I shan’t have him to nuss.
I do hope it’s not very bad!
Eh, what a shame it seems
As some should ha’e hardly a smite o’ trouble
An’ others has reams.
It’s a shame as ’e should be knocked about
Like this, I’m sure it is!
He’s had twenty accidents, if he’s had one;
Owt bad, an’ it’s his.
There’s one thing, we’ll have peace for a bit,
Thank Heaven for a peaceful house;
An’ there’s compensation, sin’ it’s accident,
An’ club money—I nedn’t grouse.
An’ a fork an’ a spoon he’ll want, an’ what else;
I s’ll never catch that train—
What a trapse it is if a man gets hurt—
I s’d think he’ll get right again.
The Drained Cup
The snow is witherin’ off’n th’ gress
Love, should I tell thee summat?
The snow is witherin’ off’n th’ gress
An’ a thick mist sucks at the clots o’ snow,
An’ the moon above in a weddin’ dress
Goes fogged an’ slow—
Love, should I tell thee summat?
Tha’s been snowed up i’ this cottage wi’ me,
Nay, I’m tellin’ thee summat.—
Tha’s bin snowed up i’ this cottage wi’ me
While th’ clocks has a’ run down an’ stopped
An’ the short days withering silently
Unbeknown have dropped.
—Yea, but I’m tellin’ thee summat.
How many days dost think has gone?—
Now I’m tellin’ thee summat.
How many days dost think has gone?
How many days has the candle-light shone
On us as tha got more white an’ wan?
—Seven days, or none—
Am I not tellin’ thee summat?
Tha come to bid farewell to me—
Tha’rt frit o’ summat.
To kiss me and shed a tear wi’ me,
Then off and away wi’ the weddin’ ring
For the girl who was grander, and better than me
For marrying—
Tha’rt frit o’ summat?
I durstna kiss thee tha trembles so,
Tha’rt frit o’ summat.
Tha arena very flig to go,
’Appen the mist from the thawin’ snow
Daunts thee—it isna for love, I know,
That tha’rt loath to go.
—Dear o’ me, say summat.
Maun tha cling to the wa’ as tha goes,
So bad as that?
Tha’lt niver get into thy weddin’ clothes
At that rate—eh, theer goes thy hat;
Ne’er mind, good-bye lad, now I lose
My joy, God knows,
—An’ worse nor that.
The road goes under the apple tree;
Look, for I’m showin’ thee summat.
An’ if it worn’t for the mist, tha’d see
The great black wood on all sides o’ thee
Wi’ the little pads going cunningly
To ravel thee.
So listen, I’m tellin’ thee summat.
When tha comes to the beechen avenue,
I’m warnin’ thee o’ summat.
Mind tha shall keep inwards, a few
Steps to the right, for the gravel pits
Are steep an’ deep wi’ watter, an’ you
Are scarce o’ your wits.
Remember, I’ve warned the o’ summat.
An’ mind when crossin’ the planken bridge,
Again I warn ye o’ summat.
Ye slip not on the slippery ridge
Of the thawin’ snow, or it’ll be
A long put-back to your gran’ marridge,
I’m tellin’ ye.
Nay, are ter scared o’ summat?
In kep the thick black curtains drawn,
Am I not tellin’ thee summat?
Against the knockin’ of sevenfold dawn,
An’ red-tipped candles from morn to morn
Have dipped an’ danced upon thy brawn
Till thou art worn—
Oh, I have cost thee summat.
Look in the mirror an’ see thy-sen,
—What, I am showin’ thee summat.
Wasted an’ wan tha sees thy-sen,
