Young Jockey.

Young Jockey he bowt him a pair o' new shooin,
Ooin, ooin, ry diddle dooin!
Young Jockey he bowt him a pair o' new shooin,
For he'd made up his mind he'd be wed varry sooin;
An he went to ax Jenny his wife for to be,
But shoo sed, "Nay, aw'll ne'er wed a hawbuck like thee,
Thi legs luk too lanky,
Thi heead is too cranky,
Its better bi th' hawf an old maid aw should dee!"

Young Jockey then went an he bowt him a gun,
Un, un, ry diddle dun!
Young Jockey then went an he bowt him a gun,
For his ivvery hooap i' this wide world wor done;
An he went an tell'd Jenny, to end all his pains,
He'd made up his mind 'at he'd blow aght his brains,
But shoo cared net a pin,
An shoo sed wi' a grin, -
"Befoor they're blown aght tha man get some put in."

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

A Wife.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Buttermilk &c. (Prose)

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Old Dave to th' New Parson.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

It's a comfort. (Prose)

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

English

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Duffin Johnny. (A Rifleman's Adventure.)

Th' mooin shone breet wi' silver leet,
An th' wind wor softly sighin;
Th' burds did sleep, an th' snails did creep,
An th' buzzards wor a flying;
Th' daisies donned ther neet caps on,
An th' buttercups wor weary,
When Jenny went to meet her John,
Her Rifleman, her dearie.

Her Johnny seemed as brave a lad
As iver held a rifle,
An if ther wor owt in him bad,
'Twor nobbut just a trifle.
He wore a suit o' sooity grey,
To show 'at he wor willin
To feight for th' Queen and country
When perfect in his drillin.

His heead wor raand, his back wor straight,
His legs wor long an steady,
His fist wor fully two pund weight,
His heart wor true an ready;
His upper lip wor graced at th' top
Wi' mustache strong an bristlin,
It railly wo...

John Hartley

Modest Jack o' Wibsey Slack.

At Wibsey Slack lived modest Jack,
No daat yo knew him weel;
His cheeks wor red, his een wor black,
His limbs wor strong as steel.
His curly hair wor black as jet,
His spirits gay an glad,
An monny a lass her heart had set
On Jack the Wibsey lad.

Sal Simmons kept a little shop,
An bacca seld, an spice,
An traitle drink, an ginger pop,
An other things as nice.
Shoo wor a widow, fat an fair,
An allus neat an trim;
An Jack seem'd fairly stuck on her;
An shoo wor sweet on him.

But other lasses thowt they had
A claim on Jack's regard;
A widow to win sich a lad,
They thowt wor very hard;
They called her a designin jade,
An one an all cried "Shame!"
But Sally kept on wi her trade,
An Jack went just the same.

O...

John Hartley

His Dowter Gate Wed.

He'd had his share ov ups an daans,
His sprees an troubles too;
Ov country joys an life i' taans,
He'd run th' whoal gamut throo.
He labored hard to mak ends meet,
An keep things all ship-shap:
An th' naybor's sed, 'at lived i'th' street,
"He's a varry daycent chap."

He paid his rent an gave his wife
Enuff for clooas an grub,
To pleas her he'd insured his life,
An joined a burial club.
His childer, - grander nivver ran
To climb a father's knee;
Noa better wife had onny man, -
Noa praader chap could be.

He tuk noa stock i' fleetin time,
He nivver caanted th' years;
For he wor hale, just in his prime,
An nowt to cause him fears.
He nivver dreamt ov growin old,
Sich thowts ne'er made him freat,
He sed, - "Why aw'm as gooi...

John Hartley

What it Comes to.

Young Alick gate wed, as all gradely chaps do,
An tuk Sally for better or war;
A daycenter felly ne'er foller'd a ploo, -
Th' best lad ov his mother's bi far.

An shoo wor as nice a young lass as yo'll see
In a day's march, aw'll wager mi hat;
But yo know unless fowk's dispositions agree,
Tho' they're bonny, - noa matter for that.

They'd better bi hawf have a hump o' ther rig,
Or be favvor'd as ill as old Flew;
If ther temper is sweet, chaps 'll net care a fig,
Tho' his wife may have one ee or two.

Young Sally had nivver been used to a farm,
An shoo seem'd to know nowt abaat wark;
Shoo set wi' her tooas up o'th' fender to warm,
Readin novels throo mornin to dark.

Alick saw 'at sich like gooins on wod'nt do,
Soa one neet when they'd ...

John Hartley

Done Agean.

Aw've a rare lump o' beef on a dish,
We've some bacon 'at's hung up o' th' thack,
We've as mich gooid spice-cake as we wish,
An wi' currens its varry near black;
We've a barrel o' gooid hooam brewed drink,
We've a pack o' flaar reared agean th' clock,

We've a load o' puttates under th' sink,
So we're pretty weel off as to jock.
Aw'm soa fain aw can't tell whear to bide,
But the cause aw dar hardly let aat;
It suits me moor nor all else beside:
Aw've a paand at th' wife knows nowt abaat.

Aw can nah have a spree to misel;
Aw can treat mi old mates wi' a glass;
An' aw sha'nt ha' to come home an tell
My old lass, ha' aw've shut all mi brass.
Some fowk say, when a chap's getten wed,
He should nivver keep owt thro' his wife;
If he does awve oft...

John Hartley

A Pair o' Black Een.

One neet as aw trudged throo mi wark,
Thinks aw, nah mi labor is done,
Aw feel just inclined for a lark,
For its long sin aw had onny fun.

An ov coorse awd mi wife i' mi mind,
Shoo's a hot en, but then, what bi that!
For when on a spree aw'm inclined,
Aw could nivver get on baght awr Mat.

Sally Slut wor a croney o' hers,
A bonny an warm-hearted lass,
An shoo'd latly been wed to a chap,
'At could booast booath some brains an some brass.

But someha, awr Mat seemed to think,
'At Sally, soa hansum an trim;
For a partner throo life owt to luk
Wi' somdy mich better nor him.

An shoo profiside trubble an care,
Wor i' stoor at noa far distant day,
An shoo muttered "poor Sal, aw declare,
Tha's thrown thisen reight cleean away."

John Hartley