A Yorkshire Dialogue

(George Meriton)

Mother our Crockey’s Cawven sine’t grew dark

And Ise flaid to come nar, she macks sike warke,

Seaun, seaun, Barne, bring my Skeel and late my Tee:

Mack hast and hye thee ore to’th Laer to me:

Weefe git a Battin and a Burden Rape,

Though it be mirke, weefe lat it out by grape:

Then wee’l to’th Field and Give the Cow some Hay

And see her Cleen before she come away:

For flaid she get some watter before the Cleen,

And mar her milk, Ise greet out bath my Neen:

Whaugh Mother how she rowts, Ise verra Arfe,

Shee’l pit and rive my good Prunella Scarfe:

(From the original volume printed by J White of York, 1684)

This ean night, this ean night

Every night and awle

Fire and Fleet and candle-leet

And Christ receive thy Sawle

When thou from hence dost pass away

Every night and awle

To Whinney-moor thou comest at last

And Christ receive thy Sawle

If ever thou gave either hosen or shoon

Every night and awle

Sitt thee down and put them on

And Christ receive thy Sawle

But if hosen or shoon thou never gave nean

Every night and awle

The Whinnes shall prick thee to the bare beane

And Christ receive thy Sawle

From Whinney-moor that thou mayst pass

Every night and awle

To Brig o’ Dread thou comest at last

And Christ receive thy Sawle

If ever thou gave either Milke or Drinke

Every night and awle

The fire shall never make thee shrink

And Christ receive thy Sawle

But of milk or drink thou never gave nean

Every night and awle

Then Fire shall burn thee to the bare beane

And Christ receive thy Sawle

The Wensleydale Lad

When I were at home wi’ mi father an’ mother, I nivver had na fun;

They kept me goin’ frae morn to neet, so I thowt frae them I’d run.

Leeds Fair were coomin’ on, an’ I thowt I’d have a spree,

So I put on mi Sunday cooat an’ went right merrily.

First thing I saw were t’factory , I nivver seed one afore;

There were threads an’ tapes, an’ tapes an’ silks, to sell by monny a score.

Owd Ned turn’d iv’ry wheel, an’ iv’ry wheel an’ strap,

‘Begor!’ says I to t’maister-man,’ Owd Ned ‘s a rare strong chap.’

Next I went to Leeds Owd Church – I were nivver i’ one i’ mi days,

An’ I maistly ashamed o’ misel , for I didn’t knaw their ways;

There were thirty or forty folk, i’ tubs an’ boxes sat,

When up cooms a saucy owd fellow. Says he, ‘ Noo , lad, tak off thi hat.’

An’ he gat into a white sack-poke, an’ gat into t’topmost tub.

An’ then there cooms anither chap, I thinks they called him Ned,

An’ he gat into t’bottommost tub, an’ mocked all t’ other chap said.

An’ then I heard a shufflin’ row, I couldn’t mak what aboot,

An’ t’chap donn’d up i’ t’white sack-poke began a-shootin oot,

Tellin’ o’ t’rich folk’s road to Heaven, an’ t’poor folk’s road to Hell.

Thowt I to misel, tha silly owd fooil, tha doesn’t knaw t’road thisel.

So they began to preach an’ pray, they prayed for George, oor King;

When up jumps t’chap i’ t’bottommost tub. Say he, ‘Good folks, let’s sing.’

I thowt some sang varra weel, while others did grunt an’ groan,

Ivvery man sang just what he wad, so I sand ‘Darby an’ Joan.’

When preachin’ an’ prayin’ were over, an’ folks were gangin’ away,

I went to t’chap i’ t’topmost tub. Says I, ‘ Lad, what’s to pat?’

‘Why, nowt,’ says he, ‘my lad.’ Begor! I were right fain.

So I clicked hod o’ mi gret club stick, an’ went whistlin’ oot again.

(Halliday and Umpleby; 1949: 19-20)

On Ilkla Moor baht ‘at.

Wheear wor ta bahn when Ah saw thee?

On Ikla Moor baht ’at.

Then t’worms’ll come an’ eit thee up  

On Ikla Moor baht ’at.

Tha’s been a-courtin’ , Mary Jane.

On Ikla Moor baht ’at.   

Then t’ducks‘ll come an’ eit up t’worms.          

On Ikla Moor baht ’at.

Tha’s bahn ta get thi deeath o’ cowd.   

On Ikla Moor baht ’at.  

Then we sal come an’ eit up t’ducks.             

On Ikla Moor baht ’at.

Then we sal ha ta bury thee.

On Ikla Moor baht ’at    

Then we sal hev etten thee 

On Ikla Moor baht ’at.

Bite Bigger

‘Here’s a apple, an’ th’mooast on it’s saand,

What’s rotten Aw’ll throw into th’street,

Worn’t it gooid to lig thear to be faand?

Nah booath on us con have a treat.

Soa he wiped it, an’ rubb’d it, an’ then

Said, ‘Billy, the bite off a bit;

If tha hasn’t been lucky thisen

Tha sal share wi’ me sich as Aw get.

Soa th’little en bate off a touch,

T’other’s face beamed wi’ pleasure all throo,

An’ he said, ‘Nay, tha hasn’t taen much,

Bite agean, an’ bite bigger; nah do!’

It fair caps me what for fooaks want te it goodies i’ Choch! Yan wad reallye think ‘at soomm

fooaks couldn’t saah ther prayers wivoot a goody i’ ther moothes. It caps owt! It dis Ah seer.

T’ parson o’ Soondah ad nobbut joost getten inti t’pew , an a fat oard woman i’ t’seeat i’ froont o’

me thowt sher were fooast te ev a goody. An sher parzels ’er and awaah roond tiv er greeat oard

pockit at t’ back , an’ began scrattin aboot, an’ rattlin kays an paaperan sike like, te see if sher

could finnd a bit o’ goody. An there sher war laatin an scrattin aboot, like a en on a moock midden,

wharl wer gat te t’ Psalms.

An sher gat that vexed, becos sher couldn’t finnd yan o’ onny sooart, sher could scaarce bard. Sher

bleeamed t’ bairns, yer knaw, for gerrin tiv ‘er pockit throof t’ week. Sher knawed sher’d left twe

or tree o’ t’ last Soondah, d’yer see? Or else sher wad a getting soomm mare when she were i’

Pickering Set’dah neet; bud noo sher couldn’t finnd yan, naather a mint, ner a rooase, ner a acid,

ner a anise, ner owt.

(Turner; 1912: 1)