A song I sing o' t' Yorkshire dales, That winnd frae t' moors to t' sea; Frae t' breast o' t' fells, wheer t' cloud-rack sails, Their becks flow merrily. Their banks are breet wi' moss an' broom,...
Lang-haired gauvies(1) coom my way, drawin' t' owd abbey an' brig, All their crack is o' Art-staities an' picturs an' paints; Want to put me on their canvas, donned i' my farmer's rig,...
Why! Bobbie, so thou's coom agean! I'm fain to see thee here; It's lang sin I've set een on thee, It's ommost hauf a yeer. What's that thou says? Thou's taen a wife An' raised a family....
The miller by the shore am I, A man o' despert sense; I've fotty different soorts o' ways O' addlin' honest pence. Good wheat and wuts and barley-corns My mill grinds all t' day lang ;...