Eawt o’ Wark.
I.
BROTHER JIM,
It’s bo sad news aw send,
An’ aw dun know heaw t’ write it, aw’m sure,
For to tell folk o’ one’s own disthress
Con be no pleasant task for the poor
Bo eawr mesther has lockt up his mill,
An’ beawt wark, thae knows weel, there’s no brass,
An beawt brass there’s no mayt, so thae sees
Ut we’n getten far on i’ this pass.
II.
We con get nowt fro’ th’ shopkeepers neaw;
They con thrust us no mooar abeawt here;
Bo they’n done very weel oppo’ th’ whul,
While this wark’s bin so awkward and queer:
For they stoode eawt as long as they could,
To help o’ ut ud pay, or ud thry;
An’ o’ thoose folk ut couldno, they fun
It wur dhreadful hard wark to deny.
III.
Thae con think o’ what faces ther wur,
When he fust put up th’ notice to stop;
Childer laugh’d, feythers soikt, mothers wept,
An’ ther sich heavy hearts thro’ o’ th’ shop.
Me an’ th’ wife, when aw geet whoam at neet,
Had to talk it o’ o’er, un hoo said,
Ut if th’ wust coom to th’ wust we should then
Ha for t’ turn some o’ th’ oddments to bread.
IV.
Well, eawr faily Bible, wi th’ clasps,
An’ mi gronfeyther’s name in, we’n sowd,
An’ mi gronmother’s pray’r-book, ut wur
O’er a hundred an’ forty yer owd;
An’ that owd oaken dhresser’s gone too,
Wi’ thoose fine, fancy carvins o’ th’ feet;
Eh! it’s dhreadful wark sthrippin’ one’s whoam,
An’ it’s heartwringin’ too, mon, to see’t.
V.
Neaw we’n not a red cindher i’ th’ grate,
An’ o’th’ childher gone hungry to bed;
To their sthraw, for their beds han bin sowd,
An’ their blankets, too, bless thee, for bread.
Heaw aw hush-a-be-bo’d little Bob,
An’ his mother, eh! Lord! heaw hoo soikt,
Wi’ great tears runnin’ wot deawn her face,
As eawr little thing yammer an’ skroikt.
VI.
Aw’ve bin us’d to walk th’ wuld badly shod,
When ther lots o’ sharp stones uppo th’ greawnd;
Aw known neaw what it is to want bread
Wi mi little brids o’ gapin’ reawnd;
Wi ‘em gapin an’ chirrupin’ too,
Wi a chirrup ut winno be still:-
It’s a vast ugly fix to be in,
Th’ cubbert empty an’ ballies to fill.
VII.
Som’dy sent Will an ar’nt th’ tother day,
An’ they gan him a cake to bring whoam;
So he shar’d eawt wi Nanny an’ Bob,
An’ a bit he put bye for eawr Tom;
An’ their mother an’ me while they eete,
Stoode an’ watcht, an’ so fed second-hond;
Niblin’ close enoof this side o’ th’ grave,
Let us hope for good pasther beyond.
VIII.
When they’d eaten their meawthful apiece,
They’d a notion o’ mankin’ a bit;
Bo then Famine ud mate noan wi Fun,
An’ they couldno mak grim Sorrow t’ flit;
So they keaw’rt em deawn uppo th’ floore,
An’ they talkt abeawt th’ stoppin’ o’ th’ mill;
An’ they towd o’er their sthring o’ complaints,
As ther’s childher o’ergrown sometoimes will.
IX.
If ther wur bo some wark for his dad,
An’ his mam ud keep th’ things Will could do;
For his velveteen breeches hoo’d sowd,
An’ his jacket, his cap, an’ shoon, too.
Little Nanny chim’d in wi him here,-
“Aye, an’ my pratty frock’s gone an’ o’,
An’ mi boots, an’ white stockins, an’ cape,
An’ mi bonnet, an’ noice paleto.”
IX (sic) .
An’ o’ thattens their little tongues ran;
Bo sich prattlin’ o’ went agen th’ grain;
When misfortins are bad o’thirsels,
Frettin’ childher ull lessen no pain.
Heaw we look back to th’ past wi regret,
Wi a present so bleak an’ so dhrear;
An’ a future so dhreadfully blank,
Ut Hope’s deein while sthronger grows Fear.
X.
Aw wur wadin’ lip deep i’ disthress,
Mi wife wastin’ wi clemmin’ an’ care;
O’ mi childer kept cravin’ for bread,
An’ mi sorrows geet hardher to bear.
For eawr sperits wur quite brocken deawn,
An’ o’ gone wur eawr family pride;
An’ we’d plann’d, an’ we’d schem’d, an’ we’d clem’d,
An’ we’d no honest shift left unthried.
XI.
We could still gwo to th’ board, an’ aw went, -
Towd mi tale wi’ great tears i’ mi een, -
“Yo’n a very hard case, John, they said,
Welly th’ hardest we’n yet ever seen;
Bo this awful condition o’ things,
An’ th’ wur state ut we’re fast comin’ to,
Maks admittance to th’ ‘Heawse’ John, for yo,
Abeawt th’ very best thing we con do.”
XII.
Theer aw stoode, an’ kept starin’ a whoile;
Aw wur gloppent wi’ th’ sentence they’d pass’d;
An’ mi heart leapt fair up int’ mi throat,
Till aw broke eawt a skroikin’ at last.
For aw know’d heaw aw’d powlart an’ teighlt,
An’ aw’d done o ut e’er a mon could;
Hopin’ t’keep mi boat swimmin’ thro’ th’ storm,
An’ aw neaw felt it sinkin’ i th’ flood.
XIII.
Any mon wi’ a good lovin’ woife,
An’ wi’ childher o prattlin’ abeawt;
Wi’ a whoam, when ther’s wark, loike a heaven,
He may partly mi feelin’s mak eawt.
Aw’ve bin strugglin’ up th’ hill o mi loife,
An’ did hope better days aw should see;
But aw’st stick to mi whoam tho’ it’s bare.
For a bastille is no place for me.
XIV.
So we’n nowt for it neaw bo clem on,
For aw darno tell this tale to th’ woife;
To their own, folk ull cling i’ disthress,
It’s so hard to be parted i’ loife.
Thea mun just fling a thowt neaw an’ then,
O’er to us ut’s sich reason t’ be sad;
An’ thea’ll bear mi good wishes o reawnd,
To thi woife an’ thi lasses an’ lad.