Part 9

Weel ye knaw the hour of the milkin'-time, The girt bell sounds frev t' tower at the milkin'-time; Bud as gowd sooin turns to gray, An' I cannot have delay, Dunnot linger by the way at the milkin'-time.

Ye'll find a lass at's true at the milkin'-time, Shoo thinks of nane bud you at the milkin'-time; Bud my fadder's gittin' owd, An' he's gien a bit to scowd, Whan I's ower lang at the fowd at the milkin'-time.

Happen ye're afeard at the milkin'-time; Mebbe loike ye've heerd at the milkin'-time The green fowk shak their feet, Whan t' moon on Heeside's breet, An' it chances so to-neet, at the milkin'-time.

There's yan, an' he knaws weel whan it's milkin'-time; He'd feace the varra de'il at the milkin'-time. He'd nut be yan to wait Tho' a barguest(6) war i' t' gate,(7) If the word I'd nobbud say 't at the milkin'-time.

1. Aftermath. 2. Wet. 3. Beetles 4. Quick-sets. 5. Overshadowing 6. The barguest is an apparition, taking usually the form of a big black dog with saucer eyes. 7. Way, road.

I Niver can call Her my Wife

Ben Preston (1819-1902)

I'm a weyver, ye knaw, an' awf deead, So I do all at iver I can To put away aat o' my heead The thowts an' the aims of a man. Eight shillin' i' t'wick's what I arn, When I've varry gooid wark an' full time, An' I think it's a sorry consarn For a fella at's just in his prime.

Bud aar maister says things is as weel As they have been or iver can be, An' I happen sud think so misel If he'd nobbud swop places wi' me. Bud he's welcome ta all he can get, I begrudge him o' noan of his brass, An' I'm nowt bud a madlin(1) to fret, Or to think o' yon beautiful lass.

I niver can call her my wife, My love I sal niver mak knawn, Yit the sarra that darkens her life Thraws its shadda across o' my awn. When I knaw at her heart is at eease, Theer is sunshine an' singin' i' mine; An' misfortunes may come as they pleease, Yit they seldom can mak me repine.

Bud that Chartist wor nowt bud a slope(2)-- I were fooild by his speeches an' rhymes, For his promises wattered my hope, An' I leng'd for his sunshiny times; Bud I feel at my dearest desire Within me 'll wither away; Like an ivy-stem trailin' i' t' mire, It's deein for t' want of a stay.

When I laid i' my bed day an' neet, An' were geen up by t' doctors for deead, God bless her! shoo'd coom wi' a leet An' a basin o' grewil an' breead. An' I once thowt I'd aat wi' it all, Bud so kindly shoo chatted an' smiled, I were fain to turn ovver to t' wall, An' to bluther an' roar like a child.

An' I said, as I thowt of her een, Each breeter for t' tear at were in 't, It's a sin to be niver forgeen, To yoke her to famine an' stint; So I'll e'en travel forrad throo life, Like a man throo a desert unknawn; I mun ne'er have a home nor a wife, Bud my sorras 'll all be my awn.

So I trudge on alone as I owt, An' whativer my troubles may be, They'll be sweetened, poor lass, wi' the thowt At I've niver browt trouble to thee. Yit a bird has its young uns to guard, A wild beast a mate in his den, An' I cannot bud think at it's hard­ Nay, deng it, I'm roarin' agen!

1. Fool 2. Impostor.

Come to thy Gronny, Doy(1)

Ben Preston

Come to thy gronny, doy, come to thy gronny, Bless thee, to me tha'rt as pratty as onny; Mutherlass barn of a dowter unwed, Little tha knaws, doy, the tears at I've shed; Trials I've knawn both for t' heart an' for t' heead, Shortness o' wark, ay, an' shortness o' breead.

These I could bide, bud tho' tha'rt noan to blame, Bless thee, tha browt me both sorra an' shame; Gronny, poor sowl, for a two month or more Hardly could feshion to lewk aat. o' t' door; T' neighbours called aat to me, "Dunnot stand that, Aat wi' that hussy an' aat wi' her brat."

Deary me, deary me! what could I say? T' furst thing of all, I thowt, let me go pray; T' next time I slept I'd a dream, do ye see, Ay, an' I knew at that dream were for me. Tears of Christ Jesus, I saw 'em that neet, Fall drop by drop on to one at His feet.

After that, saw Him wi' barns raand His knee, Some on 'em, happen, poor crayturs like thee; Says I at last, though I sorely were tried, Surely a sinner a sinner sud bide; Neighbours may think or may say what they will, T' muther an' t' dowter sal stop wi' me still.

Come on 't what will, i' my cot they sal caar,(2) Woe be to them at maks bad into waar(3); Some fowk may call thee a name at I hate, Wishin' fra t' heart tha were weel aat o' t' gate; Oft this hard world into t' gutter 'll shove thee, Poor little lamb, wi' no daddy to love thee.

Dunnot thee freeat, doy, whol granny hods up, Niver sal tha want a bite or a sup; What if I work these owd fingers to t' boan, Happen tha'll love me long after I'm goan; T' last bite i' t' cupboard wi' thee I could share't, Hay! bud tha's stown(4) a rare slice o' my heart.

Spite of all t' sorra, all t' shame at I've seen, Sunshine comes back to my heart throo thy een; Cuddle thy gronny, doy, Bless thee, tha'rt bonny, doy, Rosy an' sweet fra thy braa to thy feet, Kingdoms an' craans wodn't buy thee to-neet.

1 Darling. 2. Cower, take shelter. 3. Worse. 4. Stolen.

Owd Moxy

Ben Preston

Owd Moxy wrowt hard for his morsil o' breead, An' to keep up his courage he'd sing, Tho' Time wi' his scythe hed mawn t' crop on his heead An' then puffed it away wi' his wing.