The Gardener And The Robin

Why! Bobbie, so thou's coom agean!
    I'm fain to see thee here;
It's lang sin I've set een on thee,
    It's ommost hauf a yeer.
What's that thou says? Thou's taen a wife
    An' raised a family.
It seems thou's gien 'em all the slip
    Now back-end's drawin' nigh.

I mun forgi'e thee; we're owd friends,
    An' fratchin's not for us;
Blackbirds an' spinks(1) I can't abide,
    At doves an' crows I cuss.
But thou'll noan steal my strawberries,
    Or nip my buds o' plum;
Most feather-fowl I drive away,
    But thou can awlus coom.

Ay, that's thy place, at top o' t' clod,
    Thy heead cocked o' one side,
Lookin' as far-learnt as a judge.
    Is that a worrm thou's spied?
By t' Megs! he's well-nigh six inch lang,
    An' reed as t' gate i' t' park;
If thou don't mesh him up a bit,
    He'll gie thee belly-wark.

My missus awlus lets me know
    I'm noan so despert thin;
If I ate sausages as thou
    Eats worrms, I'd brust my skin!
Howd on! leave soom for t' mowdiwarps(2)
    That scrats down under t' grund ;
Of worrms, an' mawks,(3) an' bummel-clocks(4)
    Thou's etten hauf a pund.

So now thou'll clear thy pipes an' sing:
    Grace after meat, I s'pose.
Thou looks as holy as t' owd saint
    I' church wi' t' brokken nose.
Thou's plannin' marlocks(5) all the time,
    Donned i' thy sowdier coat;
An' what we tak for hymns o' praise
    Is just thy fratchin' note.

I've seen thee feightin' theer on t' lawn,
    Beneath yon laurel tree;
Thy neb was reed wi' blooid, thou looked
    As chuffy(6) as could be.
Thou's got no mense nor morals, Bob,
    But weel I know thy charm.
Ay, thou can stand upon my spade.
    I'll niver do thee harm.