Northern Farmer: New Style
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters away?
Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em say.
Proputty, proputty, proputty--Sam, thou's an ass for thy paans:
Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs, nor in all thy braans.
Wo--theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam; yon 's parson's 'ouse--
Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be ether a man or a mouse?
Time to think on it then; for thou'll be twenty to week.
Proputty, proputty--wo then, wo--let ma 'ear mysn spek.
Me an' thy muther, Sammy, 'as been a'talkin' o' thee;
Thou's ben talkin' to muther, an' she ben a tellin' it me.
Thou'll not marry for munny--thou's sweet upo' parson's lass--
No--thou 'll marry for luvv--an' we both of us thinks tha an ass.
See'd her today go by--Saint's-day--they was ringing the bells.
She's a beauty, thou thinks--an' so is scoors o' gells,
Them as 'as munny an' all--wot's a beauty?--the flower as blaws.
But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.
Do'ant be stunt; take time. I knaws what makes tha sa mad.
Warn't I crazed fur the lasses mysn when I wur a lad?
But I knaw'd a Quaker feller as often 'as towd ma this:
"Dont thou marry for munny, but go wheer munny is!"
An' I went wheer munny war; an' thy muther coom to 'and,
Wi' lots o' munny laad by, an' a nicetish bit o' land.
Maybe she warn't a beauty--I niver giv it a thowt--
But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?
Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she went 'a nowt when 'e 's ded,
Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her bred.
Why? for 'e 's nobbut a curate, an' went niver get hissn clear,
An' 'e made the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shere.
An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' Varsity debt,
Stook to his tail thy did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.
An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi' non to lend 'im a shuvv,
Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married for luvv.
Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,
Makin' 'em go togither, as they've good right to do.
Couldn I luvv thy muther by cause 'o 'er munny laad by?
Nay--fur I luvv'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reson why.
Ay, an' thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass,
Cooms of a gentleman burn: an' we both on us thinks tha an ass.
Wo then, proputty, wiltha?--an ass as near as mays nowt--
Wo then, wiltha? dangtha!--the bees is as fell as owt.
Brek me a bit o' the esh for his 'ed, lad, out o' the fence!
Gentleman burn! what's gentleman burn? is it shillins an' pence?
Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest
If it isn't the same oop yonder, fur them as 'as it 's the best.
Tis'n them as 'as munny as breaks into 'ouses an' stels,
Them as 'as coats to their backs an' takes their regular mels,
No, but it 's them as niver knaws wheer a mel's to be 'ad.
Take my word for it Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.
Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a ben a lazy lot,
Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leastways 'is munny was 'id.
But 'e tued an' moil'd issn dead, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.
Look thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill!
Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;
An' I 'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou 'll live to see;
And if thou marries a good un I 'll leve the land to thee.
Thim's my notions, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick;
But if thou marries a bad un, I 'll leve the land to Dick.--
Coom oop, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'im say--
Proputty, proputty, proputty--canter an' canter away.
