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ORLANDO HODGSON, Maiden Lane, Cheapside. 1823. »> SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT, BY WAY OF DIALOGUE, $c. MARGERY AND GULWELL ; A Dialogue between Gulwell, a London R gister Office-Keeper, and M a rger yMooupoot, a Coun- try Girl. Mar. Sur, an a body may be sa bowld. Ah's cum te ax an ye've sped about t' woman sarvant at ye advertahs'd for ? Gul. 1 have not; come nearer, young woman. Mar. Let me steyk t' deer first, an ye pleease. Gul. What countrywoman are you.-' Mar. Ah's Yorkshur by mah truly ! Ah wor bred and boorn at Lahtle Y r atton, aside o' Rosebery Toppin. Gul. Roseberry Toppin ! where is that, my pretty maid ? Mar. Sartainly man ! ye knaw Roseberry ? Ah thowght onny feeal hed knawn Roseberry ? It's t' biggest hill i' all Yorkshur. It's aboon a mahle an* a hawf heegh, and as cawd as ice at V top on't, t* yattest day i* summer ; that it is. Gul. You've been in some ser- vice, I suppose ? Mar. Hey, Ah'll uphold ye hev E, ivver sin E wor neen year awd. Nea makkins! ah'd a God's-penny at JStowseley market, hawf a year afoore *at E wor neen ; An' as good a sarvant Ah've been, thof Ah say it mysel, as ivver com within a pair o' deers. Ah can milk, ken, fbther, beeak, brew, sheear, win- der, caird, spin, knit, sew, an' deea ivvery thing 'at belangs tiv an husbandman, as weel as onny lass 'at ivver war clog-shun ; an' as to my charicter, Ah defy onny boddy, gentle or simple, to say black's mah nail. Gul. Have you been in any ser- vice in London ? - Mar. Hey, an' ye pleease. Ah liv'd wi' Madam Shrillpipe, i' St. Paul's Kirk Garth ; but wor foorc'd te leeave mah pleeace afoor 'at I'd been a week o* days in't, Gul. How so ? Mar. Marry, because she ommost flighted and scauded me oot o' mah wits. She wor t'arrantest scaud 'at ivver E met wi' i' my boorn days* She had sartainly sike a tongue as nivver wor i' onny woman's heead but her awn. It wad ring, ring, ring, like a la- rum, frae moorn t' neeght. Then she wad put hersel into sike flus* ters, that her feeace wad be as black as t' reckon creak. Neea, for t' matter o' that, Ah wor nob- but reeghtly sarrad, for Ah wor tell'd afoorehand, by some varra sponsible fowk, 'at she wor a mere donnot. Hoosumivver, as Ah land The Yorkshire Dialect. mah mutiny grow less and less ivveryday, (for Ah'd brought mah good siven an' twenty shillings to neen groats and two-pence,) Ah thowght it wad be better to tak up wi' a bad pleeace, than no pleeace at all. Gul. And how do you like Lon- don ? Mar. Marry, sur, Ah like now- ther egg nor shell on't. They're sike a set o' fowk as E nivver seed tvi' my een. They laugh an' fleer at a body like onny thing. Ah "went nobbut t' other day t' V bea- ker's shop for a leaf o' breead, an' they fell a giggling at me, as in Ah'd been yan o' t' grittest gaw- visons i' t' warld. Gul. Pray, what is a gawvison ? Mar. Whan, you'rn a gawvison for nut knawing what it is. Ah thowght you Lunnoners hed knawn ivvery thing. A gawvison's a ninny-hammer. Noo, d'ye think *at Ah leak ought like a gawvison ? Gul. Not in the least, my pretty damsel. Mar. They may brag as they will o' ther manners, but they've ne mair manners than a miiner's horse. Ah can tell 'em that, that Ah can. Ah wish I'd been still at Canny Yatton. Gul. As you iiad so great a liking to the place, why did you leave it. Mar. Marry, sur, Ah wor foorc'd as yan may say, to leeave ; t' squire wad'nt let me be ; by mah truly, sur, he wor efter me moorn, neean, an' neeght. If Ah wad but hae consented tiv his wicked ways, Ah mud hae hed gowd by gowpins, that Ah mud. Leeak ye, squire, says Ah, your'r mis- takken i' me; Ah's neean o' ther soort o' cattle ; Ah's a varteous young woman, Ah'll asseer ye ; ye'er other fowk's fowk ; wad ye be sike a teeastril as te ruin me ? But all wadn't deea ; he kept follo'in' an' follo'in', an' teazin' an' teazin' me. At lang run, Ah tell'd my awd deeam, an' she advash'd me ta gang to Lun'on, to be out ov hiz way, that she did, like an honest woman as she wor. Ah went to my cousin Isbel, an' says Ah tiv her, Isbel, says Ah, will t' gowa to Lunnon ? Ah tell'd t' yal affair atween me an't squire. Ods- bobs, my lass, says she, Ah'll gang wi* thee to t' world's end. An away we com i' good earnest, Gul. It was a very varteous re- solution. Pray how old are you? Mar. Ah's neenteen come Collop Monday. Gul. Would you undertake a house-keeper's place ? Mnr. Ah's flay'd Ah can t* mannisht, if it beeant in a hus- bandman's house ? Gut. It is a very substantial farmer's, in Buckinghamshire. I am sure you will do ; I will set you down for it. Your name. Mar. Margery Moorpoot, an ye please. Gul How do you spell it ? Mar. Neea, makkings ! Ah knaw nowght o' speldring : Ah's nea scholard. Gul. Well, I shall write to him this evening. What wages do you ask? Mar. Neea, marry, for t' matter o' that, Ah wad'nt be ower stiff about wages. Gul. Then I can venture to as- sure you of it. You must give me half-a-crown, my pretty maid. Our fee is only a shilling for a common place, but for a house- keeper's we have always half-a crown. Mar, There's tweea shillings, an' yan, tweea, three, four, fahve, six penn'orth o' brass, wi' a thoo- sand thenks. A blessing leeght o' yee, foi Ah's seer ye'er t' best friend Ah've met wi' sin E com fra' Canny-Yatton, that are ye. When mun E call ageean, sur ? Gul. About the middle of next week. Mar. Sur, an ye pleease, youi sarvant. The Yorkshire Dialect. AWD DAISY. An Eclogue.* By the late Rev T. Browne, Hull. Goorgy. Weel met, good Robert, saw ye my awd meer ; I've lated her an hoor, i' t' loonin here, But, howsumiver, spite of all my care, I cannot spy her nowther head nor hair. Robert. Whaw, Goorgy, I've to teyl ye dowly news, Syke as l'se varra seer will make ye muse : I just this minnet left your poor awd tyke, Dead as a steean, i' Johnny Dob- son's dy r ke. Goorgy. Whoor ! what's that, Robin ? tell us owre ageean ; You're joking, or you've inebby been mistean. Robert. Nay, marry, Goorgy, I seer I can't be wrang, You kno I've keyn'd awd Daisy now se lang; Her bread-rateh'd feeace, an' twa white hinder legs, Preav'd it was hor, as seer as eggs is eggs. Goorgy. Poor thing ! what deead then ? had she laid there lang ? Whor abouts is she ? Robert, will you gang ? Robert. I care nut, Goorgy, I han't much te dea, A good hour's labour, or may hap- pen twea ; Bud as IniwerJike tohingbehind, When I can dea a kaundness tiv a frynd, An' I can help you, wi'" my hand or team, 1M help to skin her, or to bring her beam. Goorgy. Thank ye, good Robert I enn't think belike, How t' poor awd creature tumbled inte t'dyke. Robert. Ye maund she'd fun hersen just gaun te dee, An' sea laid down by t* side, ^as seeams to me,) An' when she felt the pains o' death within, She fick'd an' struggled, an' se towpled in. Goorgy. Meast lickly ; bud — what, was she dead outreet, When ye furst gat up? when ye gat t' furst seet ? Robert Youse hear: as*I was gaun down 't looan I spy'd A scoore or mair o' crows by t' gutter side ; All se thrang, hoppin in, and hop- pin out, I wonder'd what i* the warld they were about. I leuks, an' then I sees an awd yode laid, Gaspin' an' pantin* there, an ora- most dead ; An' as they pick'd its een, and pick'd ageean, It just cud lift its leg, and give a greean ; But v\hen I fand awd Daisy was their prey, I wav'd my hat, an' shoo'd em all away. Poor Dais ! — ye maund, she's now woorn fairly out, She's lang been quite hard sett te trail about. But yonder, Goorgy, loo' ye whoor she's laid, An' twea 'r three Nanpies chatt'rin owre her head. Goorgy. Aye, marry! this I niv- ver wish'd to see, She's been se good, se true a frynd te me ! An' is thou cum te this, my poor poor awd meer ? Thou's been a trusty sarvantmonny a year, An' better treatment thou's de- sarvM fra me, Than thus neglected in a dyke te dee ! Monny a day work we ha' wrought togither, An' bidden monny a blast o' wind and weather ; Tlie Yorkshire Dialect. Monny a lang dree maule, owre moss an' moor, An' monny a hill and deeal we've travell'd owre ; But now, weeas me ! thou'll niv- ver trot ne mair, Te nowther kirk nor market, spoort nor fair ; And now, fort* future, thoff I's awd and learn, I mun be foorc'd te walk, or stay at beam, Ne mair thou'l bring me cooals fra' Blakay brow, Or sticks fra't wood, or turves fra' Leaf how cow. My poor awd Daise ! afoor I dig th> greeave, Thy weel-woorn shoon I will for keep-seeakes seeave ; Thy hide, poor lass! I'll hev it taun'd wi' care, Twill male' a cover te my awd airm chair, An' pairt an appron for my wife te weear, ' When card in* woul, or weshin' t' parlour fleer Deep i' t' cawd yearth I will thy carcase pleeace, . ? At thy poor beeans may lig, and rist i' peeace ; Deep V t' cawd yearth, 'at dogs may'nt scrat thee out, An' rauve thy flesh, an trail thy beeans about. Thou's been se faithful for se lang te me, Thoo sannutat thy death neglect- ed be; Seyldom a Christian 'at yan now can fynd, Wad be mair trusty or mair tru^ a frynd. THE INVASION. An Eclogue. : Impius hcEc tarn culta not- alia miles habebit ?— Virg. A wanton wether had disdain'd the bounds That kept him close confin'd to Willy's grounds ; Broke through the hedge, he wan- der'd far away, He knew not whither on the pub* lie way. As Willy strives, with all attentive care, The fence to strengthen and the gap repair, His neighbour Roger, from the fair return'd, Appears in sight, in riding graith adorn'd ; Whom, soon as Willy fast ap- proaching spies, Thus to his friend, behind he hedge, he cries : Willy. Hoo de ye, Roger? ha' ye been at t' fair ? Hoo gangs things ? meead ye onny bargains there ? Roger. Ah knaw nut, Willy ; things deeant luke ower w eel, Coorn satles fast, thof beeans 'il fetch a deeal ; Te sell t' awd intack barley Ah desaund, Sut cudn't git a price te suit my maund ; What wi' rack rents, an' sike a want o' trade, Ah knovyn't hoo yan's te git yan's landloords paid ; Mare ower an' that, they say i't spring o't year, French is intarminM on't te 'tack us here. Willy. Yea, mun ! what are they cummin hither for r Depend on't they'd far better niv- ver st or. Roger. True, Willy ; nobbutln- glishmen M stand By yan another, o' ther own good land ; They'll never suffer (Ah's be bun to say) The Franch to tak a single sheep away ; Feightin for heeame, upo v ther awn fair field, All t' pow'r i" France cud nivver mak 'em yield. Willy. Whar, seer you can no think, when' put te t' pinch, Anonny Inglishman 'l\ ivverfiinch The Yorkshire Dialect. If t' Franch deea cum here, Roger, Ah'll be hang'd, A n' they deeant git thir sens reeght soundly bang'd. Ah can't bud think, (thof Ah may be misteean,) Nut monny on 'era '11 get back ageean. Roger. Ah think nut, Willy ; bud sum fowks say, Our Inglish fleet let Franch ships get away, When they vvor laid (thoo knaws) i' Bantry Bay, 'At they cud nivver all hae geen 'em t' slip. Bud t' Inglish wanted nui V tak a ship. Willy. Eah! that's all lees ! Roger. Ah dunnot say its true, It's all unknawn to syke as me and you. Hoo deea we knaw when fleets deea reeght or wrang ? Ah whooap it's all on't fause, but see a talks gang. Iloosivver, this Ah knaw, 'at when they pleease, Oor sailors awlus beat 'em upo' t' seeas ; And if they nobbut sharply leeak aboot, They need n't let a single ship cum oot. For Howe, lang sen, thoo knaws, did bang 'em w r eel, An' Jarvis meead the braggado- shas feel ; An' Duncan beeat th' Franch at Camperdown, Whilst Nelson gat in Egypt vast renown ; An' tho' at last, poor fellow, he did fail, He liv'd, thenk God, until he beat 'em all ! Why vany lally our brave lads hev ta'en Th' fleets and stoors belanging te th' Dean ; An' yet they'll drub 'em weel, Ah dunnot fear, An' keep 'em fairly off fra' landin' here. Willy. Ah whooap sea, Roger ; bud an' if they deea Cum ower, Ah then sal sharpen my awd leea. What thof Ah can but ov a lahtle booast, Ye knaw yan wad'nt hae that lahtle lost ; Ah'ssend oor Mally an' all t'bairns away, An Ah my sen '11 by th' yamsteead stay. Ah'll feight if need, un' if Ah fall wha then, Ah's suffer all the waist mishap mysen ; Was Ah bud seer my wife and bairns wor seeaf, Ah then sud be te dee content eneeaf. Roger. Reeght, Willy, mun !— w r hat an' they put us teea't, Ah will mysen put forrad mah best feeat. What thof Ah's awd, Ah's nut seea easily scar'd, On his awn middin' an awd cock feights hard. They saw a Franchman's turn'd a ditferent man, A braver, better soldier, ten te yan, But let the Franch be turn'd to " what they will, They'll find 'at Inglishman are tn- $\\s\- Ftili ; C ther awn grand they'll nowther flinch nor flet , They'll owther ccngker, or they'll bi^elv dee. A COCK AND BULL STORY. Whatdusteh think, Dick? Whiah Ah noant, Tom. — Whiah then Ah'll tell thee. Yesterneet, a bit afoore it wur dark, a Foomerd gat croppen up intot' Hen-Bawks, an' freeten'd t'ode Cock doon into r* Ows Beeas, an' meead him breck't band, an' dingt deer off t' creaks ; awea E went full smack ower't Yat, brack t' sneck-and twa slices 1 The Yorkshire Dialect* off,) reight intot' Fofe Clooas ; he ] ran owert' Pleeaf, an' cut yan ov | his legs sadly o' t' Cooter. Jooan Chopsticks and t' wreet wur cum- ming wee his little weffing dog, and freeten'd him thruff t' gap into t' Coo-pastur, an't Bull set up a great beeal, an' set off wee hin» Our lads ran efter 'em, an' it wui hoo thoo ! an' noo thoo ! a greeat while, tilt' owslowpt owert' hedge intil a line-dike, and Bull efter him, reeght atop on his back. They meead a bonny blash i' t' dyke. T' lads ran yam an' fetcht a cart reeap, an' threw't owert bull hoorns, an' seeah gat him oot ageean ; bud t' 'ows gat awea fra 'era, an' ran ontot' moor, an' trade an ode stegto deeath ; bud thare wur a goodly bargains on him, for he wur good for nowt ! Then he lowpt ower a high stee into a tatee clooas, an' thade been macking a tatee pie E yah corner, an' he gat atop on't, an' ommost trade it all te bits. Man 'at oand clooas com and roister'd like mad, an' sware he'd mack oor maister pay lor all t' tatees. M hat cud we say tot' fellah ? for he seeam'd quiet lunjies an" Ah thowt heed stuckent 'ows wi't muckfork heed in his hand. Bud when his'passion wurkeeal'd a bit, he sed, " Cum me lads, let's try if weh can't drive him into t' helm an' catch him, that yeh may get him yam ageean." Seeah, efter a greeat deal teh deea, we gat him droven intot' helm, an't becast wur ommost freeten'd oot on't wits, an' wur all on a mack sweeat, an' trimmel'd like an Espin leeaf ; we put a helter aboot his heead, an' led him doon t' moor looan, an' a lang, dree, dowly way it is, an' as mucky as mucky ! At last we gat him yam, an' wur all reeght tifd wi t' jubberment we'd had. When we'd tell'd oor maister all about it, he sed, " You've had a weeant deal a trouble aboot this rotten beast; fassen him in his beeas ageean, an' give him sum hay, anVmack yast back, for here 9 a'yat yall posset for yer supper. THE HIREING, A Dialogue between J o h n a nd Ro b i if two Husbandmen. John. Robin, you've don'd your- san reeght seean, Ah sudden't wonder bud you've left awd deeame, An's boon, mayhap, te seek a pleeace, An' if seea,Rob,its just my keease. Se, if ye like, we'll gang tegither, An' tawk, like greeat folks, about t' weather. Robin. Why, John, you've gest, Ah've left awd lass. For things w r or cum te sike a pas s , That for my life Ah cudden't stay, An' se, thou sees, Ah's cum'd away. John. Why, Robin, Ah cud like to hear What's made ye leeave your place this year; For Ah thought ye'd a merry life, An' bid fair there te get a wife. Robin. An' seea Ah did at furst, thou sees, Till deeame brought back her bon- ny niece Fra Scarbro', where she went tid Spaws, , Te drink soat water Ah suppose ; And ever sen that bonny lass Tid farm did cum, t' awd crazy ass Has taen it in hur silly head, That Ah wid Nancy wad get wed. Bud Ah fun out, before 'twas lang, That deeame did wish te wed hur man; Bud Ah was not ower fond o' th' stuff, Which put t' awd lady in a huff. Nay, yance she teld me hur awn sen, If Ah thought weel o' th* match v why then She quickly wad give me hut hand, The Yorkshire Dialect, Five hundred pounds, wi' house an' land ; And, Bob, says she, its no bad chance, Setter behawf than marrying Nance ; For she has nowther coo nor horse, An' varry lahtle in hur purse ; BudAh expect thou'll counsel keep An' leeak afoore thou taks that leeap. An' se Ah did, and went away ; For as Ah didden't like her, John, Ah thought it best for te begone, An' leeave my deeame and hur niece Nance, An* at these stattis tak my chance. Now it fell out that very day, As through the fair they took then- way, Young Robin with a country Squire . . Had the good fortune for to hire. On Whitsun-Monday, as a dance, He chanc'd to meet his sweetheart Nance ; She liv'd hard bv,and so, you see, Robin and her did quickly agree ; Rob clapt love to her, and next year This'loving couple married were ; At which his deeame did rave like mad, But dying— left 'em all she had. THE BELLMAN OF RIPON. The Bellman's Cry at Rip M 7 ha, Darby, leeave it al» te me, Ah'll mannisht V weel, an' that thoo'll see. And so she did, as fame reports, For the 'Squire being fond of rura* sports, Did sometimes to the farm repair, (After a chace of fox or hare,) And she invited him to dine On Nell's birth-day — they'd pie and chine. The young 'Squire lik'd the fare so well, That he soon after married Nell ; And as they drove to church doon t' looan, Old Darby cried — Well deean, oor Joan I THE SWEEPER & THIEVES. A Tale, by D. Lewis. [This Tale is founded on fact, and happened at Leemtng Lane, a few years ago.'] A sweeper's lad was late o' th' neeght, His slap-shod shoon had leeam'd his feet ; He call'd to see a good awd deeame, 'At monny a time had triggM his 4 weame ; (For he wor then fahve miles i>a yam.) He ax'd i* t' lair te let him sleep, An' he'd next day their chimlers sweep. They supper'd him w' country fare, Then show'd him tul his hooal i' f lair. He crept intul his streeahy bed, His pooak o' seeat beneath his heead : He wor content, nur car'd a pin, An' his good friend then loek'd him in. 12 The Yorkshire Dialect. The lair frae t' hoose a distance stood, Between 'em grew a lahtle wood. Aboot midneeght, or nearer moorn, Two thieves brack in te steeal ther coorn ; Hevin a leeght i' t' lantern dark, Seean they te winder fell te wark, An' wiseing they'd a lad te fill, Young brush, (whea yet had liggM quite still,) Thinkin' 'at men belang'd te t' hoose, An* that he nood mud be o' use, Jump'd down directly on te t' fleear, An' thieves beeath ran oot at deear ; Nur stopt at owt nur thin nur thick, Fully convinc'd it wor awd Nick. The sveeper lad then ran reeght seean T t' hoose, an' tell'd 'em what wor deean ; Maister an' men then quickly raise, An' ran te ** lair wi' hawf ther cleeas. Twea horses, seeks, 'an* leeght they fand, Which had been left by t' thievish band ; These round i' t' neybourheed they cried, Bud nut an awner e'er applied ; For neaan durst horses awn or seeks, They wor so freeghten'd o' ther necks. They seld the horses, an', of course, Put awf o' the brass i' Sooty's purse ; Desirjng when he com that way,i He'd awl us them a visit pay, When harty welcum he sud have, Because he did ther barley save. Brush chink'd the guineas in his hand, ' An' oft to leeak at 'em did stand, As heeame he wistling teak his way ; Blessin' t' awd deeame wha let him stay, An' sleep i' t' lair, when, late o 1 neeght, His slap-shod shoon had leeam his feet. I THE POCKET-BOOKS. A Dialogue. By D. Lewis. [Occasioned by a New Pocket- Booh being thrown into a Desk when an Old one had been laid.] New Pocket- Book. Why am I here a captive plac'd, £And with such company di* grae'd ? I may with reason now complain Fine books, like men, were made in vain. Old Pocket- Book. Thy keease, kind frind, can't be se hard, As thy new maister is a bard The ass-skin leeavs 'at thoo'U conteean, He'll write 'em ower an* o ageean, ' Wi' sonnets, epigrams, an' odes, Wi' elegies an' episodes ; Teoo'U beear the copies ovjii sangs, An' gang wi* him where'er h« gangs. If there sud be a country fair, He ten to yan '11 tak thee therl; Keep thee on high an' hollidays, When he puts on his better cleeas ; If bill or nooat fall to his share, He will commit it to thy care,* Till monny years, when tho| may be, As ragg'd an' just as poor as md Dooant let grief reign, nor thl heart ache, He'll keep thee for thy giver seeak. Netc Pocket- Book. Dost thou con pare thyself to me ? If thou could'st but thy pictu see, Thy ragged coat, thy dirty looIJ Scarce worthy of the name o | book. The Yorkshire Dialect* 13 And must I to the fields retire, Be prostituted to the lyre. Companion of rustic swain, And ne'er return to town again ? \>ld Pocket- Book. True, thoo of heigher kin may boost, J Of finer shape, an' bigger cost ; Thoo's neeat an' smart, Ah mun I alloo, Bud thoo will quit that bonny I hue, When thoo, like me, hes hard- \ ships boorn, An' been by toil an' labour woorn ; l't hoose or field, by streeam or iwood, Ah constant i' my station stood, An' nivver did man aid refuse, Te sarve mah maister, an' the muse. Te gratify the rhyming streean, He wrate an' rubb'd, an wrate ageean ; That Ah, like him, lang time I hev toil'd, Which hes mah yance-fine lus- tre spoird. fThoo's yet a stranger to the world, . "Where things appear unequal hurl'd ; Still different stations ther mun be, Thof monny mair '11 freeat like thee. Then dooant lament thy turns of fate, Bud reconcile thee to thy state. ADDRESS TO RICHES. Bonny lass, wi' yellow hair, Iv thoo hez an.hoor to spare, Pray lig aside thy shyness ; Ah'll call thee riches, munny, gold, Or o*iny neeame by which thoo's told, Or owt te pleease thy highness. Thoo hardly heeds the tryin' hoor O' sons o' Genius, when they're poor, Thoo seldom will restoore 'em 5 Bud them that nivver sout thy smile, Blockheads an' dunces, live i* style, Had fadders boorn afoore 'em. It's munny maks the meer te gang, Maks rang seeam reeght, an' reeght seeam rang; « There's nowght i' t' warld can match it. E tackin munney maist fowks prize — If onny bcdy it despise, It's cause they cannut catch it. ■ Forseeak the mizar's clooase re- treat, The coffers ov the guilty greeat, Wi' plund'rin fill'd, or gamlin' ; Sike gert fowks haz abuse the state, On whea the men o' munny waite, That keeps poor fowks cramlin'. Ah dunnot want a gert estate, For if Ah did, thoo'd let me wait, That Ah may seeafly lend thee; Nut ower mitch,te mack me proud, Leeak ower t' meean a man a crood, Bud just eneeaf to mend me. Cum wi' a swarm o' lucks an* looaves, That oft gangs wi' thee when thoo moves, O' guinea nooats tack thoot he shap, Or o' kings pictures a gert slap, \ Or ten punds bank of Ingland. Th*? n frends se shy, i' time o* need, "Wiil gi' me what E want wi' speed, An' stick as clooase as hunny; Gi' ther advice, ther cash, ther yal, Or heear or tell a mervy teeal, An' all through thee — sweet munny ! ADDRESS TO POVERTY. Scoolin maid, o' iron brow, Thy sarvant will address thee now, u The Yorkshire Dialect. For thoo invites the freedom, By drivin off my former friends, To leeak to ther awn private ends, Just when Ah chanc'd to need 'em. Ah've hed thy company owerlang, lllleakinweean! thoo mustbe rang Thus to cut short my jerkin. Ah ken thee weel — Ah knaw thy ways, Thoo's awlus kept back cash and- cleeas, y An' foorc'd me to hard workin. To gain o' thee a yal day's march Ah strave, bud thoo's se varra arch, For all Ah still strave faster ; Thoo's tript my heels and meead me stop*, By small slain coorn, or failin crop, Or ivv'ry foul disaster. If Ah my maund may freely speeak, Ah really dunnut like thy leeak, Whativver shap thoo's slipt on ; Thoo's awd an' ugly, deeaf an' blinnd, A feeind afoore, a freeght behind, An' fooul asMudder Shipton. Fooaks say, an' it is nowght bud truth, Thoo hes been wi' me from my youth, An' gi'en me monny a thumper, Bud noo thoo cums, wi" all thy i weight, Fast failin' frae a fearful height, A downreeght Milton plumper. Sud plenty, frae her copious hoorn, Teeam oot te me good crops o' coorn, An' prosper weel my cattle. An* send a single thoosana pund, 'Twad bring all things compleeatly roound, An' Ah wod gi' thee battle. Noo, Poverty, ya thing Ah beg, Like a poor man withoot a leg, See pretheedaun'tdeceeave me, Ah knaw it's i' thy poower te ?rant The lahtle faver 'at Ah- want — 'At thoo wad gang an' leeave me. THE RACE. Noo, Bob, my lad, to-moorn's the day, All t' spoort at t' race we'll see ; Wi* t' lark we'll rise, an* trudge away, An' varra fine we'll be. Te see 'em ride, thoo knaws, seea fast, As roound about they'll gang, They'll whip an' spur, te nut be last, Ah say noo ! dust t' lang ! What fouks all fine we theer sal see, V diffurent colours drest ; An' lasses, te cheat sike as thee, Will be all i' ther best. An' theer we'll stop while t' races last, An' alTt fine fouks are gesan ; Fra thence to t' fair we'll trudge reet fast, Te reeach it afoore neean, Tegither then that day we'll keep, Wi' sticks i' hand soea fine; At sum o' t' shows we'll tak a peep, *Ah's seer that day we'll shine I Theer soldiers will be ganging oot, Wi' drums and fifes seea grand, Recrutin for young lads aboot, To fight by seea an' land. Noo wi' impatience we deea wait The cummin o' that day ; We'll off seea seean, an' stop seea late, Cum, Bob, noo let's away. THE FAIR. Ye loit'rin minnits foster flee, Ye're all ower slaw behawf forme, That wait impatient for the moorning ; Te-moorn's the lang, lang wish'd for fair, Ah'll try te shine the foormust theer, Myself i' finest cleens adoorning, Te grace the day. The Yorkshire Dialect. 15 Ah'll ptft my best white stockings on, A pair o' new cawf-letther shoon, My cleean-wesh'd goon o' print- ed cotton ; Aboot ray neck a muslin shawl, A new silk hankecher ower all, Wi' sike a careless air Ah'll put on, Ah'il shine that day. My paartner Ned, Ah knaw, thinks he, " Ah'll mak mysen secure o' thep," He's often sed h'd treeat me rarely ; Bud Ah sal think ov other fun, Ah'll yaim fur sum rich former's son, An' cheat oor simple Neddy fairly, Seea sly that day. Why sud Ah nut succeed as weel, An* get a man full oot genteel, As awd John Darby's dowghter Nelly ; Ah think mysen as good as she, She can't mak cheese or spin like me, That's mair 'an beauty, let me tell ye, On onny day. Then, hey ! for spoorts an' puppy- shows, An' temptin spice-stalls rang'd i' rows, An' danglin dolls, by t' necks all hangin ; A thoosand other pratty seeghts, An' lasses, trail'd alang the streets, Wi' lads, te t' yal-house gangin Te drink that day. Let's leeak at t' winder — Ah can see% It seeams as thef 'twas growin leeght, The cloods wi' early rays a- doornin ; Ye loit'ring minnits faster flee, Ye're all ower slaw behawf for me, !At wait impatient for the moornin, O sike a day ! SONG. When Ah wor a wee lahtle totter- in bairn, Ah' hed nobbut just getten - short frocks, When te gang Ah at first was be- ginnin to lairn, O' my broo Ah gat monny hard . knocks. Bud se waik, an' se silly, an' help- less was I, Ah was awlus a tumblin down then ; While my mother wad twattle me gently, an' cry, " Honey, Jenny, tack care o' thysen." Bud wen Ah grew bigger, an' gat te be Strang, At Ah cannily ran all aboot By mysen, wheer Ah lik'd, then awlus mud gang, Withoot being tett'd aboot owt. When, hooiwer, Ah com to be six- teen year awd, An' rattl'd an' ramp'd amang men, My mother wad call o' me in an' wad scaud, An' cry — u Huzzay ! tak care o* thysen." i Ah've a sweetheart cums noo upo Setterday neeghts, An' he swears 'at he'll mack me his wife ; My mam grows se stingey, she scauds an' she fleeghts, An' twitters me out o' my life. Bud she may leeak soor, an con- sait hersen wise, An' preach ageean liking young men • Sin Ah's grown a woman, her clack Ah'll despise, An Ah's — —marry ! tak care o' mysen. 16 The Yorkshire Dialect. A LETTER, Discovered in the Library of a de- ceased Nobleman,and supposed to have been written during the Rebellion* My Loord, Ye knaw there's an awd pro- verb — a man can dea neamare nea he can dea — wur Ah the d — 1 his- sen Ah can na mack men gang an* they ha' nea mind to't; as angry as ye seeam wi' me, gin ye'd beean heer yersen, ye cud na mack 'em stir yan feeat, tho ye hed swoorn yer heart oot ; when Ah reead tull 'em yer Loordship's last letter, they tost ther he e ads &n' gang ther gate, but yance gane they care nut a fart what Ah say tui 'em. Ah reead tul 'em twice yer Loord- ship's last orders, an' they haund- ed me t' Act o' Farlement, ye knaw what Ah meean ; co' Ah tul 'em is it sea te dea, the deeal gang wi' ye all, for there's neadippendance on 'em.. Yer Loordship may rist assuuredof my endivvers, that Ah will be wi' ye the day efter !Mun- day, wi' all Ah'm cappable o' bringin alang wi' me ; i' t' meean- time subscribe mysen yer Loord- ship's most obedent vassal an' humble sarvent te cummand, -, Chief Comtubble. THE YORKSHIRE TIKE. Ah iz i' truth a country youth, Neean us'd teea Lunnon fashions Yetvartue guides, an' still presides Ower all mah steps an' passions. Neea coortly leear, bud all sin- ceere, Neea bribe shall ivver blinnd me ; If thoo can like a Yorkshire tike, A rooague thoo'llnivver finnd me. Thof envy's tung, seea slimlee hung, Wad lee aboot oor country, Neea men o' t' eearth booast gre- ter wurth, Or mare extend ther boounty. Oor northern breeze wi' uz Mgrees, An' does for wark weel fit uz ; I' public cares, an' all affairs, Wi' honor we acquit uz. Seea gret a maund is ne'er con- fiand Tiv onny shire or nation ; They geean meeast praise weea weel displays A leearned iddicasion. Whahl rancour rolls i' lahtle souls, By shallo views dissarning, They're nobbut wise 'at ov\lus prize Gud manners.sensearKileecunin. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM NEVISON, Written hy Captain Johnson, AS arts and sciences of use and morality admit of improvement, so likewise those of villainy grow up with them ; the devil being as industrious to improve his follow- ers in the school of vice, as our best instructors are in those of virtue, which will be illustrated in the following memoirs of the life of William Nevison, who was born at Pontefract, in Yorkshire, about the year 1639, of well-reput- ed, honest, and reasonably estated parents, who bred him up at school, where he made some progress as to his learning, and in the spring of his youth promised a better harvest than the summer of his life produced ; for, to say the truth, he was very forward and hopeful, till he arrived at the age of thirteen or fourteen years, when he began to be the ringleader of all his young companions to rudeness and de- bauchery* So early as this he also took to thieving, and stole a silver spoon from his father; for which being severely punished at scnool, the punishment was the subject of the next night's meditation, which issued into a resolution of revenge on his master, whatever fate he met with in the execution thereof, to which end having hit on a project for his purpose, and lying in his father's chamber, he gets softly up before such time as the day appeared, and hearing that his father slept, he puts his hand into his pocket, where he found the key of his closet, which, unper- ceived, he drew thence, and down he creeps to the said closet, where he supplies himself with what cash he could readily find, which amounted to about ten pounds, and with this, knowing that his sa id master had a horse he took parti- cular delight in, that then grazed behind his house, he gets a bridle and a saddle from his father's stable, and an hour before morning, mounts the said horse onward for London, where he arrived within four days ; when the evening com- ing upon him, he cut the throat of the horse within a mile or two of the town, for fear he should prove a means of his discovery, if he should have carried it to an inn. When he came to London, he changed his garb and name, and being a lusty well-looking lad, put himself into the service of a brewer, where for two or three years he lived, not at all changed in mind, though opportunity was The Life of William Nevuon, not, during that lime, ripe to put his ill intention into practice, he watched all seasons to advance himself, by having several times attempted to rob his matter, which at last he thus effected. Taking the advantage one night of the clerk's drunkenness, who was his master's cashier, he got up by stealth after him into the compting house, where the said clerk falling asleep, he rifled the same of all such cash as he could conveniently come at, which amounted to near two hundred pounds, and fled to Holland, where running away with a burgher's daughter that had robbed her father of a great deal of money and jewels, he was ap- prehended, had the booty taken from him, and put in gaol ; and, had he not broke out, lie had cer- tainly made his exit beyond sea. Having thus made his escape, he got into Flanders, and listed him- self amongst theEnglish volunteers, who were under the command of the Duke of York, who about the same time was made lieutenant- general of the Spanish forces,under Don John of Austria, who were then designed to raise the siege of Dunkirk, which was besieged by the English and French armies, and behaved himself very well while he was in a military employ- ment ; but not greatly liking it, and having got come money whilst be was in the service, he came over to England, and bought himself a horse and arms, and resolving for the road, and perhaps a pleasant hfe, at the hazard of his neck, rather than toil out a long remain- der of unhappy days in want and poverty, which he was always averse to. Being thus supplied every day, one booty or other enriched his stores, which he would never admit a sharer in, chusing to manage his designs alone rather than trust his life in the hands of others, who by favour or misfortune might be drawn in to accuse him. One day Nevison, who went otherwise by the name of Johnson, travelling on the road, and soouring about in search of a prize, he met two countrymen, who coming up to him informed him, that it was very dangerous travelling forward, for that the way was set, and they had been robbed by three high- waymen, about half a mile off; and if he had any charge of money about him, it was his safest tourse to turn back. Nevison asked them what they had lost, they told him forty pounds ; whereupon he re- plied, " Turn back with me, and shew me the way they took, and my life to a farthing, I'll make them return you your money again." They rode along with him till they had sight of the highway- men : when Nevison ordering the countrymen to stay behind them at some distance, he rode up, and spoke to the foremost of them, saying, u Sir, by your garb, and the colour of your horse, you should be one of those lam looking after; and if so, my business is to tell you, that you borrowed of two friends of mine forty pounds, which they desired me to demand of you, and which before we part you must restore." li How \" quoth the highwayman, " forty pounds ! D — n you, Sir, what is the fellow mad?" " So mad," replied Nevison, " as that your life shall answer me, if you do not give me better satis- faction." With that he drew his pistol, and suddenly claps it to his breast, who finding that Nevison had also his rein, and that he could not get his sword or pistols, he yielded, telling him his life was at his mercy." " No, (says Nevi- son), 'tis not that I seek for, but the money you robbed these two men of, who are riding up to me, which you must refund. The thief was forced to consent, and readily to deliver such part thereof as he The Life of William Nevison., 10 had, saying his companions had the rest : so that Nevison haying made him dismount, and taking away his pistols, which he gave to the countrymen, ordered them to to secure him, and hold his own, whilst he took the thief s horse, antl pursued the other two, whom he soon overtook; for they, thinking him their companion, stopt as soon as they saw him ; so that he overtook them in the midst of a common. Ci How now, Jack, (says one of them), what made you engage with yon fellow ? " No, gentlemen," replies Nevison, " you are mistaken in your man Thomas. By the token of the horse and arms, he hath sent me to you for the ransom of his life, which comes to no less than the prize of the day, which if you presently surrender, you may go about your business ; if not, I must have a little dispute with you at sword or pistol." At which one of them let fly at him ; but missing his aim, received Nevison's bullet into his right shoulder ; and being thereby dis- abled, Nevison being about to discharge at the other, he called for quarter, and came to parley, which, in short, was made up, with Nevison's promise to send their friend, on their delivering him all the ready money they had, which amounted to 150 pounds and silver. With this Nevison rode back to the countrymen, and released their prisoner, giving them their whole forty pounds, with a caution, for the future, to look better after it, and not like cow- ards, as they were, to surrender the same on such easy terms again. In all his pranks he was very favourable to the female sex, who generally gave him the character of a civil obliging robber. He was charitable also to the poor, by relieving them out of the spoils which he took from those that could better spare itj and being a true royalist, he never attempted any thing against that party. One time Nevison meeting with an old sequestrator on the road, he stop- ped the coach, and demanded some of that money which he had thiev- ishly extorted from poor widows and orphans, and ought to be returned. At which words the old man, in a fit of terror, and especially too when a pistol was clapped to his breast, began to expostulate for his life ; offering whatsoever he had about him for his ransom, which he readily deli- vered, to the value of 60 broad pieces of gold. But this not serving his turn, Nevison told him that he must come hence, and go with him, about some other affairs he had to concert with him, and beg leave of three young gen- tlewomenthat were also passengers in the coach with him, that they would spare one of the coach horses for an hour or two, which should certainly be returned that night for the next day's journey. So Nevison left them and took his prize with him on the postillion's horse, which he loosed from the coach, and carried him from them in a great fright, thinking he was now near his end. The gen- tlewomen pursued their journey; and about two hours after they were got to the inn, in comes the sequestrator on the postillion's horse, and gave a lamentable rela- tion how he had been used, and forced to sign a bill under his hand, of £500 for his redemption, payable by a scrivener in London on sight, which he doubted not but would be received before he could prevent the same ; and indeed h* did not doubt amiss, for Nevison made the best of his way all night and the next day by noon received the money, to the no small vexation of him that owned it. % About the year 1661, having one day got a considerable prize, to to The Life of William Nevison. the value of £450, from a rich country grazier, with this he resolved to sit down quietly, and go back to Pontefract, where he was most joyfully received by his father, who never hearing of him in his absence of seven or eight years, thought he had been really dead. He lived very honestly with his father till he died, and then returned to his old courses again, committing such robberies as rendered his name the terror of the road : insomuch, that no car- rier or drover passed the same, but was either forced to compound for their safety by a certain tax, which he usually received from them at such and such houses, where he appointed them to leave it, or they were sure to be rifled for the failure thereof. Committing some robberies in Leicestershire, he was there com- mitted to Leicester gaol, where he was so narrowly watched, and so strongly ironed, that he could scarcely stir: yet, by, a cunning stratagem, he procured his enlarge- ment before the assizes came. For one day feigning himself extremely ill, he sent for two or three trusty friends, one of which was a physician, who gave out that he was sick of a pestilential fever ; and that unless he had the benefit of soms open air, in some chamber, he would certainly infect the whole gaol, and die of the said distemper. Hereupon the gaoler took off his fetters, and removed him into another room, to lie by himself. In the mean time a nurse was provided him, and his physi- cians came twice or thrice a day to visit him, who gave out there was no hopes of his life, and that his distemper was extremely con- tiguous; on which report, the gaoler's wife wonld not let her husband, nor any of his servants, go nearer than the door ; which gave Nevison's confederates full liberty to practice their intent, which they did thus: A painter was one day brought in, who made all over his breast blue spots, re^ sembling those that are the fore- runners of death, in the disease commonly called the plague ; as likewise several marks onhis hands face, and body, which are usually onnsuch that so die ; all which being done, the physician prepared a dose, whereby his spirits were confined for the space of an hour or two, and then immediately gave out that he was dead. Hereupon! his friends demanded his body, bringing a coffin to carry him away in. The gaoler, as customary, ordered a jury, the nurse having formally laid him out, to examine the cause of his death, who fearing the contagion he was said to die of, staid not long toconsider there- on ; but having viewed him, seeing the spots and marks of death about him, his eves set, and his jaws close muffled, they brought in their verdict, that he died of the plague ; and thereupon he was put in the coffin, and carried off. Being thus discharged, he fell to his former trade again, and meeting several of his old tenants, the carriers, who had used to pay him his rents as aforesaid, told them they must advance the same, for that his last imprisonment had cost him a great sum of money, which he expected to be reimburs- ed among them. They being strangely surprised at the sight of Mr. Nevison, (after the reports of his death), reported about that his ghost walked, and took upon it the employment he was wont when living, which was confirmed by the gaoler at Leicester, who had brought in the verdict of the jury on oath, who had examined the body, and found it dead as above- mentioned ; whereby he had been discharged by the court, as to the warrant of his commitment. But The Life of William Nevison. 21 afterwards, when the same came to be known, and the cheat detect- ed, the said gaoler was ordered to fetch him in at his peril. Where- upon great search was made for him in all places, and a reward of twenty pounds set upon his head for any person that should appre- hend him. Nevison, after this, was deter- mined to visit London ; and the company he happened to farl into upon the road, was a crew of com- ing beggars, pilgrims of the eartn, the offspring of Cain, vagabonds, and wanderers over the whole world, fit companions for such as made a trade of idleness and roguery, and these were at this time fit companions for him, who seeing the merry life they led, re- solved to make one of their com- pany; whereupon, after he had a little more ingratiated himself amongst them, and taking two or three cups of rum booze, he im- parted his intentions to one of the chief of them, telling him he was an apprentice, who had a bad master, whose cruelties had caused him to run away from him ; and that whatever fortune might betide him, yet should not the most ne- cessitous condition he should be plunged into, ever make him return to him again ; and therefore if he might be admitted into their society, he would faithfully observe and perform what rules and orders were imposed on him. The chief beggar very much applauded him for his resolution, telling him, that to be a beggar was to be a brave man, since it was then in fashion. '• Do not we," said he, u come into the world like arrant beggars, without a rag upon us ? and do not we all go out of the v/orld like beggars, without any thing, saviug only an old sheet over us? shall we then be ashamed to walk up and down in the world like beg- gars, with old blankets pinned about us ? Are we afraid of the approach of quarter-day ? Do we walk in fear of bailiffs, Serjeants, and catch-poles ? Who ever knew an errant beggar arrested for debt ? Is not our meat drest in every man's kitchen ? Does not every man's cellar afford us beer ? And the best men's purses keep a penny for us to spend." Having by these words, as he thought, fully fixed him in the love of begging, he then acquainted the company with Nevison's desires, who were all of them very joyful thereat, being as glad to add one to their society, as a Turk is to gain a proselyte to Mahomet. The first question they asked him was, if he had any Loure in his Bung? He stared on them, not knowing what they meant ; till, at last, one told him it was money in his purse. He told them he had but eighteen pence, which he freely gave them. This by a general vote, was con- demned to be spent in booze for his initiation. Then they com- manded him to kneel down, which being done, one of the chief of them took a gage of booze, which is a quart of drink, and poured the same on his head, saying, " I do by virtue of this sovereign liquor, instal thee in the roage, and make thee a free denizon of our ragged regiment. So that henceforth it shall be lawful for thee to cant, and to carry a doxy or mort along with thee, only ob- serving these rules : First, that thou art not to wander up and down all counties, but to keep to that allotted to thee : And, second- ly, thou art to give way to any of us that have borne all the offices of the wallet before ; and upon holding up a finger, to avoid any town .or country village, where thou seest we are going for victu- als for our army that march along with us. Observing these two rulef , we take thee into our pro- SONG, TOMMY TOWERS and ABRA- HAM MUGGINS, Or the Yorkshire Horse Dealers. Hard by Clapham town end lived an old Yorkshire tyke, Who in dealing in horses had never his like ; 'Twas 'un pride that in all the hard bargains he'd hit, He'd bit a good many, but never got bit. Derry down, &e. This old Tommy Towers — by that name he was known, Had a carrion old tit that was sheer skin and bone, — To ha' killed for the dogs would ha* done quite as well, But 'was Tommy's opinion he'd j^ K die of himsel'. Derry down, &c. Well, one Abraham Muggins, a neighbouring cheat, Thought to diddle old Tommy would be a great treat ; He'd a horse that was better than Tommy's — for why? The night afore that he thought proper to die. Derry down, &c. Thinks Abraham,— the old codger will ne'er smoke the trick, So I'll swop wi' him my dead horse for his wick ; And if Tommy Towers .1 should happen to trap ) 'Twill be a fine feather 'in Abra- ham's cap. Derry down, &c. So to Tommy he goes, and the question he pops, — " Between my horse and thine. prithee, Tommy, what swaps ? What will give me to boot ? for mine's better horse still." — " Nought," says Tommy ; " but i'll swop e'en hands if you will/ Derry down, &c. Abraham preached a long time about summat to boot, Insisting that his un's the livelier brute ; But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, Till, at last, he shook hands, and cried, " Well, Tommy, done.'' Derry down, &c. "Oh, Tommy," said Abraham, " I'ze soorry for thee ; I thought thou had'st hadden more white in thine ee ; Good luck wi' thy bargain, for my horse is dead." Said Tommy— " My lad, so is mine, and he's flead." Derry down, &c. So Tom got the best of the bargain, avast, And came off in a YorksMreman's triumph at last ; — For though 'twixt dead horses there's not much to choose, Yet Tommy were th' richer by the hide and four shoes ! Derry down, &c. FINIS SPECIMENS OF THE rikshire Dialect, BY WAY OF DIALOGUE, CONTAINING % SSialogue BETWEEN JULWELL, * LQjKDON REGISTER OFFICE KEEPER AND Margery Moorpoot, a CowUry Girl, DAISY, AN ECLOGUBy A COCK AND BULLPSTORY, H1REING, THE BELLMAN OF RIPON, The Yorkthir* Tyh* t £* To wMcb is added AND TH« of William Nevison. .LANDO HODGSON, Maiden Lane, Cheap side* 1 W8. _Lo/?s/r/s->?'/+/ //',> A 's/fy tf '.T&jfyf/w Ufa :^BmB /a tJt f/ y ffta ny ?/ny • /&*& <=^r c<" „C< c ice ^ — c c c> — tr-'-c -- .y^*r — *'. * L \BRA* Y OF CONGRESS g85" 80 022 9