But liker far to the poor frog,
I's wanderin' through the world for prog,
Where deeath gies monny a yan a jog,
An' cuts them doon;
An' though I think misen incog,
That way I's boun.
Time whets his scythe and shakes his glass,
And though I know all flesh be grass,
Like monny mair I play the ass,
Don't seem to know;
But here wad sometime langer pass,
Befoor I go.
Ye bonnie lasses, livin' flooers,
Of cottage mean, or gilded booers,
Possessed of attractive pooers,
Ye all mun gang
Like frogs in meadows fed by shooers,
Ere owt be lang.
Though we to stately plants be grown,
He easily can mow us doon;
It may be late, or may be soon,
His scythe we feel;
Or is it fittin' to be known?
Therefore fareweel.
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.
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