Sae fettle[5] my owd blue coble, I kessen’d her “Mornin’ Star,” An’ I’ll away through t’ offin’ Wheer t’ skooals o’ mack’rel are. Thoo can look for my boat i’ t’ harbour, When thoo’s said thy mornin’ psalm; Mebbe I’ll fill my fish-creel full— Mebbe I’ll nean coom yam.
One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: That’s what I sal awlus say. Draw thy chair a little nearer, Put yon stockin’s reight away. Thou hast done enough i’ thy time, Tewed i’ t’ house an’ wrowt at loom; Just for once thou mun sit idle, Feet on t’ hear’stone, fingers toom.[1]
One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: So I promised when we wed. Then thy een were glest’rin’ clearer Nor the stars aboon us spread. If they’re dimmer now, they’re tend’rer, An’ yon wrinkles on thy face Tell a lesson true as t’ Bible, Speik o’ charity an’ grace.
One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: We’ve supped sorrow, tasted joy, But our love has grown sincerer, Gethered strength nowt can destroy. Love is like an oak i’ t’ forest, Ivery yeer it adds a ring; Love is like yon ivin tendrils, Ivery day they closer cling.
One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: Time’s the shuttle, life’s the yarn. Have thy crosses seemed severer ’Cause thou niver had a barn? Mebbe I sud not have loved thee Hauf so weel, if I mud share All our secret thowts wi’ childer, Twinin’ round my owd arm-chair.
One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: ’Tis our gowden weddin’ day. There sal coom no gaumless fleerer To break in upon our play. Look, I’ve stecked[2] wer door and window Let me lap thee i’ my arms; Hushed to-neet be ivery murmur, While my kiss thy pale face warms.
Thou wants my vote, young man wi’ t’ carpet-bags, Weel, sit thee down, an’ hark what I’ve to say. It’s noan so varry oft wer kitchen flags Are mucked by real live lords down Yelland[1] way.
I’ve read thy speyks i’ t’ paper of a neet, Thou lets a vast o’ words flow off thy tongue; Thou’s gotten facts an’ figures, plain as t’ leet, An’ argiments to slocken[2] owd an’ young.
But what are facts an’ figures ’side o’ truths We’ve bowt wi’ childer’ tears an’ brokken lives? An’ what are argiments o’ cockered youths To set agean yon groans o’ caitiff[3] wives?
’Twere “hungry forties” when I were a lad, An’ fowks were clemmed, an’ weak i’ t’ airm an’ brain; We lived on demick’d[4] taties, bread gone sad, An’ wakkened up o’ neets croodled[5] wi’ pain.