that's her son, gets jobs at wheelin' coke ; They sen hoo coarts wi' Sam-o'-Neds, at lives at number three; It ma}- be so, aw conno tell, it matters nowt to me. At number three, reet facin' th' pump, Ned Grimshaw keeps a shop ; He's Eccles-cakes, an' gingerbread, an' treacle beer, an' pop ; He sells oat-cakes an' o, does Ned, he has boath soft an' hard, An' everybody buys off him 'at lives i' Bowton's yard.

At number four Jack Blunderick lives ; he goes to th' mill an' wayves ; An' then, at th' week-end, when he's time, he povvs a bit an' shaves ; He's badly off, is Jack, poor lad ; he's rayther lawm, they sen, An' his childer keep him deawn a bit — aw think they'n nineorten. At number five aw live mysel', wi' owd Susannah Grimes, But dunno loike so very weel — hoo turns me eawt sometimes ; An' when awm in there's ne'er no leet, aw have to ceawer i' th' dark ; Aw conno pay mi lodgin' brass, becose awm eawt o' wark. At number six, next dur to us, an' close o' th' side o' th' speawt, Owd Susie Collins sells smo' drink, but hoo's welly aliis beawt; But heaw it is that is the case awm sure aw conno tell, Hoo happen maks it very sweet, an' sups it o hersel ! Warblin's fro' an Owd Songster. 4 At number seven there's nob'dy lives, they left it yesterday, Th' bum-baylis coom an' mark'd their things, and took 'em o away ; They took 'em in a donkey-cart— aw know nowt wheer they went — Aw recon they'n bin ta'en and sowd becose they owed some rent.

At number eight— they're Yawshur folk— there's only th' mon an' woife, Aw think aw ne'er seed nicer folk nor these i* o mi loife ; Yo'll never yer 'em foin' eawt, loike lots o' married folk, They aliis seem good-tempered like, an' ready wi' a joke. At number nine th' owd cobbler lives — th' owd chap 'at mends my shoon, He's getting very weak an' done, he'll ha' to leov us soon ; He reads his Bible every day, an sings just loike a lark, He says he's practisin' for heaven — he's welly done his wark. At number ten James Bowton lives — he's th' noicest heawse i' th' row ; He's aliis plenty o' sum'at t' eat, an lots o' brass an' o ; An' when he rides an' walks abeawt he's dress'd up very fine, But he isn't hawve as near to heaven as him at number nine. At number 'leven mi uncle lives — aw co him uncle Turn, He goes to concerts, up an' deawn, an' plays a kettle-drum ; I' bands o' music, an' sich things, he seems to tak' a pride, An' aliis maks as big a noise as o i' th' place beside.

At number twelve, an' th' eend o' th' row, Joe Stiggins deals i ale ; He's sixpenny, an' fourpenny, dark-coloured, an' he's pale ; But aw ne'er touch it, for aw know it's ruined mony a bard — Awm th' only chap as doesn't drink 'at lives i' Bowton's yard. An' neaw awve done aw'll say good-bye, an' leave yo' for awhile Aw know aw have n't towd mi tale i' sich a first-rate style ; But iv yo're pleased awm satisfied, an' ax for no reward For tellin' who mi nayburs are at live i' Bowton's yard. At number nine th' owd cobbler lives — th' owd chap 'at mends mi s/won ; He's gettin very weak an' done, he'll ha' to leov us soon ; He reads his Bible every day, an sings just loike a lark, He says he's practising for heaven — he's welly done his wark. CLEAWDS AN' SUNSHOINE. ELL, readers, awm glad 'at we're met once ogen ; An' tho' we're a year or two owder, Let's hope 'at eawr love for each other an' God Hasn't grown on)- feebler or cowder.

Aw think aw may venture to flatter mysel' 'At awve met wi' some on yo befoor ; So iv yo'll alleaw me that pleasure ogen, Aw'll try to amuse yo once moor. It's pleasant to meet an' shake honds wi' owd friends, Tho' it very oft pains us to foind At th' sun o' prosperity's withered some hearts 'At once wur booath lovin' an' kind. An' some 'at we knew when they'rn lasses an' lads Are neaw, loike one's self, gettin' hoary ; Whoile others have finished loife's battle deawn here, And neaw they're gone forrud to glory. Th' owd Reaper keeps slashing away wi' his scythe, First o' one hand, an' then on the other ; Neaw some darlin' pet Iamb's rudely hurried away, Then some silver-haired sister or brother. There's mon)- a dear loved one pack'd up an' gone whoam Sin' last yo an' me met together ; They've thrown eawt their anchors, their barques are neaw moored — Let's hope they're enjoyin' good weather We shall ole have to go — young an' owd, rich an' poor, Whatever eawr kindred or nation ; Death sweeps all before him, an' cares nowt at o For noather rank, title, or station.

Well, wheer are we for — thoose of us 'at's left ? Have we settled what haven we'll book to ? Is th' craft at we sail in seaworthy an' seawnd ? Is th' pilot a safe un to look to ? Warblin's fro' au Owd Songster. Eawr souls are loike musical instruments. Ah ! An' they're here to be put into tune. This earth's nobbut th' schoolheawse or practisin' greaund — Th' grand concert tak's place up aboon. Let's everyone see 'at eawr lamps are well trimm'd, An' th' lights burnin' clearly an' steady; An' when th' Bridegroom comes knockin' at th' dur, may He foind 'At we're ole on us waitin' an' ready. Dear readers, for once you'll excuse me, aw'm sure, For pennin' so serious a strain ; For yo know very weel 'at it's moor i' my loine To write in a humorous vein ; But a feelin' o' this mak' comes o'er one at times, 'At we connot shake off if we would ; Awd sooner bi' th' hauve tak' mi pen i' mi hand To pleos yo a bit iv aw could.

So come neaw, just straighten yore faces a bit, An' try to look cheerful an' jolly. Yo fling ole yore cares o' one side a bit, John — An' yo mop up thoose tears o' yores, Polly- ; An' tho' gloomy cleawds may be hoverin' o'er, Flingin' shadows o'er th' loife ov a mon, Let's spread eawrsel's eawt for th' good things 'at God sends, And drink in ole th' sunshoine we con. "COARTIN' DAYS." REET days ! Heaw soon the)- pass away ! Th' best days Heaven sends to men ! Aw wish aw wurn't so owd an' gray Aw'd cooart a bit ogen ; An' every spot wheer Kate an' me Have often met befoor, To sit an' tell eawr tales o' love, Aw'd try to see once moor. There's th' tree aw used to clamber up ; An' yonder's th' garden wo ; An' th' owd church clock on th' village green — Aw think aw see 'em o. Awve noan forgetten th' chimney-nook, That owd familiar place Wheer Kate would often sit an' look So fondly i' mi' face !

Tho' years have passed sin' thoose breet heawers, Aw'm noan ashamed to tell — Aw used to go an' gather th' fleawers 'At grew i' th' primrose dell ; An' these awd twoine i' th' nut-breawn hair O' Kate, mi darlin' pet ; An' then th' dear lass would look so fair — Aw think aw see her yet. Warblin's fro' au Owd Songster A kind an' thoughtful girl wur Kate, An' gentle as a dove; Hoo never learned to scorn or hate, Her heart wur full o' love ; Her features aliis wore a smoile, An' these o' moine wur th' same Aw used to ceawer me deawn at th' stoile An' whistle till hoo came. Oft aw recall thoose happy heawers, When 'neath the moonlit sky Two lovers paced yon silent beawers — Mi' bonny Kate an' I. One lovely neet, i' th' month o' June, Whoile under th' hawthorne tree, Aw axed her if hoo'd wed me soon.

Hoo smiled, an' said — " Aw'll see." Just then Giles Bloomfield drove his flock Close by that owd church teawer ; We lingered chattin' theer till th' clock Proclaimed the midnight heawer. That neet we named the happy day ; An' aw remember still, Heaw in the church aw heard her say- " Have Robin ? Yes, I will ! " . THEE AN' ME. HA'RT livin' at thi country seat, Among o th' gents an' nobs ; Tha's sarvant girls to cook thi meat An' do thi bits o' jobs. Aw'm lodgin' here wi' Bridget Yates, At th' cot near th' Ceaw Lone Well ; Aw mend mi stockin's, peel th' potates, An' wesh mi shurts misel' ! Tha wears a finer cooat nor me ; Thi purse is better lined, An' fortin's lavished moor o' thee, Than th' rest o' human kind. Life's storms 'at rage abeawt this yead, An' pelt so hard at me — That mon}- a time aw've -wished aw're dead, But seldom trouble thee.

Tha'rt rich i' ole this -world can give ; Tha's silver, an' tha's gowd ; But me — aw find it hard to live, Aw'm poor, an' gettin' owd. These fields an' lones aw'm ramblin' throo — They o belong to thee ; Aw've only just a yard or two To ceawer in when aw dee. When tha rides eawt th' folks o areawnd Stond gapin' up at thee, Becose tha'rt worth ten theawsand peawnd', But scarcely notice me. Aw trudge abeawt fro' spot to spot, An' nob'dy seems to care ; They never seek my humble cot, To ax me heaw aw fare. If tha should dee, there's lots o' folk Would fret an' cry, noa deawt ; When aw shut up, they'll only joke, An' say, " He's just gone eawt ! Well, never heed him, let him goo, An' find another port ; We're never to a chap or two, We've plenty moor o' th' sort." Tha'll have a stone placed o'er thi grave To show thi name an' age ; An o tha's done 'at's good an' brave, Be seen o' history's page.