| |
| OWD PINDER were a rackless foo, | |
| An’ spent his days i’ spreein’; | |
| At th’ end ov every drinkin’-do, | |
| He ’re sure to crack o’ deein’; | |
| “Go, sell my rags, an’ sell my shoon; | 5 |
| Aw ’s never live to trail ’em; | |
| My ballis-pipes are eawt o’ tune, | |
| An’ th’ wynt begins to fail ’em! | |
| |
| “Eawr Matty ’s very fresh an’ yung; | |
| ’T would ony mon bewilder; | 10 |
| Hoo ’ll wed again afore it ’s lung, | |
| For th’ lass is fond o’ childer; | |
| My bit o’ brass ’ll fly,—yo ’n see,— | |
| When th’ coffin-lid has screen’d me; | |
| It gwos again my pluck to dee, | 15 |
| An’ lev her wick beheend me. | |
| |
| “Come, Matty, come, an’ cool my yed, | |
| Aw ’m finish’d, to my thinkin’;” | |
| Hoo happ’d him nicely up, an’ said,— | |
| “Thae ’s brought it on wi’ drinkin’!” | 20 |
| “Nay, nay,” said he, “my fuddle ’s done; | |
| We ’re partin’ t’ one fro’ t’ other; | |
| So, promise me that when a ’m gwon, | |
| Thea ’ll never wed another!” | |
| |
| “Th’ owd tale,” said hoo, an’ laft her stoo, | 25 |
| “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’; | 30 |
| An’ iv that ’s o’ thae wants wi’ me, | |
| Get forrud wi’ thi deein!” | |
| |
| He scrat his yed, he rubb’d his e’e, | |
| An’ then he donn’d his breeches; | |
| “Eawr Matty gets as fause,” said he, | 35 |
| “As one o’ Pendle witches; | |
| In ever aw ’m to muster wit, | |
| It mun be now or never; | |
| Aw think aw ’ll try to live a bit; | |
| It would n’t do to lev her!” | 40 |
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