Young childer often bathe, when t'weather's fine,
Up yonder, wheer t' owd miller's bigged his weir;
I like to see their lish,(6) nakt bodies shine,
An' watch 'em dive i' t' watter widoot fear.

Ay, yon's our brig, bent like an archer's bow,
It's t' meetin' place o' folk frae near an' far;
Young 'uns coom theer wi' lasses laughin' low,
Owd 'uns to talk o' politics an' t' war.

It's daft when chaps that sit i' Parliament
Weant tak advice frae lads that talk farm-twang;
If t' coontry goes to t' dogs, it's 'cause they've sent
Ower mony city folk to mend what's wrang.

They've taen our day-tale men(7) to feight for t' land,
Then tell us we mun keep our staggarths(8) full.
What's lasses, gauvies,(9) greybeards stark(10) i' t' hand,
To strip wer kye, an' ploo, an' tew wi' t' shool?(11)

But theer, I'll nurse my threapin' while it rains,
An' while my rheumatiz is bad to bide;
I mun step heamwards now, through t' yatts(12) an' lanes,
Wheer t' owd lass waits for me by t' fireside.


1. Strangely 2 Timid 3 Basket
4. Kingcups, cowslips, globe-flowers. 5. Ladybirds
6 Smooth. 7. Day Labourers 8. Stock Yards