A HAPPY day at Whitsuntide, As soon ’s the zun begun to vall,
Back here, but now, the jobber John Come by, an' cried, "Well done, zing on,
Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika
Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo,
A song I sing o' t' Yorkshire dales,
That Winnd frae t' moors to t' sea;
"What meks tha sit so quate, to-neet? Come, hesta nowt to say?
Tha coom i' th' heawse an' never spooak o t' time tha geet thi
Ye highlands and ye lawlands,
Oh! quhair hae ye been?
Crawlin about like a snail in the mud,
Covered wi clammy blae,
A little white soul went up to God,
Out of the mire of the city street;
Sometimes, when wearied eawt at neet,
Aw sit me deawn i'th' owd arm-cheear
Come let us choose the better part,
And sing whilst life is given;
Soutar was famous for his riddles as well as his poetry (and some combinations of the two)
Here are six. Best of Luck.
God bless ivery one raand yor table
Wi' plenty to ait an' to spare;
Ayont the Caller Fountain
Whan gowks were in the schaw,
Whan I haik't up to Craigie Hill
And lookit east and west;
Theaw thinks theaw'rt hon'some — doesno' theaw ?
But tek my word theaw'rt reet deawn feaw;
Aw'd just stopped to rest me, a bit past th' owd farm;
For t' basket wur heavy, an' t' weather wur warm.
When Rebel Tam was in the pit
He tholed the very pangs o' Hell
Ther's an owd family relic on th' bookshelf up theer,
An’ aw'll keep it till th' day 'at aw dee;
About Zule, quhen the wind blew cule,
And the round tables began,
When first I saw wee Maggie's face
Richt heid ower heels in love I tumbled,
'Into this well soa deep,
We put thee daan to sleep,
Mi-heart beats time to a merry tune,
An' flutters wild wi' glee ;
They tell me this world's full o' trouble,
An' each one comes in for a share;
Hold up yer heads, tho' at poor workin men
Simple rich ens may laff an' may scorn;
Some fowk choose one thing, some another,
To grace ther prose or rhyme;
Let us have a jolly spree,
An' wi' joy an' harmonie,
Yo may talk abeawt Growcot, or Postle, or Day,
As runners o' fame an' reneawn ;
When th' factory loces uv a neet,
An' labour's o'er for th' day,
"What meks tha sit so quate, to-neet ?
Come, hes ta nowt to say ?
Ned Cobbles wur noted as one o' that class
'At stick fast as glue when they get howd o' brass ; . ; ^.
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