If thou an' thine sud tax us workers' fooid,
An' thrust us back in our owd misery,
May t' tears o' our deead childer thin thy blooid,
An' t' curse o' t' "hungry forties" leet on thee.
1. Elland. 2. Satiate 3. Infirm 4 Diseased.
5. Bent double 6. Duke of Norfolk 7 Sting.
8. Sip. 9. Patches 10. Swampy.
The Flowers of Knaresborough Forest
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
Jane Elliot (1727-1805).
O! day-time is weary, an' dark o' dusk dreary
For t' lasses i' t' mistal, or rakin' ower t' hay;
When t' kye coom for strippin', or t' yowes for their clippin',
We think on our sowdiers now gone reet away.
The courtin'-gate's idle, nae lad flings his bridle
Ower t' yak-stoup,(1) an' sleely cooms seekin' his may;
The trod by the river is green as a sliver,(2)
For the Flowers o' the Forest have all stown away.
At Marti'mas hirin's, nae ribbins, nae tirin's,
When t' godspenny's(3) addled, an' t' time's coom for play;
Nae Cheap-Jacks, nae dancin', wi' t' teamster' clogs prancin ,
The Flowers o' the Forest are all flown a way.
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