DIALECT POEM
Ye’ve worried yorsel til yi can’t
Keep yor mits from yor mooth,
Yor eyes hev grown dark
Wiv lang leukkin’ oot,
Ye’ll fidget an’ fret, little feul
Till yor pale as a cloot –
Can’t yi trust us a bit?
He shud ha’ cum sooner, he’ll not
Cum noo like whaat he said;
He’s got a new fancy,
Some babe he deceives.
Aa’ll nivvor forgive ‘im his lies
As lang as Aa lives –
Ah! hadd on a minute!
Aa’m cumin’ an’ Aa got mi fare
An’ a bit mair te tyek
Ye aboot, an’ dee us a show
Ye nivver wud like me te cum
Hyme broke, well ye know –
Ye’d leuk doon at that.
Mebbe a week or two mair,
An’ then mi fedggetty lass,
Aa’ll cum an’ tumble ye
Tight in me arms.
An’ howld ye theor haard.
Till ye can’t get yor breeth
An’ yor eyes leuk up dancin’
An’ yi sweaor it’s yor deeth
Te hev such a lad.
Jack Common 1903 – 1968
