The Northern Cobbler
WAÄIT till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a sights1 to tell.
Eh, but I be maäin glad to seeä tha sa arty an well.
Cast awaäy on a disolut land wi a vartical soon2!
Strange fur to goä fur to think what saäilors a seeän an a doon;
Summat to drinksa ot? I a nowt but Adams wine:
Whats the eät o this little ill-side to the eät o the line?
Whats i tha bottle a-stanning theer? Ill tell tha. Gin.
But if thou wants thy grog, tha mun goä fur it down to the inn.
Naayfur I be maäin-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa dry,
Thou gits naw gin fro the bottle theer, an Ill tell tha why.
Meä an thy sister was married, when wur it? back-end o June,
Ten year sin, and wa greed as well as a fiddle i tune:
I could fettle and clump owd booöts and shoes wi the best on em all,
As fer as fro Thursby thurn hup to Harmsby and Hutterby Hall.
We was busy as beeäs i the bloom an appy as art could think,
An then the babby wur burn, and then I taäkes to the drink.
An I weant gaäinsaäy it, my lad, thaw I be hafe shaämed on it now,
We could sing a good song at the Plow, we could sing a good song at the Plow;
Thaw once of a frosty night I slitherd an hurted my huck,3
An I coomd neck-an-crop soomtimes slaäpe down i the squad an the muck:
An once I fowt wi the Taäilornot hafe ov a man, my lad
Fur he scrawmd an scratted my faäce like a cat, an it maädeer sa mad
That Sally she turnd a tongue-banger4 an raäted ma, Sottin thy braäins
Guzzlin an soäkin an smoäkin an hawmin5 about i the laänes,
Soä sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch thy at to the Squire;
An I looökd cock-eyed at my noäse an I seeäd im a-gittin o fire;
But sin I wur hallus i liquor an hallus as droonk as a king,
Foälks coostom flitted awaäy like a kite wi a brokken string.
An Sally she weshd foälks cloäths to keep the wolf fro the door,
Eh but the moor she riled me, she druv me to drink the moor,
Fur I fun, when er hack wur turnd, wheer Sallys owd stockin wur id,
An I grabbd the munny she maäde, and I weärd it o liquor, I did.
An one night I cooms oäm like a bull gotten loose at a faäir,
An she wur a-waäitin fomma, an cryin and teärin er aäir,
An I tummled athurt the craädle an sweärd as Id break ivry stick
O furnitur ere i the ouse, an I gied our Sally a kick,
An I mashd the taäbles an chairs, an she an the babby beäld,6
Fur I knawd naw moor what I did nor a mortal beäst o the feäld.
An when I waäked i the murnin I seeäd that our Sally went laämed
Cos o the kick as I gied er, an I wur dreadful ashaämed;
An Sally wur sloomy7 an draggle taäild in an owd turn gown,
An the babbys faäce wurnt weshd an the ole ouse hupside down.
An then I minded our Sally sa patty an neät an sweeät,
Strait as a pole an cleän as a flower fro ead to feeät:
An then I minded the fust kiss I gied er by Thursby thurn;
Theer wur a lark a-singin is best of a Sunday at murn,
Couldnt see im, we eärd im a-mountin oop igher an igher,
An then e turnd to the sun, an e shined like a sparkle o fire.
Doesnt tha see im, she axes, fur I can see im? an I
Seeäd nobbut the smile o the sun as danced in er pratty blue eye;
An I says I mun gie tha a kiss, an Sally says Noä, thou moänt,
But I gied er a kiss, an then anoother, an Sally says doänt!
An when we coomd into Meeätin, at fust she wur all in a tew,
But, arter, we singd the ymn togither like birds on a beugh;
An Muggins e preächd o Hell-fire an the loov o God fur men,
An then upo coomin awaäy Sally gied me a kiss ov ersen.
Heer wur a fall fro a kiss to a kick like Saätan as fell
Down out o heaven i hell-firethaw theers naw drinkin i Hell;
Meä fur to kick our Sally as kep the wolf fro the door,
All along o the drink, fur I loovd er as well as afoor.
Sa like a greät num-cumpus I blubberd awaäy o the bed
Weänt niver do it naw moor; an Sally loookt up an she said,
Ill upowd it8 tha weänt; thourt like the rest o the men,
Thoull goä sniffin about the tap till tha does it agëan.
Theers thy hennemy, man, an I knaws, as knaws tha sa well,
That, if tha seeäs im an smells im thall foller im slick into Hell.
Naäy, says I, fur I weänt goä sniffin about the tap.
Weänt tha? she says, an mysen I thowt i mysen mayhap.
Noä: an I started awaäy like a shot, an down to the Hinn,
An I browt what tha seeäs stannin theer, yon big black bottle o gin.
That caps owt,9 says Sally, an saw she begins to cry,
But I puts it inter er ands an I says to er, Sally, says I,
Stan im theer i the naäme o the Lord an the power ov is Graäce,
Stan im theer, fur Ill looök my hennemy strait i the faäce,
Stan im theer i the winder, an let ma looök at im then,
E seeäms naw moor nor watter, an es the Divils oän sen.
An I wur down i tha mouth, couldnt do naw work an all,
Nasty an snaggy an shaäky, an poonchd my and wi the hawl,
But she wur a power o coomfut, an sattled ersen o my knee,
An coäxd an coodled me oop till ageän I feeld mysen free.
An Sally she telld it about, an foälk stood a-gawmin10 in,
As thaw it wur summat bewitchd istead of a quart o gin;
An some on em said it wur watteran I wur chousin the wife,
Fur I couldnt owd ands off gin, wur it nobbut to saäve my life;
An blacksmith e strips me the thick ov is airm, an e shaws it to me,
Feeäl thou this! thou cant graw this upo watter! says he.
An Doctor e calls o Sunday an just as candles was lit,
Thou moänt do it, he says, tha mun break im off bit by bit.
Thourt but a Methody-man, says Parson, and laäys down is at,
An e points to the bottle o gin, but I respeeks tha fur that;
An Squire, his oän very sen, walks down fro the All to see,
An e spanks is and into mine, fur I respecks tha, says e;
An coostom ageän drawd in like a wind fro far an wide,
And browt me the booöts to be cobbled fro hafe the coontryside.
An theer e stans an theer e shall stan to my dying daäy;
I a gotten to loov im ageän in anoother kind of a waäy,
Proud on im, like, my lad, an I keeäps im cleän an bright,
Loovs im, an roobs im, an doosts im, an puts im back i the light.
Wouldnt a pint a sarved as well as a quart? Naw doubt:
But I liked a bigger fetter to fight wi an fowt it out.
Fine an meller e mun be by this, if I cared to taäste,
But I moänt, my lad, and I weänt, fur Id feäl mysen cleän disgraäced.
An once I said to the Missis, My lass, when I cooms to die,
Smash the bottle to smithers, the Divils in im, said I.
But arter I chaänged my mind, an if Sally be left aloän,
Ill hev im a-buried wimma an taäkt im afoor the Throän.
Coom thou eeryon laädy a-steppin along the streeät,
Doesnt tha knaw ersa pratty, an feät, an neät, an sweeät?
Look at the cloäths on er back, thebbe ammost spick-span-new,
An Tommys faäce be as fresh as a codlin weshd i the dew.
Ere he our Sally an Tommy, an we be a-goin to dine,
Baäcon an taätes, an a beslings-pud-din11 an Adams wine;
But if tha wants ony grog tha mun goä fur it down to the Hinn,
Fur I weänt shed a drop on is blood, noä, not fur Sallys oän kin.
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