The Northern Cobbler
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I.
WA'IT till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a' sights1 to tell.
Eh, but I be ma'in glad to see' tha sa 'arty an' well.
'Cast awa'y on a disolut land wi' a vartical soon2!'
Strange fur to go' fur to think what sa'ilors a' see'n an' a' doon;
'Summat to drink'sa' 'ot?' I 'a nowt but Adam's wine:
What's the 'e't o' this little 'ill-side to the 'e't o' the line?
II.
'What's i' tha bottle a-stanning theer? I'll tell tha. Gin.
But if thou wants thy grog, tha mun go' fur it down to the inn.
Naay'fur I be ma'in-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa dry,
Thou gits naw gin fro' the bottle theer, an' I'll tell tha why.
III.
Me' an' thy sister was married, when wur it? back-end o' June,
Ten year sin', and wa 'greed as well as a fiddle i' tune:
I could fettle and clump owd boo'ts and shoes wi' the best on 'em all,
As fer as fro' Thursby thurn hup to Harmsby and Hutterby Hall.
We was busy as bee's i' the bloom an' 'appy as 'art could think,
An' then the babby wur burn, and then I ta'kes to the drink.
IV.
An' I weant ga'insa'y it, my lad, thaw I be hafe sha'med on it now,
We could sing a good song at the Plow, we could sing a good song at the Plow;
Thaw once of a frosty night I slither'd an hurted my huck,3
An' I coom'd neck-an-crop soomtimes sla'pe down i' the squad an' the muck:
An' once I fowt wi' the Ta'ilor'not hafe ov a man, my lad'
Fur he scrawm'd an' scratted my fa'ce like a cat, an' it ma'de'er sa mad
That Sally she turn'd a tongue-banger4 an' ra'ted ma, 'Sottin' thy bra'ins
Guzzlin' an' so'kin' an' smo'kin' an' hawmin'5 about i' the la'nes,
So' sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch thy 'at to the Squire;'
An' I loo'k'd cock-eyed at my no'se an' I see'd 'im a-gittin' o' fire;
But sin' I wur hallus i' liquor an' hallus as droonk as a king,
Fo'lks' coostom flitted awa'y like a kite wi' a brokken string.
V.
An' Sally she wesh'd fo'lks' clo'ths to keep the wolf fro' the door,
Eh but the moor she riled me, she druv me to drink the moor,
Fur I fun', when 'er hack wur turn'd, wheer Sally's owd stockin' wur 'id,
An' I grabb'd the munny she ma'de, and I we'r'd it o' liquor, I did.
VI.
An' one night I cooms 'o'm like a bull gotten loose at a fa'ir,
An' she wur a-wa'itin' fo'mma, an' cryin' and te'rin' 'er 'a'ir,
An' I tummled athurt the cra'dle an' swe'r'd as I'd break ivry stick
O' furnitur 'ere i' the 'ouse, an' I gied our Sally a kick,
An' I mash'd the ta'bles an' chairs, an' she an' the babby be'l'd,6
Fur I knaw'd naw moor what I did nor a mortal be'st o' the fe'ld.
VII.
An' when I wa'ked i' the murnin' I see'd that our Sally went la'med
Cos' o' the kick as I gied 'er, an' I wur dreadful asha'med;
An' Sally wur sloomy7 an' draggle ta'il'd in an owd turn gown,
An' the babby's fa'ce wurn't wesh'd an' the 'ole 'ouse hupside down.
VIII.
An' then I minded our Sally sa patty an' ne't an' swee't,
Strait as a pole an' cle'n as a flower fro' 'ead to fee't:
An' then I minded the fust kiss I gied 'er by Thursby thurn;
Theer wur a lark a-singin' 'is best of a Sunday at murn,
Couldn't see 'im, we 'e'rd 'im a-mountin' oop 'igher an' 'igher,
An' then 'e turn'd to the sun, an' 'e shined like a sparkle o' fire.
'Doesn't tha see 'im,' she axes, 'fur I can see 'im?' an' I
See'd nobbut the smile o' the sun as danced in 'er pratty blue eye;
An' I says 'I mun gie tha a kiss,' an' Sally says 'No', thou mo'nt,'
But I gied 'er a kiss, an' then anoother, an' Sally says 'do'nt!'
IX.
An' when we coom'd into Mee'tin', at fust she wur all in a tew,
But, arter, we sing'd the 'ymn togither like birds on a beugh;
An' Muggins 'e pre'ch'd o' Hell-fire an' the loov o' God fur men,
An' then upo' coomin' awa'y Sally gied me a kiss ov 'ersen.
X.
Heer wur a fall fro' a kiss to a kick like Sa'tan as fell
Down out o' heaven i' hell-fire'thaw theer's naw drinkin' i' Hell;
Me' fur to kick our Sally as kep the wolf fro' the door,
All along o' the drink, fur I loov'd 'er as well as afoor.
XI.
Sa like a gre't num-cumpus I blubber'd awa'y o' the bed'
'We'nt niver do it naw moor;' an' Sally loookt up an' she said,
'I'll upowd it8 tha we'nt; thou'rt like the rest o' the men,
Thou'll go' sniffin' about the tap till tha does it ag'an.
Theer's thy hennemy, man, an' I knaws, as knaws tha sa well,
That, if tha see's 'im an' smells 'im tha'll foller 'im slick into Hell.'
XII.
'Na'y,' says I, 'fur I we'nt go' sniffin' about the tap.'
'We'nt tha?' she says, an' mysen I thowt i' mysen 'mayhap.'
'No':' an' I started awa'y like a shot, an' down to the Hinn,
An' I browt what tha see's stannin' theer, yon big black bottle o' gin.
XIII.
'That caps owt,'9 says Sally, an' saw she begins to cry,
But I puts it inter 'er 'ands an' I says to 'er, 'Sally,' says I,
'Stan' 'im theer i' the na'me o' the Lord an' the power ov 'is Gra'ce,
Stan' 'im theer, fur I'll loo'k my hennemy strait i' the fa'ce,
Stan' 'im theer i' the winder, an' let ma loo'k at 'im then,
'E see'ms naw moor nor watter, an' 'e's the Divil's o'n sen.'
XIV.
An' I wur down i' tha mouth, couldn't do naw work an' all,
Nasty an' snaggy an' sha'ky, an' poonch'd my 'and wi' the hawl,
But she wur a power o' coomfut, an' sattled 'ersen o' my knee,
An' co'xd an' coodled me oop till age'n I feel'd mysen free.
XV.
An' Sally she tell'd it about, an' fo'lk stood a-gawmin'10 in,
As thaw it wur summat bewitch'd istead of a quart o' gin;
An' some on 'em said it wur watter'an' I wur chousin' the wife,
Fur I couldn't 'owd 'ands off gin, wur it nobbut to sa've my life;
An' blacksmith 'e strips me the thick ov 'is airm, an' 'e shaws it to me,
Fee'l thou this! thou can't graw this upo' watter!' says he.
An' Doctor 'e calls o' Sunday an' just as candles was lit,
'Thou mo'nt do it,' he says, 'tha mun break 'im off bit by bit.'
'Thou'rt but a Methody-man,' says Parson, and la'ys down 'is 'at,
An' 'e points to the bottle o' gin, 'but I respeeks tha fur that;'
An' Squire, his o'n very sen, walks down fro' the 'All to see,
An' 'e spanks 'is 'and into mine, 'fur I respecks tha,' says 'e;
An' coostom age'n draw'd in like a wind fro' far an' wide,
And browt me the boo'ts to be cobbled fro' hafe the coontryside.
XVI.
An' theer 'e stans an' theer 'e shall stan to my dying da'y;
I 'a gotten to loov 'im age'n in anoother kind of a wa'y,
Proud on 'im, like, my lad, an' I kee'ps 'im cle'n an' bright,
Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im, an' puts 'im back i' the light.
XVII.
Wouldn't a pint a' sarved as well as a quart? Naw doubt:
But I liked a bigger fetter to fight wi' an fowt it out.
Fine an' meller 'e mun be by this, if I cared to ta'ste,
But I mo'nt, my lad, and I we'nt, fur I'd fe'l mysen cle'n disgra'ced.
XVIII.
An' once I said to the Missis, 'My lass, when I cooms to die,
Smash the bottle to smithers, the Divil's in 'im,' said I.
But arter I cha'nged my mind, an' if Sally be left alo'n,
I'll hev 'im a-buried wi'mma an' ta'kt 'im afoor the Thro'n.
XIX.
Coom thou 'eer'yon la'dy a-steppin along the stree't,
Doesn't tha knaw 'er'sa pratty, an' fe't, an' ne't, an' swee't?
Look at the clo'ths on 'er back, thebbe ammost spick-span-new,
An' Tommy's fa'ce be as fresh as a codlin wesh'd i' the dew.
XX.
'Ere he our Sally an' Tommy, an' we be a-goin to dine,
Ba'con an' ta'tes, an' a beslings-pud-din'11 an' Adam's wine;
But if tha wants ony grog tha mun go' fur it down to the Hinn,
Fur I we'nt shed a drop on 'is blood, no', not fur Sally's o'n kin.