1
Milk for my sweet-arts, Bess! fur it mun be the time about now
When dolly cooms in fro' the far-end close wi' her pa'ils fro' the cow.
Eh! tha be new to the pla'ce'thou'rt ga'pin''doesn't tha see
I calls 'em arter the fellers es once was sweet upo' me?
II
Na'y to be sewer it be past 'er time. What ma'kes 'er sa la'te?
Goa to the la'ne at the back, an' loo'k thruf Maddison's ga'te!
III
Sweet-arts! Molly belike may 'a lighted to-night upo' one.
Sweet-arts! thanks to the Lord that I niver not listen'd to no'n!
So I sits i' my o'n armchair wi' my o'n kettle theere o' the hob,
An' Tommy the fust, an' Tommy the second, an' Steevie an' Rob.
IV
Rob, coom cop 'ere o' my knee. Thou sees that i' spite o' the men
I 'a kep' thruf thick an' thin my two 'oonderd a-year to mysen;
Yis! thaw tha call'd me es pretty es ony lass i' the Shere;
An' thou be es pretty a Tabby, but Robby I seed thruf ya theere.
V
Feyther 'ud sa'y I wur ugly es sin, an' I be'nt not va'in,
But I niver wur downright hugly, thaw soom 'ud 'a thowt ma pla'in,
An' I wasn't sa pla'in i' pink ribbons, ye said I wur pretty i' pinks,
An' I liked to 'ear it I did, but I brunt sich a fool as ye thinks;
Ye was stro'kin ma down wi' the 'air, as I be a-stro'kin o' you,
But whiniver I loo'ked i' the glass I wur sewer that it couldn't be true;
Niver wur pretty, not I, but ye knaw'd it wur pleasant to 'ear,
Thaw it warn't not me es wur pretty, but my two 'oonderd a-year.
VI
D'ya mind the murnin' when we was a-walkin' togither, an' stood
By the cla'y'd-oop pond, that the foalk be sa scared at, i' Gigglesby wood,
Wheer the poor wench drowndid hersen, black Sal, es'ed been disgra'ced?
An' I feel'd thy arm es I stood wur a-cree'pin about my wa'ist;
An' me es wur allus afear'd of a man's gittin' over fond,
I sidled awa'y an' awa'y till I plumpt foot fust i' the pond;
And, Robby, I niver 'a liked tha sa well, as I did that da'y,
Fur tha joompt in thysen, an' tha hoickt my feet wi' a flop fro' the cla'y.
Ay, stick oop thy back, an' set oop thy ta'il, tha may gie ma a kiss,
Fur I walk'd wi' tha all the way hoam an' wur niver sa nigh sa'yin' Yis.
But wa boath was i' sich a clat we was sha'med to cross Gigglesby Gree'n,
Fur a cat may loo'k at a king thou knaws but the cat mun be clean.
Sa we bo'th on us kep out o' sight o' the winders o' Gigglesby Hinn'
Na'y, but the claws o' tha! quiet! they pricks clean thruf to the skin'
An' wa bo'th slinkt 'o'm by the brokken shed i' the la'ne at the back,
Wheer the poodle runn'd at tha once, an' thou runn'd oop o' the thack;
An' tha squeedg'd my 'and i' the shed, fur theere we was forced to 'ide,
Fur I seed that Steevie wur coomin', and one o' the Tommies beside.
VII
Theere now, what art 'a mewin at, Steevie? for owt I can tell'
Robby wur fust to be sewer, or I mowt 'a liked tha as well.
VIII
But, Robby, I thowt o' tha all the while I wur cha'ngin' my gown,
An' I thowt shall I cha'nge my sta'te? but, O Lord, upo' coomin' down'
My bran-new carpet es fresh es a midder o' flowers i' Ma'y'
Why 'edn't tha wiped thy shoes? it wur clatted all ower wi' cla'y.
An' I could 'a cried ammost, fur I seed that it couldn't be,
An' Robby I gied tha a ra'tin that sattled thy coortin o' me.
An' Molly an' me was agreed, as we was a-cleanin' the floor,
That a man be a durty thing an' a trouble an' plague wi' indoor.
But I rued it arter a bit, fur I stuck to tha moor na the rest,
But I couldn't 'a lived wi' a man an' I knaws it be all fur the best.
IX
Na'y'let ma stro'k tha down till I ma'kes tha es smooth es silk,
But if I 'ed married tha, Robby, thou'd not 'a been worth thy milk,
Thou'd niver 'a cotch'd ony mice but 'a left me the work to do,
And 'a ta'en to the bottle beside, so es all that I 'ears be true;
But I loovs tha to ma'ke thysen 'appy, an' soa purr awa'y, my dear,
Thou 'ed wellnigh purr'd ma awa'y fro' my o'n two 'oonderd a-year.
X
Swe'rin agean, you Toms, as ye used to do twelve year sin'!
Ye niver 'e'rd Steevie swear 'cep' it wur at a dog coomin' in,
An' boath o' ye mun be fools to be hallus a-shawin' your claws,
Fur I niver cared nothink for neither'an' one o' ye de'd ye knaws!
Coom give ho'ver then, weant ye? I warrant ye soom fine da'y'
Theere, dig down'I shall hew to gie one or tother awa'y.
Can't ye ta'ke pattern by Steevie? ye shant hew a drop fro' the pa'il.
Steevie be right good manners bang thruf to the tip o' the ta'il.
Xl.
Robby, git down wi'tha, wilt tha? let Steevie coom oop o' my knee.
Steevie, my lad, thou 'ed very nigh been the Steevie fur me!
Robby wur fust to be sewer, 'e wur burn an' bred i' the 'ouse,
But thou be es 'ansom a tabby es iver patted a mouse.
XII
An' I be'nt not va'in, but I knaws I 'ed led tha a quieter life
Nor her wi' the hepitaph yonder! 'A fa'ithfnl an' loovin' wife!'
An' 'cos o' thy farm by the beck, an' thy windmill oop o' the croft,
Tha thowt tha would marry ma, did tha? but that wur a bit ower soft,
Thaw thou was es so'ber es da'y, wi' a niced red fa'ce, an' es cle'n
Es a shillin' fresh fro' the mint wi' a bran-new 'e'd o' the Quee'n,
An' thy farmin' es cle'n es thysen', fur, Steevie, tha kep' it sa ne't
That I niver not spied sa much es a poppy along wi' the whe't,
An' the wool of a thistle a-flyin' an' see'din' tha ha'ted to see;
'Twur es bad es a battle-twig1 'ere i' my o'n blue chaumber to me.
Ay, roob thy whiskers age'n ma, fur I could 'a ta'en to tha well,
But fur thy bairns, poor Steevie, a bouncin' boy an' a gell.
XIII
An' thou was es fond o' thy bairns es I be mysen o' my cats,
But I niver not wish'd fur childer, I hevn't naw likin' fur brats;
Pretty anew when ya dresses 'em oop, an' they go's fur a walk,
Or sits wi' their 'ands afoor 'em, an' doesn't not 'inder the talk!
But their bottles o' pap, an' their mucky bibs, an' the clats an' the clouts,
An' their mashin' their toys to pie'ces an' ma'kin' ma deaf wi' their shouts,
An' hallus a-joompin' about ma as if they was set upo' springs,
An' a haxin' ma hawkard questions, an' sa'yin' ondecent things,
Alt' a-callin' ma 'hugly' mayhap to my fa'ce, or a te'rin' my gown'
Dear! dear! dear! I mun part them Tommies'Steevie git down.
XIV
Ye be wuss nor the men-tommies, you. I tell'd ya, na moor o' that!
Tom, lig theere o' the cushion, an' tother Tom 'ere o' the mat.
XV
Theere! I ha' master'd them! Hed I married the Tommies'O Lord,
To loove an' oba'y the Tommies! I couldn't 'a stuck by my word.
To be horder'd about, an' wa'ked, when Molly 'd put out the light,
By a man coomin' in wi' a hiccup at ony hour o' the night!
An' the ta'ble sta'in'd wi' 'is a'le, an' the mud o' 'is boots o' the stairs,
An' the stink o' 'is pipe i' the 'ouse, an' the mark o' 'is 'e'd o' the chairs!
An' noun o' my four sweet-arts 'ud 'a let me 'a led my o'n wa'y,
Sa I likes 'em best wi' ta'ils when they 'evn't a word to sa'y.
XVII
An' I sits i' my o'n little parlour, an' sarved by my o'n little lass,
Wi' my o'n little garden outside, an' my o'n bed o' sparrow-grass,
An' my o'n door-poorch wi the woodbine an' jessmine a-dressin' it gree'n,
An' my o'n fine Jackman i' purple a ro'bin' the 'ouse like a Quee'n.
XVII
An' the little gells bobs to ma hoffens es I be abroad i' the la'nes,
When I go's fur to coomfut the poor es be down wi' their ha'ches an' their pa'ins:
An' a ha'f-pot o' jam, or a mossel o' me't when it be'nt too dear,
They ma'kes ma a gra'ter La'dy nor 'er i' the mansion theer,
Hes 'es hallus to hax of a man how much to spare or to spend;
An' a spinster I be an' I will be, if so' ple'se God, to the hend.
XVIII
Mew! mew!'Bess wi' the milk! what ha ma'de our Molly sa la'te?
It should 'a been 'ere by seven, an' theere'it be strikin' height'
'Cushie wur cra'zed fur'er cauf' well'I 'e'rd 'er a ma'kin' 'er mo'n,
An' I thowt to mysen 'thank God that I hevn't naw cauf o' my o'n.'
Theere!
Set it down!
Now Robby!
You Tommies shall wa'it to-night
Till Robby an' Steevie 'es 'ed their lap'an' it sarves ye right.