'Cast awaäy on a disolut land wi' a vartical soon 2!'

Strange fur to goä fur to think what saäilors a' seëan an' a' doon; 'Summat to drink - sa' 'ot?' I'a nowt but Adam's wine:

What's the 'eät o' this little 'ill-side to the 'eät o' the line?

II.

'What's i' tha bottle a-stanning theer?' I'll tell tha. Gin.

But if thou wants thy grog, tha mun goä fur it down to the inn. Naay-fur I be maäin-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa dry,

Thou gits naw gin fro' the bottle theer, an' I'll tell tha why.

III.

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' as
'appy as 'art could think,
An' then the babby wur burn, and then
I taäkes to the drink.

IV.

An' I weänt 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 slither'd an' hurted my huck,3

An' I coom'd neck-an'-crop soomtimes slaäpe down i' the squad an' the muck:

1 The vowels aï, pronounced separately though in the closest conjunction, best render the sound of the long and y in this dialect. But since such words as craïin', daïin', whaï, aï (I), etc., look awkward except in a page of express phonetics, I have thought it better to leave the simple i and y, and to trust that my readers will give them the broader pronunciation. › Hip.

2 The oo short, as in 'wood.'

not

An' once I fowt wi' the Taäilor
hafe ov a man, my lad —
Fur he scrawm'd an' scratted my faäce
like a cat, an' it maäde 'er sa mad
That Sally she turn'd a tongue-banger,1
an' raäted ma, Sottin' thy braäins
Guzzlin' an' soäkin' an' smoäkin' an'
hawmin' 2 about i' the laänes,
Soä sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch
thy 'at to the Squire; '

An' I loook'd 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.

V.

An' Sally she wesh'd 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 back wur turn'd, wheer Sally's owd stockin' wur 'id, An' I grabb'd the munny she maäde, and I weär'd it o' liquor, I did.

VI.

An' one night I cooms 'oäm like a bull gotten loose at a faäir,

An' she wur a-waäitin' fo’mma, an' cryin' and teärin' 'er 'aäir,

An' I tummled athurt the craädle an' sweär'd as I'd breäk ivry stick

O' furnitur 'ere i' the 'ouse, an' I gied our Sally a kick,

An' I mash'd the taäbles an' chairs, an' she an' the babby beäl'd,3 Fur I knaw'd naw moor what I did nor a mortal beäst o' the feäld.

VIII.

An' then I minded our Sally sa pratty an' neät an' sweeät,

Straät as a pole an' cleän as a flower fro' 'eäd 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,

Couldn't see 'im, we 'eärd 'im a-mountin' oop 'igher an' 'igher,

An' then 'e turn'd to the sun, an' 'e shined like a sparkle o' fire. 'Doesn't 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!'

IX.

An' when we coom'd into Meeätin', at fust she wur all in a tew,

But, arter, we sing'd the 'ymn togither like birds on a beugh;

An' Muggins 'e preäch'd o' Hell-fire an' the loov o' God fur men, An' then upo' coomin' awaäy Sally gied me a kiss ov 'ersen.

X.

Heer wur a fall fro' a kiss to a kick like Saätan as fell

Down out o' heaven i' Hell-fire-thaw theer's naw drinkin' i' Hell; Meä fur to kick our Sally as kep the wolf fro' the door,

All along o' the drink, fur I loov'd 'er as well as afoor.

XI.

Sa like a greät num-cumpus I blubber'd awaäy o' the bed

'Weänt niver do it naw moor;' an' Sally looökt up an' she said, 'I'll upowd it1 tha weänt; thou'rt like the rest o' the men,

1 I'll uphold it.

an'

An' some on 'em said it wur watter
I wur chousin' the wife,
Fur I couldn't '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,
'Feëal thou this! thou can't 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.' 'Thou'rt but a Methody-man,' says Parson, and laäys down 'is 'at, An' 'e 'points to the bottle o' gin, 'but I respecks 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 draw'd in like a wind fro' far an' wide,

And browt me the booöts to be cobbled fro' hafe the coontryside.

XVI.

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 clean an' bright,

Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im, an' puts 'im back i' the light.

XVII.

Wouldn't a pint a' sarved as well as a quart? Naw doubt:

But I liked a bigger feller 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 I'd feäl mysen cleän disgraäced.

XVIII.

An' once I said to the Missis, 'My lass, when I cooms to die,

Smash the bottle to smithers, the Divil's in 'im,' said I.

But arter I chaänged my mind, an' if Sally be left aloän,

I'll hev 'im a-buried wi'mma an' taäke 'im afoor the Throän.

XIX.

Coom thou 'eer-yon laädy a-steppin along the streeät,

Doesn't tha knaw 'er-sa pratty, an' feät, an' neät, an' sweeät? Look at the cloäths on 'er back, thebbe ammost spick-span-new,

An' Tommy's faäce be as fresh as a codlin wesh'd i' the dew.

XX.

'Ere be our Sally an' Tommy, an' we be a-goin' to dine,

Baäcon an' taätes, an' a beslings-puddin' an' Adam's 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 Sally's oän kin.

THE REVENGE.

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET.

1.

AT FLORES in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,

And a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came flying from far away:

'Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!'

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: "Fore God I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,

And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.

We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?'

II.

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward; You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.

1 A pudding made with the first milk of the cow after calving.

But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.'

III.

So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day,

Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;

But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land

Very carefully and slow,
Men of Bideford in Devon,
And we laid them on the ballast down
below;

For we brought them all aboard,
And they blest him in their pain, that
they were not left to Spain,
To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the
glory of the Lord.

IV.

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,

And he sailed away from Flores till the
Spaniard came in sight,
With his huge sea-castles heaving upon

the weather bow.
'Shall we fight or shall we fly?
Good Sir Richard, tell us now,
For to fight is but to die!

There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.'

And Sir Richard said again: 'We be all good English men.

Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil,

For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet.'

V.

Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so

The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,

With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;

For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long sea-lane between.

VI.

Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and laugh'd, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft

Running on and on, till delay'd By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons,

And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.

VII.

And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud

Whence the thunderbolt will fall
Long and loud,

Four galleons drew away

From the Spanish fleet that day,

And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay,

And the battle-thunder broke from them all.

VIII.

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went

Having that within her womb that had left her ill content;

And the rest they came aboard us, and

they fought us hand to hand,

For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers, And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears When he leaps from the water to the land.

IX.

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came, Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame;

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame.

For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could fight us no

more

God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

X.

For he said Fight on! fight on!' Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone, With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck,

But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead,

And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head,

And he said Fight on! fight on!'

XI.

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that we still could

sting,

So they watch'd what the end would be. And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we,

Seeing forty of our poor hundred were

slain,

And half of the rest of us maim'd for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife;

And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold, And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side;

But Sir Richard cried in his English pride, 'We have fought such a fight for a day and a night

As may never be fought again!
We have won great glory, my men!
And a day less or more

At sea or ashore,

We die does it matter when?