Eh! Sam, whatever doesto meeon;
Aw see thae’rt theer i’th nook again;
Where aw’ve a gill thae’s nine or ten:
Thae mun have heir’t a fortin!
Aw wonder heaw a mon can sit
An’ waste his bit o’ wage an’ wit:
If aw’re thi wife aw’d make tho flit,
Wi’ little time to start in.
But, houd; yor Margate’s up i’th teawn;
Aw yerd her ax for thee at th’ Crown;
An’, just meet neaw, aw scampers deawn;-
It’s true as aught i’th Bible!
Thae knows yor Margit weel ov owd;
Her tung-it makes mo fair go cowd
Sin’ th’ day hoo broke my nose i’th fowd
Wi’ th’ edge o’th porritch thible.
It’s ten to one hoo’ll co’ in here,
An’ poo tho deawt o’th corner cheer;
So, sit fur back, where th’ runnin’s clear;
Aw’ll keep my e’en o’th window;
Thae’m mind to hits, an’ when aw sheawt
Be limber-legged, an’ lammas eawt;
An’-though hoo’ll not believe, aw deawt,
Aw’ll swear aw never sin tho.
Aw’ll bite my tung aw will, bith mon,
An’ plug my ears up till hoo’s gwon;
A grooin’ tree could hardly ston
A savage woman flytin’;
Iv folk were nobbut o’ i’th mind
To make their bits o’ booses kind,
There’d be less wanderin’ eawt to find
A corner to be quiet in.
It’s nearly three o’clock bith chime:
This ale o’ Jem’s is very prime;
Aw’ll keawer mo deawn till baggin-time,
An’ have a reech o’ bacco;
Aw guess thae’s yerd ‘at Clinker lad
An’ Liltin’ Jenny’s getten wed;
An’ Collop’s gooin wrang i’th yed,-
But that’s not mich to crack o’.
There’s news that chaps ‘at wore a creawn,
Are gettin’ powler’t up an’ deawn,
They’re puncin’ ’em fro teawn to teawn,
Like foot-bo’s in a pastur;
Yon Garibaldi’s gan ’em silk;
Th’ owd lad, he’s fairly made ’em swilk;
An’ neaw, they sen he’s sellin’ milk
To raise new clooas for Ayster.
There’s some are creepin’ eawt o’th slutch,
An’ some are gettin’ deawn i’th doitch;
Bith mon, aw never yerd o’ sich
A world for change o’ fortin!
They’re gooin’ groanin’ eawt o’th seet,
They’re comin’ cryin’ into th’ seet;
But howd! aw yerd last Monday neet
A tale abeawt a cwortin’.
Poo up! aw’ll tell it iv aw con;-
Thae knows that bow-legged railway mon?-
But, heigh, owd lad! yor Margit’s yon,-
Hoo’s comin’ like a racer!-
Some foo’ has put her upo’ th’ track;
Cut, Sam; hoo’ll have us in a crack!
Aw said hoo’d come-let’s run eawt th’ back;
Bith’ mass, aw dar not face her!
(Edwin Waugh)
More Poetry from Edwin Waugh:
Edwin Waugh Poems based on Topics: Time, World, Nature, Belief & Faith, Wit- Th' Goblin Parson (Edwin Waugh Poems)
- Gentle Jone (Edwin Waugh Poems)
- Yesterneet (Edwin Waugh Poems)
- Neet-Fo' -- Nightfall (Edwin Waugh Poems)
- Eawr Folk (Edwin Waugh Poems)
- Bonny Nan (Edwin Waugh Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: World Poems, Time Poems, Nature Poems, Belief & Faith Poems, Wit PoemsBased on Keywords: getten, seet, upo, garibaldi, heigh, cryin, creepin, sen, foo, mich, racer