Classic Poem

I

Twelve month come Michaelmas I went a trip to London Town,
An' what I see while I wor theer did somehow cast me down;
For when I 'ad forgotten all the theatres an' shows,
The traains an' trams, an' lighted streets, the taxi-cabs in rows,
The parks agaate wi' people all as throng as Lincoln Fair,
The traffic roarin' thro' the streets enough to raise yer 'air,
Great palaces an' mansions, wi' their treasuries untold,
Enough to maak yer think as 'ow the streets be paved wi' gold,
The miles an' miles of houses, the endless lines o' shops,
Wi' richness drippin' from the comb, the saam as honey drops —
When all these things soa wonderful 'ed vanished, ivery bit,
'Ere's one thing lingered in my mind as idn't like to flit.

II

Our Andrew showed me all about, 'e steered me thro' the maaze,
'Coz I wor lost as sure as owt, an' fairly in a daaze;
'E took me laate one night to see the theatres come out —
A dolsh o' people pourin' forth just like a rabble rout.
The women dressed an' decked around — you'd 'ardly think it true —
Wi' diamonds an' laaces fine, wi' furs an' feathers, too.
Our Andrew said as some on 'em wor carryin' that night
The vally of our farmstead! A vain, but stirrin sight:
Not dozens, no, but hundreds, passed away from out that door,
While Andrew said as theer wor p'r'aps a score o' theatres more.

III

Well, then, we turned our feet aside down to the river's brink —
A pitch-black water strung above wi' fairy lights a-blink;
An' theer I see a mortal sight wot turned me inside out.
All 'uddled up for warmth lay men, an' gels, an' bairns about —
It froz' my blood to see 'em theer, soa pinched, an' paale, an' wan;
The little bairns as thin as rails, you'd omost think 'em gone.
I couldn't beear to look at 'em for long, but Andrew said
As thousands ivery winter 'ad noawheer to laay their head.
Just fancy that! A-starvin' theer! Soa cold an' peeaked an' pined.
While just a step or two away the rich uns danced and wined.
" D'ye think, " I sez to Andrew, " as I should 'uddle theer
While wife an' childer went wi'out their meaat an' drink? — Noa fear.
" I'd smash a winder or a faace, I'd show 'em wot wor wot.
" It's wickedness past all belief as them poor souls should rot
" When others carry on their dress the vally of our farm;
" Afore I'd stand such treatment I should do a deal of harm.
" I'd kill a dozen on 'em first, I'd knock their faces flat,
" It maaks me feel all 'ot inside to think mesen like that. "

IV

But Andrew looked at me an' says as gentle as 'e could,
" If they wor owt like you are, Dad, they wouldn't want for food.
" They're workshys, an' they're waasters, an' they moastly booze as well;
" They're failures an' they're losers wot's tumbled into hell,
" They weean't work, or they can't work, or they niver try at all.
" You can't 'elp anybody as weean't oppen out their stall. "

V

'E talked me down, I must confess, and yet I can't agree;
I couldn't argy wi' 'im, but it doan't seem rate to me
As some should pine an' starve outside while others snug and warm.
Should deck thersens like peacocks wi' the vally of our farm.
I think the reaason on it is that London is to blame.
We're diff'rent in the country, 'coz we're niver put to shaame.
We're 'appy an' contented, for iverybody theer
'Ez food an' drink an' shelter an' summat fit to wear,
I'm sure as that's the reeason, tho' they cannot understand
As they'll niver get things raatled till they goa back to the land —
Wheer them wot has, will lend a hand to them as is wi'out,
Not let 'em starve to death while they goa stravagin' about,
Wheer all can get a livelihood, wheer noabody need pine
(I'll grant you 'ere's noa fortunes, but for them we niver whine).
Yes, that's the reason, surely, as they've sunk soa darkly down.
The Almighty maade the country, but the devil maade the town.