Classic Poem

[T’West Riding o’ Yorkshire is famed for different branches i’ t’fine art
line, bud t’music aw think licks t’lump, especially abaght Haworth an’
Keighley. Nah Haworth wunce hed a famous singer; he wor considered one
o’ t’best i’ Yorkshire in his time. It is said ’at he once walked fra
Haworth to York i’ one day, an’ sung at an Oratorio at neet. He hed one
fault, an’ that wor just same as all t’other Haworth celebrities; he wod
talk owd fashioned, an’ that willant dew up i’ London. Bud we hed monny
a good singer beside him i’ t’neighbourhood. Nah what is thur grander
ner a lot o’ local singers at Kersmas time chanting i’ t’streets; it’s
ommost like bein’ i’ heaven, especially when you’re warm i’ bed. But
there’s another thing at’s varry amusing abaght our local singers, when
they meet together ther is some demi-semi-quavering, when ther’s sharps,
flats, an’ naturals;—an’ t’best ale an’ crotchets mix’d, that’s the time
fer music.]

Come, gi’ us a wag o’ thy paw, Jim Wreet,
Come, gi’ us a wag o’ thy paw;
I knew thee when thy heead wor black,
Bud nah it’s white as snow;
A Merry Kersmas to thee, Jim,
An’ all thy kith an’ kin;
An’ hoping tha’ll ha’ monny more,
For t’sake o’ ould long sin’—
Jim Wreet,
For t’sake o’ ould long sin’.

It’s so monny year to-day, Jim Wreet,
Sin owd Joe Constantine—
An’ Daniel Acroyd, thee, an’ me,
An other friends o’ thine,
Went up ta sing at Squire’s house,
Not a hauf-a-mile fra here;
An’ t’Squire made us welcome
To his brown October beer—
Jim Wreet,
To his brown October beer.

An’ owd Joe Booth tha knew, Jim Wreet,
’At kept the Old King’s Arms;
Whear all t’church singers used ta meet,
When they hed sung ther Psalms;
An’ thee an’ me amang ’em, Jim,
Sometimes hev chang’d the string,
An’ with a merry chorus join’d,
We’ve made yon tavern ring,
Jim Wreet,
We’ve made yon tavern ring.

But nearly three score years, Jim Wreet,
Hev past away sin’ then;
Then Keighley in Appolo’s Art,
Could boast her trusty men;
But music nah means money, Jim,
An’ that tha’s sense to knaw;
But just fer owd acquaintance sake.
Come gi’ us a wag o’ thy paw,
Jim Wreet,
Come gi’ us a wag o’ thy paw.