1. Leaped. 2. Stood. 3. Food.

1. Leaped. 2. Stood. 3. Food.

Sheffield Cutler's Song (1887)

Abel Bywater

Coom all you cutlin' heroes, where'ersome'er you be, All you what works at flat-backs,(1) coom listen unto me; A basketful for a shillin', To mak 'em we are willin', Or swap 'em for red herrin's, aar bellies to be fillin', Or swap 'em for red herrin's, aar bellies to be fillin'.

A baskitful o' flat-backs, I'm sure we'll mak, or more, To ger(2) reight into t' gallery, wheer we can rant an' roar, Throw flat-backs, stones an' sticks, Red herrin's, bones an' bricks, If they don't play "Nancy's fancy," or onny tune we fix, We'll do the best at e'er we can to break some o' their necks.

Hey! Jont, lad, where art ta waddlin' to? Does ta work at flat-backs yit, as tha's been used to do? Ha! coom, an' tha' s go wi' me, An' a sample I will gie thee, It's one at I've just forged upon Geoffry's bran-new stiddy.(3) Look at it well, it does excel all t' flat-backs i' aar smithy.

Let's send for a pitcher o' ale, lad, for I'm gerrin' varry droy, I'm ommost chok'd wi' smithy sleck,(4) the wind it is so hoigh. Gie Rafe an' Jer a drop, They sen(5) they cannot stop, They're i' sich a moighty hurry to get to t' penny hop, They're i' sich a moighty hurry to get to t' penny hop.

Here's Steem at lives at Heeley, he'll soon be here, I knaw, He's larnt a new maccaroni step, the best you iver saw; He has it so complete, He troies up ivery street, An' ommost breaks all t' pavors(6) wi' swattin'(7) daan his feet. An' Anak troies to beat him, wheniver they doon(8) meet.

We'll raise a tail by Sunda, Steem; I knaw who's one to sell, We'll tee a hammer heead at t' end to mak it balance well. It's a reight new Lunnon tail, We'll wear it kale for kale,(9) Aar Anak browt it wi' him, that neet he coom by t' mail. We'll drink success unto it--hey! Tout, lad, teem(10) aat t' ale.

1 Knives. 2 Get. 3. Anvil. 4. Dust. 5. Say. 6. Paving Stones. 7. Hammering. 8. Do. 9. Turn and about. 10. Pour.

Address to Poverty

Anonymous

Scoolin' maid o' iron broo, Thy sarvant will address thee noo, For thoo invites the freedom By drivin' off my former friends, To leak to their awn private ends, Just when I chanc'd to need 'em.

I've had thy company ower lang, Ill-lookin' wean,(1) thoo must be wrang, Thus to cut short my jerkin. I ken thee weel, I knaw thy ways, Thoo's awlus kept back cash an' claes, An' foorc'd me to hard workin'.

To gain o' thee a yal(2) day's march I straave; bud thoo's sae varra arch. For all I still straave faster, Thoo's tripp'd my heels an' meade me stop, By some slain corn, or failin' crop, Or ivery foul disaster.

If I my maand may freely speak, I really dunnot like thy leak, Whativer shap thoo's slipp'd on; Thoo's awd an' ugly, deeaf an' blinnd, A fiend afoore, a freight behinnd, An' foul as Mother Shipton.

Folks say, an' it is nowt bud truth, Thoo has been wi' me frae my youth, An' gien me monny a thumper; Bud noo thoo cooms wi' all thy weight, Fast fallin' frae a fearful height, A doonreet Milton plumper.

Sud plenty frae her copious horn, Teem(1) oot to me good crops o' corn, An' prosper weel my cattle, An' send a single thoosand pund, 'T wad bring all things completely roond, An' I wad gie thee battle.

Noo, Poverty, ya thing I beg, Like a poor man withoot a leg, Sea, prethee, don't deceive me; I knaw it's i' thy power to grant The laatle favour at I want ­ At thoo wad gang an' leave me.