Posted by Junius on January 09, 2005
In Reply to: And the rest? posted by Word Camel on January 09, 2005
A Yorkshire Dialogue between an Aud Wife a Lass and a butcher.
Pretha now, lass, gang into t' hurn
An' fetch me heame a skeel o' burn;
Na, pretha, barn, mak heaste an' gang,
I's mar my deagh, thou stays sae lang.
Why, Gom, I's gea, bud, for my pains,
You's gie me a frundel o' your grains.
My grains, my barn! Marry! not I;
My draugh's for t' gilts an' galts i' t' sty.
Than, pretha, look I t' garth and see
What owsen i' the stand-hecks be.
Blukrins! they'll put, I dare not gang
Oute'en you'll len' me t' great leap-stang.
Tak t' frugan, or t' awd maulin-shaft,
Coom tite agean an' be not daft.
Gom, t' great bull-segg he's brokken lowse,
An' he, he's hiked your broad-horned owse;
An' t' owse is fall'n into t' swine-trough,
I think he's brokken his cameril-hough.
Whaw! Whaw! lass, mak heaste to t' smedy,
He's noo dead, for he rowts already;
He's boun; oh! how it bauks an' stangs!
His lisk e'en bumps an' bobs wi' pangs.
His weazen-pipe's as dry as dust,
His dew-lap's swelled, he cannot hoast.
He beals; tak t' barghams off o' t' beams
An' fetch some breckons frae the clames.
Frae t' banks go fetch me a weam-tow
My nowt's e'en wrecken'd, he'll not dow.
E'en wellanerin! for my nowt,
For syke a musan ne'er was wrowt.
Put t' wyes amell yon stirks an' steers
I' t' owmer, an' sneck the lear-deers.
See if Goff Hyldroth be gain-hand
Thou helterful, how dares ta stand!
He'll coom belive, or aibles titter,
For when he hard i' what a twitter
Your poor owse lay, he took his flail
An' hang'd 't by t' swipple on a nail;
An' teuk a mell fra t' top o' t' wharns
An' sware he'd ding your owse i' t' harns.
He stack his shak-fork up i' t' esins
An' teuk his jerkin off o' t' gresins.
Then teuk his mittens, reached his bill,
An' off o' t' yune-head teuk a swill
To kep t' owse blude in. Leuk, he's coom.
Than reach a thivel or a strum
To stir his blude; stand not to tauk.
Hing t' reckans up o' t' rannel-bauk.
God ye good-morn, Goff; I's e'en fain
You'll put my owse out o' his pain.
Hough-band him, tak thir weevils hine
F'rae t' rape's end; this is not a swine
We kill, where ilkane hauds a fooit.
I's ready now, ilkane leuk to it.
Then "Beef!" i' God's name I now cry.
Stretch out his legs an' let him lie
Till I coom stick him. Where's my swill?
Coom hither, lass; haud, haud, haud still.
What mun I do wi' t' blude?
Thou fool, Teem 't down i' t' garth, i' t' midden-pool.
Good beef, by t' mass! an' when 'tis hung
I's roll it down wi' tooth an' tongue,
An' gobble 't down e'en till I worry.
An' whan neist mell we mak a lurry
A piece o' this frae t' kimlin browt
By t' Rood! 't will be as good as owt.
Maut-hearted fool, I e'en could greet
To see my owse dead at my feet.
I thank you, Goff; I's wipe my een
An', please, you too.
Why, Gom Green?
2. Bucket of water.
7. Sows and boars.
14. Handle of oven-mop.
18. Bend of hind-leg.
21. Swells and stings.
38. Near at hand.
41. Perhaps sooner.
42. Perilous state.
53. Iron chains for pot-hooks.
54. Chimney cross-beam.
59. Next harvest-supper.
60. Merry feast.