Frederic William Moorman

Frederic William Moorman was a British poet, academic, and folklorist, best known for his works on Yorkshire dialect and folklore. Born on September 8, 1872, he made significant contributions to the study of English literature and dialects. Moorman was also a professor at the University of Leeds. He passed away on his 47th birthday, September 8, 1919. His work continues to be influential in the fields of dialect studies and folklore.

September 8, 1872

September 8, 1919

English

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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' r...

Frederic William Moorman

The Hungry Forties

Thou wants my vote, young man wi' t' carpet-bags,
    Weel, sit thee down, an' hark what I've to say.
It's noan so varry oft wer kitchen flags
    Are mucked by real live lords down Yelland(1) way.

I've read thy speyks i' t' paper of a neet,
    Thou lets a vast o' words flow off thy tongue;
Thou's gotten facts an' figures, plain as t' leet,
    An' argiments to slocken(2) owd an' young.

But what are facts an' figures 'side o' truths
    We've bowt wi' childer' tears an' brokken lives?
An' what are argiments o' cockered youths
    To set agean yon groans o' caitiff(3) wives?

'Twere "hungry forties" when I were a lad,
    An' fowks were clemmed, an' weak i' t' airm an' brain;
We lived on demick'd(4) taties, bread gone sad,
    An' wakkened up o' ne...

Frederic William Moorman

The Local Preacher

Ay, I'm a ranter, so at least fowks say;
    Happen they'd tell t' same tale o' t' postle Paul.
I've ranted fifty yeer, coom first o' May,
    An' niver changed my gospil through 'em all.

There's nowt like t' Blooid o' t' Lamb an' t' Fire o' Hell
    To bring a hardened taistril(1) to his knees;
If fowks want more nor that, then thou can tell
    'Em straight, I've got no cure for their disease.

I willent thole this New Theology
    That blends up Hell wi' Heaven, sinners wi' saints
For black was black when I turned Methody,
    An' white was white, i' souls as weel as paints.

That's awlus t' warp an' t' weft o' my discourse,
    An' awlus will be, lang as I can teach;
If fowks won't harken tul it, then, of course,
    They go to church and hear t...

Frederic William Moorman

The Miller By The Shore. An East Coast Chanty

The miller by the shore am I,
    A man o' despert sense;
I've fotty different soorts o' ways
    O' addlin' honest pence.
Good wheat and wuts and barley-corns
    My mill grinds all t' day lang ;
Frae faave 'o t' morn while seven o' t' neet
    My days are varra thrang.

Chorus
I mill a bit, I till a bit,
    I dee all maks 'o jobs,
Frae followin' ploos and hollowin' coos
    To mendin' chairs and squabs.(1)
Oh! folks they laugh and girn at me,
    I niver tak it ill;
If I's the Jack 'o ivery trade,
    They all bring grist to t' mill.

I tend my hunderd yakker farm,
    An' milk my Kyloe kye.
I've Lincoln yowes an' Leicester tups
    An' twenty head 'o wye.(2)
I've stirks to tak to Scarbro' mart,
    I've meers for far...

Frederic William Moorman

The New Englishman

I've lived all my life i' Keighley,
    I'm a Yorkshire artisan;
An' when I were just turned seventy
    I became an Englishman.

Nat'ralised German! nay, deng it!
    I'm British-born, same as thee!
But I niver thowt mich to my country,
    While(1) my country thowt mich to me.

I were proud o' my lodge an' my union,
    An' proud o' my town an' my shire;
But all t' consans o' t' nation,
    I left to t' parson an' t' squire.

Class-war were t' faith that I Iived for,
    I call'd all capit'lists sharks;
An' "T' workin' man has no country,"
    Were my Gospel accordin' to Marx.

When I'd lossen my job back i' t' eighties,
    An were laikin' for well-nigh two year,
Who said that an out-o'-wark fettler
    Were costin' his co...

Frederic William Moorman

The Two Lamplighters

I niver thowt when I grew owd
    I'd tak to leetin' lamps;
I sud have said, I'd rayther pad
    My hoof on t' road wi' tramps.
But sin I gate that skelp(1) i' t' mine,
    I'm wankle(2) i' my heead;
So gaffer said, I'd give ower wark
    An' leet town lamps atsteead.

At first, when I were liggin' snug
    I' bed, warm as a bee,
'T were hard to rise and get agate
    As sooin as t' clock strake three.
An' I were flaid to hear my steps
    Echoin' on ivery wall;
An' flaider yet when down by t' church
    Ullets would skreek and call.

But now I'm flaid o' nowt; I love
    All unkerd(3) sounds o' t' neet,
Frae childer talkin' i' their dreams
    To t' tramp o' p'licemen' feet.
But most of all I love to hark
    To t' song o' t...

Frederic William Moorman

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