Th'Owd Verses've T'Dales

(Translation: Traditional Poetry of Yorkshire)

Then an' Nae

E. A. Lodge

When I were but a striplin'
An' bare a scoor year owd,
I thowt I'd gotten brains enew
To fill all t' yeds i' t' fowd.

I used to roor wi' laffin'
At t' sharpness o' my wit,
An' a joke I made one Kersmiss
Threw my nuncle in a fit.

I used to think my mother
Were a hundred year behund;
An' my father--well, my father
Nobbut fourteen aence to t' pund.

An' I often turned it ovver,
But I ne'er could fairly see
Yaeiver sich owd cronies
Could hae bred a chap like me.

An' whene'er they went to t' market,
I put my fillin's in;
Whol my father used to stop me
Wi' "Prithee, hold thy din.

"Does ta think we're nobbut childer,
Wi' as little sense as thee?
When thy advice is wanted,
We'st axe thee, does ta see."

But they gate it, wilta, shalta,
An' I did my levil best
To change their flee-blown notions,
Whol their yeds were laid to t' west.

This happened thirty year sin;
Nae I've childer o' my own,
At's gotten t' cheek to tell me
At I'm a bit flee-blown.