| |
| THA ’rt welcome, little bonny brid, | |
| But should n’t ha’ come just when tha did; | |
| Toimes are bad. | |
| We ’re short o’ pobbies for eawr Joe, | |
| But that, of course, tha did n’t know, | 5 |
| Did ta, lad? | |
| |
| Aw ’ve often yeard mi feyther tell, | |
| ’At when aw coom i’ th’ world misel | |
| Trade wur slack; | |
| An’ neaw it ’s hard wark pooin’ throo— | 10 |
| But aw munno fear thee; iv aw do | |
| Tha ’ll go back. | |
| |
| Cheer up! these toimes ’ull awter soon; | |
| Aw ’m beawn to beigh another spoon— | |
| One for thee; | 15 |
| An’ as tha ’s sich a pratty face, | |
| Aw ’ll let thee have eawr Charley’s place | |
| On mi knee. | |
| |
| God bless thee, love, aw ’m fain tha ’rt come, | |
| Just try an’ mak thisel awhoam: | 20 |
| What ar ’t co’d? | |
| Tha ’rt loike thi mother to a tee, | |
| But tha ’s thi feyther’s nose, aw see, | |
| Well, aw ’m blow’d! | |
| |
| Come, come, tha need n’t look so shy, | 25 |
| Aw am no’ blackin’ thee, not I; | |
| Settle deawn, | |
| An’ tak this haup’ney for thisel’, | |
| There ’s lots o’ sugar-sticks to sell | |
| Deawn i’ th’ teawn. | 30 |
| |
| Aw know when furst aw coom to th’ leet | |
| Aw ’re fond o’ owt ’at tasted sweet; | |
| Tha ’ll be th’ same. | |
| But come, tha ’s never towd thi dad | |
| What he ’s to co thi yet, mi lad— | 35 |
| What ’s thi name? | |
| |
| Hush! hush! tha munno cry this way, | |
| But get this sope o’ cinder tay | |
| While it ’s warm; | |
| Mi mother us’d to give it me, | 40 |
| When aw wur sich a lad as thee, | |
| In her arm. | |
| |
| Hush a babby, hush a bee— | |
| Oh, what a temper! dear a-me, | |
| Heaw tha skroikes! | 45 |
| Here ’s a bit o’ sugar, sithee; | |
| Howd thi noise, an’ then aw ’ll gie thee | |
| Owt tha loikes. | |
| |
| We ’n nobbut getten coarsish fare, | |
| But eawt o’ this tha ’st ha’ thi share, | 50 |
| Never fear. | |
| Aw hope tha ’ll never want a meel, | |
| But allus fill thi bally weel | |
| While tha ’rt here. | |
| |
| Thi feyther ’s noan bin wed so long, | 55 |
| An’ yet tha sees he ’s middlin’ throng | |
| Wi’ yo’ o: | |
| Besides thi little brother, Ted, | |
| We ’n one up-steers, asleep i’ bed | |
| Wi’ eawr Joe. | 60 |
| |
| But though we ’n childer two or three, | |
| We ’ll make’ a bit o’ reawm for thee— | |
| Bless thee, lad! | |
| Tha ’rt th’ prattiest brid we han i’ th’ nest; | |
| Come, hutch up closer to mi breast— | 65 |
| Aw ’m thi dad. | |
| |
