Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Samuel Laycock 182593Welcome, Bonny Brid!
T
But should n’t ha’ come just when tha did;
Toimes are bad.
We ’re short o’ pobbies for eawr Joe,
But that, of course, tha did n’t know,
Did ta, lad?
’At when aw coom i’ th’ world misel
Trade wur slack;
An’ neaw it ’s hard wark pooin’ throo—
But aw munno fear thee; iv aw do
Tha ’ll go back.
Aw ’m beawn to beigh another spoon—
One for thee;
An’ as tha ’s sich a pratty face,
Aw ’ll let thee have eawr Charley’s place
On mi knee.
Just try an’ mak thisel awhoam:
What ar ’t co’d?
Tha ’rt loike thi mother to a tee,
But tha ’s thi feyther’s nose, aw see,
Well, aw ’m blow’d!
Aw am no’ blackin’ thee, not I;
Settle deawn,
An’ tak this haup’ney for thisel’,
There ’s lots o’ sugar-sticks to sell
Deawn i’ th’ teawn.
Aw ’re fond o’ owt ’at tasted sweet;
Tha ’ll be th’ same.
But come, tha ’s never towd thi dad
What he ’s to co thi yet, mi lad—
What ’s thi name?
But get this sope o’ cinder tay
While it ’s warm;
Mi mother us’d to give it me,
When aw wur sich a lad as thee,
In her arm.
Oh, what a temper! dear a-me,
Heaw tha skroikes!
Here ’s a bit o’ sugar, sithee;
Howd thi noise, an’ then aw ’ll gie thee
Owt tha loikes.
But eawt o’ this tha ’st ha’ thi share,
Never fear.
Aw hope tha ’ll never want a meel,
But allus fill thi bally weel
While tha ’rt here.
An’ yet tha sees he ’s middlin’ throng
Wi’ yo’ o:
Besides thi little brother, Ted,
We ’n one up-steers, asleep i’ bed
Wi’ eawr Joe.
We ’ll make’ a bit o’ reawm for thee—
Bless thee, lad!
Tha ’rt th’ prattiest brid we han i’ th’ nest;
Come, hutch up closer to mi breast—
Aw ’m thi dad.