North cone's up on t' flagstaff,
There's a cap-full o' wind i' t' bay;
T' waves wap loud on t' harbour bar,
Thoo can hardlins fish to-day.

GRANDFATHER
It's leansome here i' t' hoose, lass,
When t' fisher-folk's at sea,
Watchin' yon eldin(1) set i' t' fire
Bleeze up, dwine doon, an' dee.
An' t' sea-gulls they coom flyin'
Aboon our red roof-tiles;
They call me doon the chimley,
An' laugh at other whiles.

"There's mack'rel oot at sea, lad,"
Is what I hear 'em say;
"Their silver scales are glestrin' breet,
Look oot across the bay;
But mack'rel's not for thee, lad,
For thoo's ower weak to sail."
My een wi' saut tears daggle(2)
When I hear their mockin' tale.

MALLY
Dean't mind their awfish(3) skreekin',
They 'tice folk to their death;
Then ride aboon yon billows
An' gloor at them beneath.
They gloor at eenless corpses