Th'Owd Verses've T'Dales

(Translation: Traditional Poetry of Yorkshire)

   

I Niver can call Her my Wife

Ben Preston (1819-1902)

I'm a weyver, ye knaw, an' awf deead,
So I do all at iver I can
To put away aat o' my heead
The thowts an' the aims of a man.
Eight shillin' i' t'wick's what I arn,
When I've varry gooid wark an' full time,
An' I think it's a sorry consarn
For a fella at's just in his prime.

Bud aar maister says things is as weel
As they have been or iver can be,
An' I happen sud think so misel
If he'd nobbud swop places wi' me.
Bud he's welcome ta all he can get,
I begrudge him o' noan of his brass,
An' I'm nowt bud a madlin to fret,
Or to think o' yon beautiful lass.

I niver can call her my wife,
My love I sal niver mak knawn,
Yit the sarra that darkens her life
Thraws its shadda across o' my awn.
When I knaw at her heart is at eease,
Theer is sunshine an' singin' i' mine;
An' misfortunes may come as they pleease,
Yit they seldom can mak me repine.

Bud that Chartist wor nowt bud a slope
I were fooild by his speeches an' rhymes,
For his promises wattered my hope,
An' I leng'd for his sunshiny times;
Bud I feel at my dearest desire
Within me 'll wither away;
Like an ivy-stem trailin' i' t' mire,
It's deein for t' want of a stay.

When I laid i' my bed day an' neet,
An' were geen up by t' doctors for deead,
God bless her! shoo'd coom wi' a leet
An' a basin o' grewil an' breead.
An' I once thowt I'd aat wi' it all,
Bud so kindly shoo chatted an' smiled,
I were fain to turn ovver to t' wall,
An' to bluther an' roar like a child.

An' I said, as I thowt of her een,
Each breeter for t' tear at were in 't,
It's a sin to be niver forgeen,
To yoke her to famine an' stint;
So I'll e'en travel forrad throo life,
Like a man throo a desert unknawn;
I mun ne'er have a home nor a wife,
Bud my sorras 'll all be my awn.

So I trudge on alone as I owt,
An' whativer my troubles may be,
They'll be sweetened, poor lass, wi' the thowt
At I've niver browt trouble to thee.
Yit a bird has its young uns to guard,
A wild beast a mate in his den,
An' I cannot bud think at it's hard­
Nay, deng it, I'm roarin' agen!

 

An Honest Yorkshireman
Henry Carey

When At Hame Wi' Dad
Anon

I'm Yorkshire Too
Anon

The Wensleydale Lad
Anon
A Song
Thomas Browne
A Song (2)
Thomas Browne
Death of a Frog
David Lewis
Sheffield Cutler's Song
Abel Byewater
Adress to Poverty
Anon
The Collingham Ghost
Anon
Yorkshire Horse Dealers
Anon
The Lucky Dream
John Castillo
The Milkin' Time
J. H. Dixon
Come to Thy Gronny Doy
Ben Preston
Owd Moxy
Ben Preston
Dean't Mak Gam O'Me
Florence Tweddell
Coom Stap At Yam Toneet Bob
Florence Tweddell
Ode To T'Mooin
J. H. Eccles
Aunt Nancy
J. H. Eccles
My Awd Hat
Thomas Blackah
Reeth Bartle Fair
John Harland
The Christmas Party
Tom Twistleton
Nelly o' Bob's
John Hartley
Bite Bigger
John Hartley
Rollickin' Jack
John Hartley
Jim's Letter
James Burnley
To A Schoolmaster
George Lancaster
The Window On The Cliff Top
W. H. Oxley
Aar Maggie
Edmund Oxlet
Pason Drew Thro' Pudsey
John Hartley
Pateley Reaces
Anon
Play Cricket
Ben Turner
The File Cutter's Lament To Liberty
E. Downing
A Kuss
John Malham-Dembleby
Huntin' Song
Richard Blakeborough
Spring
F. J. Newboult
Heam, Sweet Heam
A. C. Watson
Then An' Nae
E. A. Lodge
Owd England
Walter Hampson
Love And pie
J. A. Carill
Cleveland Lyke-wake Dirge
anon
A Dree Neet
Anon
The Bridal Bands
Anon
A bridal Garter
Anon


 
       

Old Carthage

Caroline Norton

Problems Page

The Dream

Early Poetry

Babbling Geek

Fairy Poetry

Victorian Poetry

Fables

Love Poems

A Book Of Rhyme

The Traveller

UK Matchmaker

Blanche Lisle

Love lost

Sonnets

A Woman Sold

Lota

I Cannot Love Thee

The Deserted Village

UK singlesclub