A Sad Mishap
‘Come, John lad, tell me what’s to do,
Tha luks soa glum an sad;
Is it becoss tha’rt short o’ brass?
Or are ta poorly, lad?
Has sombdy been findin fault,
Wi’ owt tha’s sed or done?
Or are ta bothered wi’ thi loom,
Wi’ th’ warp tha’s just begun?
Whativver ’tis, lad, let me know,—
Aw’ll help thi if aw can;
Sometimes a woman’s ready wit
Is useful to a man.
Tha allus let me share thi joys,—
Let’s share when grief prevails;
Tha knows tha sed aw should, John,
I’th’ front o’th’ alter rails.
We’ve just been wed a year, lad,
Come Sundy next but three;
But if tha sulks an willn’t spaik,
Aw’st think tha’rt stawld o’ me.
Aw’ve done mi best aw’m sewer, John,
To be a wife to thee;
Come tell me what’s to do, John,
Wol aw caar o’ thi knee.’
—————
‘Aw’ve brass enuff to pay mi way,—
Aw’m hearty as needs be;—
Ther’s noabdy been findin fault,
An aw’m nooan stawl’d o’ thee.
But aw’m soa mad aw connot bide,—
For commin hooam to-neet,
Mi pipe slipt throo between mi teeth,
An smashed to bits i’th’ street.
Aw cant think what aw could be doin,
To let the blam’d thing drop!
An a’a! it wor a beauty,
An colored reight to th’ top.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Modern translation!
‘Come, John lad, tell me what’s the problem,
You look so glum and sad;
Is it because you’re short of cash?
Or are you poorly, lad?
Has somebody been finding fault,
With something you have said or done?
Or are you bothered with your work,
With the task that you’ve just begun?
Whatever it is, lad, let me know,—
I’ll help you if I can;
Sometimes a woman’s ready wit
Is useful to a man.
You always let me share your joys,—
Let’s share when grief prevails;
You know you said I always should, John,
In front of those alter rails.
We’ll have just been wed a year, lad,
Come Sunday next but three;
But if you sulk and will not speak,
I must think that your tired of me.
I’ve done my best I am sure, John,
To be a wife to thee;
Come tell me what’s to do, John,
While I sit upon your knee.’
—————
‘I’ve money enough to pay my way,—
I’m hearty as needs be;—
There’s nobody been finding fault,
And I’m not tired of thee.
But I’m so mad I cannot wait,—
For coming home tonight,
My pipe slipped through my teeth,
And smashed to bits in the street.
I cannot think what I could be doing,
To let the blasted thing drop!
And aye! it was such a beauty,
And coloured right to the top.’
