A Hawporth.

Whear is thi Daddy, doy? Whear is thi mam?
What are ta cryin for, poor little lamb?
Dry up thi peepies, pet, wipe thi wet face;
Tears o' thy little cheeks seem aght o' place.
What do they call thi, lad? Tell me thi name;
Have they been ooinion thi? Why, its a shame.
Here, tak this hawpny, an buy thi some spice,
Rocksticks or humbugs or summat 'at's nice.
Then run of hooam agean, fast as tha can;
Thear, - tha'rt all reight agean; run like a man.

He wiped up his tears wi' his little white brat,
An he tried to say summat, aw couldn't tell what;
But his little face breeten'd wi' pleasure all throo: -
A'a! - its cappin, sometimes, what a hawpny can do.

John Hartley

John Hartley was an English poet who wrote in the Yorkshire dialect. Born on January 1, 1839, in Halifax, West Yorkshire, he was known for his humorous and dialectical poetry, which vividly captured the spirit and culture of Yorkshire. Hartley's works were extremely popular in the 19th century, and he remains a significant figure in regional English literature. He passed away on March 10, 1915.

John Hartley

The New Year (Prose)

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Dooant Forget the Old Fowks.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Old Dave to th' New Parson.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Soa Bonny.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

English

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Come thi Ways in.

Come thi ways in, an God bless thi, lad!
Come thi ways in, for thar't welcome, joy!
A'a! tha'rt a shockin young taistrel, lad,
But tha artn't as bad as they call thi, doy.

Tha'rt thi father upheeaped an daanthrussen, lad,
It's his mother 'at knows what a glaid wor he; -
But thi britches' knees are booath brussen, lad,
An thi jacket, its raillee a shame to see.

It's weel for thee tha's a gronny, lad, -
If it wornt for me tha'd be lost i' muck!
Tha'rt wild, but tha'rt better ner monny, lad,
An aw think 'at tha'll yet bring thi gronny gooid luck.

Nah, pool up to th' table an dry thi nooas; -
(Awd nooan leearn mi appron to onny but thee,)
Wol tha'rt fillin thi belly aw'll patch up thi clooas,
Then aw'll send thi hooam daycent an cleean tha'll see.

John Hartley

Did yo Ivver!

"Gooid gracious!" cried Susy, one fine summer's morn,
"Here's a bonny to do! aw declare!
Aw wor nivver soa capt sin th' day aw wor born!
Aw neer saw sich a seet at a fair.

Here, Sally! come luk! There's a maase made its nest
Reight i'th' craan o' mi new Sundy bonnet!
Haivver its fun its way into this chist,
That caps me! Aw'm fast what to mak on it!

It's cut! Sithee thear! It's run reight under th' bed!
An luk here! What's these little things stirrin?
If they arn't some young uns 'at th' gooid-for-nowt's bred,
May aw be as deead as a herrin!

But what does ta say? 'Aw mun draand 'em?' nooan soa!
Just luk ha they're seekin ther mother;
Shoo must be a poor little softheead to goa;
For awm nooan baan to cause her noa bother.

But its rayther...

John Hartley

Babby Burds.

Aw wander'd aght one summer's morn,
Across a meadow newly shorn;
Th' sun wor shinin breet and clear,
An fragrant scents rose up i'th' air,
An all wor still.
When, as my steps wor idly rovin,
Aw coom upon a seet soa lovin!
It fill'd mi heart wi' tender feelin,
As daan aw sank beside it, kneelin
O'th' edge o'th' hill.

It wor a little skylark's nest,
An two young babby burds, undrest,
Wor gapin wi' ther beaks soa wide,
Callin for mammy to provide
Ther mornin's meal;
An high aboon ther little hooam,
Th' saand o' daddy's warblin coom;
Ringin soa sweetly o' mi ear,
Like breathins throo a purer sphere,
He sang soa weel.

Ther mammy, a few yards away,
Wor hoppin on a bit o' hay;
Too feeard to coom, too bold to flee;
An wat...

John Hartley

Bite Bigger.

As aw hurried throo th' taan to mi wark,
(Aw wur lat, for all th' whistles had gooan,)
Aw happen'd to hear a remark,
At ud fotch tears throo th' heart ov a stooan. -
It wur raanin, an snawin, an cowd,
An th' flagstoans wur covered wi muck,
An th' east wind booath whistled an howl'd,
It saanded like nowt but ill luck;
When two little lads, donn'd i' rags,
Baght stockins or shoes o' ther feet,
Coom trapesin away ower th' flags,
Booath on em sodden'd wi th' weet. -
Th' owdest mud happen be ten,
Th' young en be hauf on't, - noa moor;
As aw luk'd on, aw sed to misen,
God help fowk this weather at's poor!
Th' big en sam'd summat off th' graand,
An aw luk'd just to see what 't could be;
'Twur a few wizend flaars he'd faand,
An they seem'd to ha fill'd ...

John Hartley

Bite Bigger

As aw hurried throo th' taan to mi wark,
(Aw wur lat, for all th' whistles had gooan,)
Aw happen'd to hear a remark,
'At ud fotch tears throo th' heart ov a stooan -
It wur raanin, an' snawin, and cowd,
An' th' flagstoans wur covered wi' muck,
An' th' east wind booath whistled an' howl'd,
It saanded like nowt but ill luck;
When two little lads, donn'd i' rags,
Baght stockins or shoes o' ther feet,
Coom trapesin away ower th' flags,
Booath on 'em sodden'd wi th' weet. -
Th' owdest mud happen be ten,
Th' young en be hauf on't, - noa moor;
As aw luk'd on, aw sed to misen,
God help fowk this weather 'at's poor!
Th' big en sam'd summat off th' graand,
An' aw luk'd just to see what 't could be;
'Twur a few wizend flaars he'd faand,
An' they seem'd to ...

John Hartley

Aght o' Wark.

Aw've been laikin for ommost eight wick,
An aw can't get a day's wark to do!
Aw've trailed abaat th' streets, wol aw'm sick
An aw've worn mi clog-soils ommost throo.

Aw've a wife an three childer at hooam,
An aw know they're all lukkin at th' clock,
For they think it's high time aw should come,
An bring 'em a morsel 'o jock.

A'a dear! it's a pitiful case
When th' cubbord is empty an bare;
When want's stamped o' ivvery face,
An yo hav'nt a meal yo can share.

Today as aw walked into th' street,
Th' squire's carriage went rattlin past;
An aw thowt 'at it hardly luk'd reet,
For aw had'nt brokken mi fast.

Them horses, aw knew varry weel,
Wi' ther trappins all shinin i' gold,
Had nivver known th' want of a meal,
Or a shelter to...

John Hartley