XVI. And if he be lost — but to save my soul,

that is all your desire : Do you think that I care for my soul if

my boy be gone to the fire? I have been with God in the dark

go, go, you may leave me alone You never have borne a child

you are just as hard as a stone.

Meä an' thy sister was married, when

Wür it? back-end o’ June, Ten year sin', and wa 'greed as well as a

fiddie i' tune : I could fettle and clump owd booöts and

shoes wi' the best on 'em all, As fer as fro' Thursby thurn hup to

Harmsby and Hutterby Hall. We was busy as beeäs i' the bloom an' as

'appy as 'art could think, An' then the babby wur burn, and then

I taäkes to the drink.

IV.

XVII. Madam, I beg your pardon! I think

that you mean to be kind, But I cannot hear what you say for my

Willy's voice in the wind The snow and the sky su bright- he used

but to call in the dark, And he calls to me now from the church

and not from the gibbet for

hark ! Nay — you can hear it yourself - it is

coming -- shaking the walls Willy — the moon's in a cloud - Good

night. I am going. He calls.

An' I wcänt gaäinsaäy it, my lad, thaw

I be hafe shaämed on it now, We could sing a good song at the Plow,

we could sing a good song at the

Plow; Thaw once of a frosty night I slither'd an'

hurted my huck, An' I com'd neck-an'-crop soomtimes

slzäpe down i' the squad an' the

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

1.

WaÄit till our Sally cooms in, fur thou

mun a' sights 1 to tell. Eh, but I be maäin glad to seeä tha sa

'arty an' well.

VIII.

An' once I fowt wi' the Taäilor

- not hafe ov a man, my lad — Fur he scrawm'd an' scratted my faäce

like a cat, an' it maäde 'cr sa mad That Sally she turn'd a tongue-banger,

an' raäted ma, “Sottin' thy braäins Guzzlin' an' soäkin' an' smoäkin' an'

hawmin' 2 about i' the laänes, Soä sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch

thy 'at to the Squire; An' I looök'd cock-eyed at my noäse an’

I seeäd 'im a-gittin' o' fire; But sin' I wur hallus i' liquor an hallus

as droonk as a king, Foälks' coostom fitted awaäy like a kite

wi' a brokken string.

An' then I minded our Sally sa pratty

an' neät an' sweeät, Straät as a pole an' cleän as a flower fro'

'eäd to feeät: An' then I minded the fust kiss I gied

'er by Thursby thurn; Theer wur a lark a-singin' 'is best of a

Sunday at murn, Couldn't see 'im, we 'eärd 'im a-mountin'

oop ’igher an’’igher, An' then 'e turn'd to the sun, an' 'e

shined like a sparkle o' fire. Doesn't tha see 'im,' she axes, .fur I

can see 'im?' an' I Seeäd nobbut the smile o' the sun as

danced in 'er pratty blue eye; An' I says, “I mun gie tha a kiss,' an'

Sally says 'Noä, thou moänt,' But I gied 'er a kiss, an' then anoother,

an' Sally says 'doänt!'

V.

An' Sally she wesh'd foälks' cloäths to

keep the wolf fro' the door, Eh but the moor she riled me, she druv

me to drink the moor, Fur I fun', when 'er back ww turn'd,

wheer Sally's owd stockin' wur 'id, An' I grabb'd the munny she made, and

I weär'd it o' liquor, I did.

IX.

VI.

An' when we coom'd into Meeätin', at

fust she wur all in a tew, But, arter, we sing'd the 'ymn togither

like birds on a beugh; An' Muggins 'e preach'd o' Hell-fire an'

the loov o' God fur men, An' then upo' coomin' awaäy Sally gied

me a kiss ov 'ersen.

An one night I cooms 'oäm like a bull

gotten loose at a faäir, An' she wur a-waäitin' fo'mma, an'cryin'

and teärin' 'er 'aäir, An' I tummled athurt the craädle an'

sweär'd as I'd break ivry stick O' furnitur 'ere i’ the 'ouse, an' I gied

our Sally a kick, An' I mash'd the taäbles an' chairs, an'

she an' the babby beäl'c1,3 Fur I knaw'd naw moor what did nor

a mortal beäst o' the feäld.

X.

Heer wur a fall fro' a kiss to a kick like

Saätan as fell Down out o' heaven i Hell-fire -- thaw

theer's naw drinkin' i' Hell; Meä fur to kick our Sally as kep the wolf

fro' the door, All along o' the drink, fur I loov'd 'er

as well as afoor.

VII.

XI.

An' when I waäked i’ the murnin' I seeäd

that our Sally went laämed Cos' o' the kick as I gied 'er, an' I wur

dreadful ashaämed; An' Sally wur sloomy 4 an' draggie taäild

in an owd turn gown, An' the babby's faäce wurn't wesh'd an'

Sa like a great num-cumpus I blubber'd

awaäy o' the bed • Weänt niver do it naw moor;' an'

Sally looökt up an' she said, • I'll upowd it 1 tha weänt; thou’rt like the rest o' the men,

Thou'll goä sniffin' about the tap till tha

does it agëan. Theer's thy hennemy, man, an' I knaws,

as knaws tha sa well, That, if tha seeäs 'im an’smells 'im tha'll

foller 'im slick into Hell.'

XII.

Naäy,' says I, “fur I weänt goä sniffin'

about the tap.' · Weänt tha?' she says, an' mysen I

thowt i' mysen.mayhap.' Noä:' an' I started awaäy like a shot,

an' down to the Hinn, An' I browt what tha seeäs stannin' theer,

yon big black bottle o' gin.

An' some on 'em said it wur watter

I wur chousin' the wife, Fur I couldn't ’owd ’ands off gin, wur it

ncöbut to saäve my life; An' blacksmith 'e strips me the thick or

'is airm, an' 'e shaws it to me, • Feëal thou this! thou can't graw this

pu' watter !' says he. An' Doctor 'e calls o' Sunday an' just as

candles was lit, •Thou inoänt do it,' he says, “tha mun

hreäk ’im off bit by bit.' “Thou'rt but a Methody-man,' says Par

soii, and laäys down 'is 'at, An' 'e 'points to the bottle o' gin, "but I

iespecks tha fur that;' An' Squire, his oän very sen, walks down

fro’ the 'All to see, An' 'e spanks 'is ’and into mine, .fur I

respecks tha,' says 'e; An' coostom ageän draw'd in like a wind

fro’ far an' wide, And browt me the booöts to be cobbled

fro' hase the coontryside.

XIII.

•That caps owt,' says Sally, an’ saw she

begins to cry, But I puts it inter 'er 'ands an' I says to

'er, ‘Sally,' says I, •Stan’’im theer, i' the naäme o' the Lord

an' the power ov 'is Graäce, Stan' 'im theer fur I'll looök my hennemy

straït i' the faäce, Stan' 'im theer i' the winder, an' let ma

looök at 'im then, 'E sceäms naw moor nor watter, an' 'e's

the Divil's oän sen.'

XVI.

An' theer 'e stans an' theer 'e shall staa

to my dying daäy; I’a gotien to loov 'im ageän in anoother

kind of a waäy, Proud or 'im, like, my lad, an' I keeäps

'iia cleän an' bright, Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im,

an' puts 'im back i' the light.

XIV.

XVII.

An' I wur down i' tha mouth, couldn't do

naw work an' all, Nasty an’snaggy an'shaäky, an' poonch'd

my 'and wi' the hawl, But she wur

a power o' coomfut, an' sattled 'ersen o'my knee, An' coäxd an' coodled me oop till ageän

I feel'd mysen free.

Wouldn't a pint a' sarved as well as a

quart? Naw doubt: But I liked a bigger feller to fight wi' an'

fowt it out. Fine an' meller 'e mun be by this, if I

cared to taäste, But I moänt, my lad, and I weänt, fur

I'd feäl mysen cleän disgraäced.

XV.

An' Sally she tell'd it about, an' foälk

stood a-gawmin'? in' As thaw it wur summat bewitch'd istead

of a quart o' gin;

XVIII.

An' once I said to the Missis, My lass,

when I cooms to die, Smash the bottle to smithers, the Divil's

in 'im,' said I.

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET.

I.

AT FLORES in the Azores Sir Richard

Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came

flying from far away: 'Spanish ships of war at sea! we have

sighted fifty-three!' Then sware Lord Thomas Howard :

"'Fore God I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my

ships are out of gear, And the ball my men are sick. I must

fly, but follow quick. We are six ships of the line; can we

fight with fifty-three?'

He had only a hundred seamen to work

the ship and to fight, And he sailed away from Flores till the

Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon

the weather bow. * Shall we fight or shall we fly? Good Sir Richard, tell us now, For to fight is but to die ! There'll be little of us left by the time

this sun be set.' And Sir Richard said again : We be all

good English men. Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the

children of the devil, For I never turn'd my back upon Don or

devil yet.'

V.

II. Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: I

know you are no coward; You fly them for a moment to fight with

them again. 1 A pudding made with the first milk of the cow after calving.

Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and

we roar'd a hurrah, and so The little Revenge ran on sheer into the

heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck, and

her ninety sick below;

And while now the great San Philip

hung above us like a cloud Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud, Four galleons drew away From the Spanish fleet that day, And two upon the larboard and two upon

the starboard lay, And the battle-thunder broke from them

all.

VIII.

But anon the great San Philip, she be

thought herself and went Having that within her womb that had

left her ill content; And the rest they came aboard us, and

they fought us hand to hand, For a dozen times they came with their

pikes and musqueteers, And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a

dog that shakes his ears When he leaps from the water to the land.

And the night went down, and the sun

smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides

lay round us all in a ring; But they dared not touch us again, for

they feard that we still could

sting, So they watch'd what the end would be. And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we, Seeing forty of our poor hundred were

slain, And half of the rest of us maim'd for life In the crash of the cannonades and the

desperate strife; And the sick men down in the hold were

most of them stark and cold, And the pikes were all broken or bent,

and the powder was all of it spent; And the masts and the rigging were

lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride, * We have fought such a hight for a day

and a night
As may never be fought again!
We have won great glory, my men!
And a day less or more
At sea or ashore,
We die — does it matter when?

IX.

And the sun went down, and the stars

came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the light of

the one and the fifty-three. Ship after ship, the whole night long,

their high-built galleons came, Ship after ship, the whole night long,