Th'Owd Verses've T'Dales

(Translation: Traditional Poetry of Yorkshire)

Dean't mak gam o' me

Florence Tweddell

I went last week to Stowslay Fair,
My sweetheart for to see;
She promis'd she would meet me there-
Bud dean't mak gam o' me:
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I rigg'd misel' all i' my best,
As fine as fine could be;
An' little thowt how things would to'n;
Bud dean't mak gam o' me:
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I walk'd to t' toon, an' bowt a cane,
To cut a dash, ye see;
An' how I swagger'd up an' doon!
Bud dean't mak gam o' me:
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I thowt, if nobbut Poll would come,
How happy we sud be!
I'd treat her into t' penny show,
Bud dean't mak gam o' me :
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

At last I saw her coomin' in;
Bud what else did I see?
Jack Hodge was walkin' biv her saade!
Bud dean't mak gam o' me:
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

Stright up I went, an' "Poll!" says I,
"I's waiting, lass, for thee!"
"Then thoo mun wait!" was all she said,
Bud dean't mak gam o' me:
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

She teak Jack's airm, an' there I stead
Quite flabbergash'd, ye see:
I thowt I sud hav dropt to t' grund,
Bud dean't mak gam o' me:
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

Poor Nancy Green com seaglin' up,
"What's matter, Dick?" says she:
"Jack Hodge is off wi' Poll!" says I,
Bud dean't mak gam o' me:
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

"Why, niver maand her; let her gan ;
She's better gean!" said she:
Bud I thowt nut; an' then I cried,
Bud dean't mak gam o' me :
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!

I's nobbut a poor country lad
At's lost my heart, ye see:
I'll gan nea mair to t' Pomesun Fair,
Sea dean't mak gam o' me :
Oh, dean't mak gam o' me!