Part 6

ROGER Reet, Willy, mon, what an' they put us tea 't I will misen put forrad my best feat.(10) What thof I's awd, I's nut sae easily scar'd; On his awn midden an awd cock fights hard. They say a Franchman's torn'd a different man, A braver, better soldier, ten to yan. Bud let the Franch be torn'd to what they will, They'll finnd at Englishmen are English still. O' their awn grund they'll nowther flinch nor flee, They'll owther conquer, or they'll bravely dee.

1. Beasts, cattle. 2 Enclosure. 3. Besides. 4. Stir. 5. Surely. 6. That. 7. Scythe. 8. Though. 9. Homestead. 10 Foot.

Elegy on the Death of a Frog (1815)

David Lewis

Ya summer day when I were mowin', When flooers of monny soorts were growin', Which fast befoor my scythe fell bowin', As I advance, A frog I cut widout my knowin'-- A sad mischance.

Poor luckless frog, why com thoo here? Thoo sure were destitute o' fear; Some other way could thoo nut steer To shun the grass? For noo that life, which all hod dear, Is gean, alas!

Hadst thoo been freeten'd by the soond With which the mowers strip the groond, Then fled away wi' nimble boond, Thoo'd kept thy state: But I, unknawin', gav a wound, Which browt thy fate.

Sin thoo com frae thy parent spawn, Wi' painted cooat mair fine than lawn, And golden rings round baith ees drawn, All gay an' blithe, Thoo lowpt(1) the fields like onny fawn, But met the scythe.

Frae dikes where winter watters steead(2) Thoo com unto the dewy mead, Regardless of the cattle's treead, Wi' pantin' breeath, For to restore thy freezin' bleead, But met wi' deeath.

A Frenchman early seekin' prog,(3) Will oftentimes ransack the bog, To finnd a sneel, or weel-fed frog, To give relief; But I prefer a leg of hog, Or roond o' beef.

But liker far to the poor frog, I's wanderin' through the world for prog, Where deeath gies monny a yan a jog, An' cuts them doon; An' though I think misen incog, That way I's boun.

Time whets his scythe and shakes his glass, And though I know all flesh be grass, Like monny mair I play the ass, Don't seem to know; But here wad sometime langer pass, Befoor I go.

Ye bonnie lasses, livin' flooers, Of cottage mean, or gilded booers, Possessed of attractive pooers, Ye all mun gang Like frogs in meadows fed by shooers, Ere owt be lang.

Though we to stately plants be grown, He easily can mow us doon; It may be late, or may be soon, His scythe we feel; Or is it fittin' to be known? Therefore fareweel.

1. Leaped. 2. Stood. 3. Food.

Sheffield Cutler's Song (1887)

Abel Bywater

Coom all you cutlin' heroes, where'ersome'er you be, All you what works at flat-backs,(1) coom listen unto me; A basketful for a shillin', To mak 'em we are willin', Or swap 'em for red herrin's, aar bellies to be fillin', Or swap 'em for red herrin's, aar bellies to be fillin'.

A baskitful o' flat-backs, I'm sure we'll mak, or more, To ger(2) reight into t' gallery, wheer we can rant an' roar, Throw flat-backs, stones an' sticks, Red herrin's, bones an' bricks, If they don't play "Nancy's fancy," or onny tune we fix, We'll do the best at e'er we can to break some o' their necks.

Hey! Jont, lad, where art ta waddlin' to? Does ta work at flat-backs yit, as tha's been used to do? Ha! coom, an' tha' s go wi' me, An' a sample I will gie thee, It's one at I've just forged upon Geoffry's bran-new stiddy.(3) Look at it well, it does excel all t' flat-backs i' aar smithy.

Let's send for a pitcher o' ale, lad, for I'm gerrin' varry droy, I'm ommost chok'd wi' smithy sleck,(4) the wind it is so hoigh. Gie Rafe an' Jer a drop, They sen(5) they cannot stop, They're i' sich a moighty hurry to get to t' penny hop, They're i' sich a moighty hurry to get to t' penny hop.

Here's Steem at lives at Heeley, he'll soon be here, I knaw, He's larnt a new maccaroni step, the best you iver saw; He has it so complete, He troies up ivery street, An' ommost breaks all t' pavors(6) wi' swattin'(7) daan his feet. An' Anak troies to beat him, wheniver they doon(8) meet.

We'll raise a tail by Sunda, Steem; I knaw who's one to sell, We'll tee a hammer heead at t' end to mak it balance well. It's a reight new Lunnon tail, We'll wear it kale for kale,(9) Aar Anak browt it wi' him, that neet he coom by t' mail. We'll drink success unto it--hey! Tout, lad, teem(10) aat t' ale.

1 Knives. 2 Get. 3. Anvil. 4. Dust. 5. Say. 6. Paving Stones. 7. Hammering. 8. Do. 9. Turn and about. 10. Pour.

Address to Poverty

Anonymous

Scoolin' maid o' iron broo, Thy sarvant will address thee noo, For thoo invites the freedom By drivin' off my former friends, To leak to their awn private ends, Just when I chanc'd to need 'em.

I've had thy company ower lang, Ill-lookin' wean,(1) thoo must be wrang, Thus to cut short my jerkin. I ken thee weel, I knaw thy ways, Thoo's awlus kept back cash an' claes, An' foorc'd me to hard workin'.