Part 8

At last by t' side o' t' bank they stopp'd, Where Wharfe runs murmurin' clear, A beautiful river breet an' fine, As onny in wide Yorkshire.

The parson then began to read, An' read full loud an' lang, The rabbits they ran in an' oot, An' wonder'd what was wrang.

The ghost was listnin' in a hole, An' oat he bang'd at last, The fluttrin' o' his mighty wings, Was like a whirlwind blast.

He laughed 'an shooted as he flew, Until the wild woods rang; His who-who-whoop was niver heard Sea load an' clear an' strang.

The parson he fell backwards ower Into a bush o' whins, An' lost his buke, an' rave(6) his sark,(7) An' prick'd his hands an' shins.

The clerk he tried to run awa, But tumml'd ower his stick, An' there he made a nasty smell While he did yell an' fick.(8)

An' lots o' pranks this ghost he play'd That here I darn't tell, For if I did, folks wad declare I was as ill as hissel.

For eighteen months an' mair he stay'd, An' just did as he thowt ; For lord nor duke, parson nor clerk, He fear'd, nor cared nowt.

Efter that time he went awa, Just when it pleas'd hissel; But what he was, or whar he com fra, Nea mortal man can tell.

1. Pour. 2. Gate. 3. Enough. 4. Groaned. 5. Surplice. 6. Tore. 7. Surplice. 8. Kick.

The Yorkshire Horse Dealers

Anonymous

Bain(1) to Clapham town-end lived an owd Yorkshire tike, Who i' dealing i' horseflesh had ne'er met his like; 'T were his pride that i' all the hard bargains he'd hit, He'd bit a girt monny, but niver bin bit.

This owd Tommy Towers (by that name he were known) Had an owd carrion tit(2) that were sheer skin an' bone; To have killed him for t' curs wad have bin quite as well, But 't were Tommy's opinion he'd dee on himsel!

Well! yan Abey Muggins, a neighborin cheat, Thowt to diddle owd Tommy wad be a girt treat; He'd a horse, too, 't were war(3) than owd Tommy's, ye see, For t' neet afore that he'd thowt proper to dee !

Thinks Abey, t' owd codger 'll niver smoke t' trick, I'll swop wi' him my poor deead horse for his wick,(4) An' if Tommy I nobbut can happen to trap, 'T will be a fine feather i' Abraham cap!

So to Tommy he goes, an' the question he pops: "Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops? What wilt gie me to boot? for mine's t' better horse still?" "Nowt," says Tommy, "I'll swop even hands, an' ye will!"

Abey preached a lang time about summat to boot, Insistin' that his were the liveliest brute; But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, Till Abey shook hands, an' said, Well, Tommy I done!

"O! Tommy," said Abey, "I's sorry for thee, I thowt thou'd hae hadden mair white i' thy ee; Good luck's wi' thy bargain, for my horse is deead." "Hey!" says Tommy, "my lad, so is mine, an' it's fleead(5)!"

So Tommy got t' better o' t' bargain a vast, An' cam' off wi' a Yorkshireman's triumph at last; For thof 'twixt deead horses there's not mich to choose, Yet Tommy were richer by t' hide an' fower shooes.

1 Near. 2 Nag. 3 Worse. 4. Quick, living 5. Flayed.

The Lucky Dream

John Castillo (1792-1845)

Ya Kessmas neet, or then aboot, When measons all were frozzen oot, I went to see a country friend, An hospitable hoor to spend. For gains, I cut across o' t' moor, Whoor t' snaw sea furiously did stoor.(1) The hoose I gain'd an' enter'd in, An' were as welcome as a king. The storm agean t' windey patter'd, An' hail-steans doon t' chimley clatter'd. All hands were in, an' seem'd content, An' nean did frost or snaw lament. T' lasses all were at their sewing, Their cheeks wiv health an' beauty glowing. Aroond the hearth, in cheerful chat, Twea or three friendly neighbours sat, Their travels telling, whoor they'd been, An' what they had beath heeard an' seen. Till yan did us all mich amuse, An' thus a story introduce. "I recollect lang saan,"(2) says he, "A story that were tell'd to me, At seems sea strange i' this oor day That true or false I cannot say. A man liv'd i' this neighbourhood, Nea doot of reputation good, An' lang taame strave wi' stiddy care, To keep his hoosehod i' repair. At length he had a curious dream, For three neets runnin' 't were the seame, At(3) if on Lunnon Brig he stood, He'd hear some news would dea him good, He labour'd hard, beath neet an' day, Tryin' to draave those thowts away; Yet daily grew mair discontent Till he at last to Lunnon went. Being quite a stranger to that toon, Lang taame he wander'd up an' doon, Till, led by some mysterious hand, On Lunnon Brig he teak his stand. An' there he waited day by day, An' just were boun(4) to coom away, Sea mich he thowt he were to bleame To gang sea far aboot a dream, When thus a man, as he drew near, Did say, "Good friend, what seek you here, Where I have seen you soon and late?" His dream tiv him he did relate. "Dreams," says the man, " are empty things, Mere thoughts that flit on silver'd wings; Unheeded we should let them pass. I've had a dream, and thus it was, That somewhere round this peopled ball, There's such a place as Lealholm Hall(5); Yet whether such a place there be, Or not, is all unknown to me. There in a cellar, dark and deep, Where slimy creatures nightly creep, And human footsteps never tread, There is a store of treasure hid. If it be so, I have no doubt, Some lucky wight will find it out. Yet so or not is nought to me, For I shall ne'er go there to see." The man did slyly twice or thrice The Cockney thenk for his advice; Then heame agean withoot delay He cherfully did tak his way. An' set aboot the wark, an' sped, Fun' ivvery thing as t' man had said; Were iver efter seen to flourish T' fanest gentleman iv all t' parish. Folks wonder'd sair, an' ,weel they might, Whoor he gat all his guineas bright. If it were true, i' spite o' fame, Tiv him it were a lucky dream."

1. Drive. 2. Long ago. 3. That. 4. Ready. 5. In the neighbourhood of Whitby.

The Milkin'-Time

J. H. Dixon (1803-1876)

Meet me at the fowd at the milkin'-time, Whan the dusky sky is gowd at the milkin'-time; Whan the fog(1) is slant(2) wi' dew, An' the clocks(3) go hummin' thro' The wick-sets(4) an' the branches of the owmerin'(5) yew.