“Th’ owd tale,” said hoo, an’ laft her stoo, “It’s rayley past believin’; Thee think o’th’ world thea’rt goin’ to, An’ leave this world to th’ livin’; What use to me can deead folk be? Thae’s kilt thisel’ wi’ spreein’; An’ iv that’s o’ thae wants wi’ me, Get forrud wi’ thi deein’!” He scrat his yed, he rubbed his e’e, An’ then he donned his breeches; “Eawr Matty gets as fause,” said he, “As one o’ Pendle witches; Iv ever aw’m to muster wit, It mun be now or never; Aw think aw’ll try to live a bit; It wouldn’t do to lev her!” [Illustration] COME, JAMIE, LET’S UNDO THI SHOON. Come, Jamie, let’s undo thi shoon, An’ don summat dry o’ thi feet; Wi’ toilin’ i’th sheaw’r up an’ deawn; Aw’m fleyed at thi stockins are weet; An’, here, wi’ my yung uns i’th neest, Aw bin heark’nin’ th’ patter o’th’ rain, An’ longin’ for th’ wanderin’ brid, To comfort my spirits again. To-day, when it pelted at th’ height, “Aw’ll ston it no longer,” said I; An’, rayley, it didn’t look reet To keawer under cover so dry; So, though it were rainin’ like mad, Aw thought—for my heart gav’ a swell,— “Come deawn asto will, but yon lad Shall not have it o’ to hissel’!” So, whippin’ my bucket i’th rain, Aw ga’ th’ bits o’ windows a swill; An’, though aw geet drenched to my skin, Aw’re better content wi’ mysel’; But, theaw stons theer smilin’ o’th floor, Like a sun-fleawer drippin’ wi’ weet; Eh, Jamie, theaw knowsn’t, aw’m sure, Heaw fain aw’m to see tho to-neet! Why lass; what’s a sheawer to me? Wi’ plenty o’ sun in his breast, One’s wark keeps one hearty an’ free, An’ gi’s one a relish for rest; Aw’m noan made o’ sugar nor saut, That melts wi’ a steepin’ o’ rain; An’, as for my jacket,—it’s nought,— Aw’ll dry it by th’ leet o’ thi e’en! So, sit tho deawn close by my side,— Aw’m full as a cricket wi’ glee; Aw’m trouble’t wi’ nothin’ but pride, An’ o’ on it owin’ to thee; Theaw trim little pattern for wives;— Come, give a poor body a kiss! Aw wish every storm ov e’r lives May end up as nicely as this! [Illustration] TH’ GOBLIN PARSON. Th’ wynt wur still i’th shade o’th hill, An’ stars began o’ glowin’ I’th’ fadin’ leet, one summer neet, When th’ dew wur softly foin’; Wi’ weary shanks, by primrose banks, Where rindlin’ weet wur shinin’, Aw whistle’t careless, wanderin’ slow Toward my cot inclinin’. Through th’ woodlan’ green aw tooted keen, For th’ little window winkin’;— Th’ stars may shine, they’re noan as fine As Matty’s candle blinkin’; O’er th’ rosy hedge aw went to th’ ridge O’th lonesome-shaded plantin’, To get another blink o’ th’ leet That set my heart a-pantin’.