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Eawt o’ Wark by Joseph Cronshaw


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Eawt o' Wark

 

Aw conno’ see why aw should fret,

Or poo a great lung face,

Ther’s smiles an’ freawns, ther’s ups an’ deawns,

I’ life’s uncertain race:

An’ though mi lot seems rayther hard,

An’ th’ world looks cowd an’ dree,

Ther’s lots o’ folk’ aw ’at know weel

’At’s far wur off nor me.

 

Aw’ve got a reet hard-workin’ wife,

Hoo’s moor to me nor wealth;

We’n th’ roughest lads ther is i’th’ fowt,

O’ brimmin’ o’er wi’ health;

Their appetities are sharp an’ keen,–

They’n ne’er bin speighlt wi’ choice,–

Just let ’em smell yon porritch pon,

They’ll noan want sheawtin’ twice.

 

We’n porritch mornin’, noon, an’ neet,

An’ fain to get it, too,

But should aw strike a bit o’ luck,

We’n oather broth or stew;

Aw’ll tackle owt, aw care for nowt,

If it be honest wark;

If aw con addle hawve a creawn

Aw sing jut like a lark.

 

This trailin’ reawnd to find odd jobs

Aw’ve never tried afore;

Well, happen times ’ll awter soon,–

Aw wish this strike wer o’er.

Aw’m trudgin’ here, an’ seekin’ theer,

Till its grown welly dark;

Aw get a bit, but then, yo’ know,

It’s noan like gradely wark.

 

This country side looks fine an’ breet,

An’ th’ brids sing eawt wi’ glee;

Ther’s sweet perfume fro’ every bloom

In dell an’ posied lea.

O’ this to me is grand to see,

Aw like Dame Nature’s book,

But aw’d rather yer yon fact’ry bell,

An’ see a bit o’ smook.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Blimey Cleo you must be right as it took you over 2 weeks to understand and reply to my post :lol:  :lol:  

 

Ohh arrrr ladi thou's slippin ye naw and to be keepin' up youse should av had a weetuuuuurbix or somes of them theres poridge owts drowned in a slyce of rawse blaaaack pudding and somes uney form them there beez that buzzes around ..... errm why do I suddenly sound like a deranged and drunk pirate who really want's to be a cornish farmer with a new combine harvester :oops:  :lol: 

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Blimey Cleo you must be right as it took you over 2 weeks to understand and reply to my post :lol:  :lol:  

 

Ohh arrrr ladi thou's slippin ye naw and to be keepin' up youse should av had a weetuuuuurbix or somes of them theres poridge owts drowned in a slyce of rawse blaaaack pudding and somes uney form them there beez that buzzes around ..... errm why do I suddenly sound like a deranged and drunk pirate who really want's to be a cornish farmer with a new combine harvester :oops:  :lol: 

Dizz, it sounds like a scouse' Lancastrian. Somerset, Yorkshirite. :lol: .

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Black pudding? No thank you! Grandpapa used to love them and he gave me a bit one day when I was still my papa's little princess....YUCK! Couldn't even stand the smell of them ever after that.

My dad's favourite was tripe, I hate it!

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