All Tawk.

Some tawk becoss they think they're born
Wi' sich a lot o' wit;
Some seem to tawk to let fowk know
They're born withaat a bit.
Some tawk i' hooaps 'at what they say
May help ther fellow men;
But th' inooast 'at tawk just tawk becoss
They like to hear thersen.

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

Soa Bonny.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Th' Honest Hard Worker.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Aght o' Wark.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Happy Sam's Song.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

English

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A Quiet Tawk.

"Nah, lass, caar thi daan, an let's have a chat, -
It's long sin we'd th' haase to ussen;
Just give me thi nooations o' this thing an that,
What tha thinks abaat measures an men.
We've lived a long time i' this world an we've seen,
A share of its joys an its cares;
Tha wor nooan born baght wit, an tha'rt net varry green,
Soa let's hear what tha thinks of affairs."

"Well, Jooany, aw've thowt a gooid deal i' mi time,
An aw think wi' one thing tha'll agree, -
If tha'd listened sometimes to advice sich as mine,
It mud ha been better for thee.
This smookin an drinkin - tha knows tha does booath,
It's a sad waste o' brass tha'll admit;
But awm net findin fault, - noa indeed! awd be looath!
But aw want thi to reason a bit."

"Then tha'rt lawse i' thi tawk,...

John Hartley

My Native Twang.

They tell me aw'm a vulgar chap,
An ow't to goa to th' schooil
To leearn to talk like other fowk,
An net be sich a fooil;
But aw've a noashun, do yo see,
Although it may be wrang,
The sweetest music is to me,
Mi own, mi native twang.

An when away throo all mi friends,
I' other taans aw rooam,
Aw find ther's nowt con mak amends
For what aw've left at hooam;
But as aw hurry throo ther streets
Noa matter tho aw'm thrang,
Ha welcome if mi ear but greets
Mi own, mi native twang.

Why some despise it, aw can't tell,
It's plain to understand;
An sure aw am it saands as weel,
Tho' happen net soa grand.
Tell fowk they're courtin, they're enraged,
They call that vulgar slang;
But if aw tell 'em they're engaged,
That's net mi...

John Hartley

Latter Wit.

Awm sittin o' that old stooan seeat,
Wheear last aw set wi' thee;
It seems long years sin' last we met,
Awm sure it must be three.

Awm wond'rin what aw sed or did,
Or what aw left undone:
'At made thi hook it, an' get wed,
To one tha used to shun.

Aw dooant say awm a handsom chap,
Becoss aw know awm net;
But if aw wor 'ith' mind to change,
He isn't th' chap, aw'll bet.

Awm net a scoller, but aw know
A long chawk moor ner him;
It couldn't be his knowledge box
'At made thi change thi whim.

He doesn't haddle as mich brass
As aw do ivery wick:
An' if he gets a gradely shop,
It's seldom he can stick.

An' then agean, - he goes on th' rant;
Nah, that aw niver do; -
Aw allus mark misen content,
Wi' an od...

John Hartley

Aw Wodn't For All Aw Could See.

Why the dickens do some fowk keep thrustin,
As if th' world hadn't raam for us all?
Wi consarn an consait they're fair brustin,
One ud think th' heavens likely to fall.
They fidge an they fume an they flutter,
Like a burd catched wi lime on a tree,
And they'll fratch wi ther own breead an butter: -
But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

Bless mi life! th' world could get on withaat em!
It ud have to do if they wor deead;
They may be sincere but aw daat em,
If they're honest, they're wrang i' ther heead.
They've all some pet doctrine, an wonder
Why fowk wi ther plans disagree,
They expect yo should all knuckle under,
But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

My old woman may net be perfection,
But we're wed soa we know we've to stick;
An if shoo ma...

John Hartley

Fairly Weel-off.

Ov whooalsum food aw get mi fill, -
Ov drink aw seldom want a gill;
Aw've clooas to shield me free throo harm,
Should winds be cold or th' sun be warm.

Aw rarely have a sickly spell, -
Mi appetite aw'm fain to tell
Ne'er plays noa scurvy tricks on me,
Nowt ivver seems to disagree.

Aw've wark, as mich as aw can do, -
Sometimes aw laik a day or two, -
Mi wage is nobbut small, but yet,
Aw manage to keep aght o' debt.

Mi wife, God bless her! ivvery neet
Has slippers warmin for mi feet;
An th' hearthstun cleean, an th' drinkin laid,
An th' teah's brew'd an th' tooast is made.

An th' childer weshed, an fairly dressed,
Wi' health an happiness are blest;
An th' youngest, tho' aw say't misen,
Is th' grandest babby ivver seen.

John Hartley

None think Alike. (Prose)

What suits one body doesn't suit another. Aw niver knew two fowk 'at allus thowt alike; an' if yo iver heard a poor chap talkin' abaat somebdy 'ats weel off, he's sure to say 'at if he'd his brass he'd do different throo what they do.

Aw once heeard a chap say 'at if he'd as mich brass as Baron Rothschild he'd niver do owt but ait beef-steaks an' ride i' cabs. Well, lad, aw thowt, it's better tha hasn't it. We're all varry apt to find fault wi' things at we know varry little abaat, an' happen if we knew mooar we shud say less. Aw once heeard two lasses talkin', an' one on 'em war tellin' tother 'at sin shoo saw her befoor, shoo'd getten wed, an' had a child, an' buried it. "Why, whativer shall aw live to hear? Aw didn't know 'at tha'd begun coortin'. Whoiver has ta getten wed to?" "Oh, awve getten wed to a forriner, at comes th...

John Hartley