roses,
Stoor(1) set on my smile.
Ye may caar(2) ye daan afoor me,
Castles for me build,
Twine me laurel garlands,
Let sweet song be trilled.
Ye may let my meyt be honey,
Let my sup be wine,
Gie me haands an' hosses,
Gie me sheep an' kine.
Yit one flaid(3) kuss fra her would gie
Sweeter bliss to me
Nor owt at ye could finnd to name,
Late(4) ye through sea tul sea.

I've seen her hair gleam gowden
In t' Kersmas yollow sun,
An' ivery inch o' graand she treeads
Belang her sure it mun.
Her smile is sweet as roses,
An' sweeter far to me,
An' praad she hods her heead up,
As lass o' heigh degree.
Bonnie are green laurel leaves,
I'd sooiner my braa feel
T' laughin' lips o' t' lass I love,
Though bays be varry weel.

I'm varry fond o' singin',
What bonnier could be
Nor my fair lass hersen agate(5)
A-singin' love to me?
It's reight to live on spice an' sich,
An' sup a warmin' glass,
But sweet-stuff's walsh,(6) an' wine is cowd,
Aside my lovely lass.
Tak ye your haands an' hosses,
Tak ye your sheep an' kine;
To finnd my lass ower t' hills I'll ride,
She sal be iver mine.

1. Value. 2. Cower. 3. Trembling.
4. Search. 5. Busy. 6. Insipid.

Huntin' Song

Richard Blakeborough

It's neet an' naa we're here, lads,
We're in for gooid cheer, lads;
Yorkshiremen we all on us are,
Yorkshiremen for better or war(1);
We're tykes an' we're ghast(2) uns,
We're paid uns an' fast uns,
Awther for better or awther for war!

All t' lot

Then shaat till ye've gor hooast,(3) lads,
Sing, Yorkshiremen, wer tooast, lads,
Wer king, wer heeath, wer haands, lads,
Wer hooam, wer hearth, wer baans,(4) lads."

There's some at nooan are here, lads,
Forger em we sal ne'er, lads;
Yorkshiremen they all on 'em war,
Yorkshiremen yit all on 'em are.
There's thrang(5) uns an' looan(6) uns,
There's wick uns an' gooan uns,
They're all reight somewheer, an' we 'st be no war!

All t' lot

Then shaat till ye've gor hooast, lads,
Sing, "Yorkshiremen, wer tooast, lads,
Wer king, wer heea