lies and Rhymes 
 
 Lindsey Folk -Speech 
 
 "1 ^ 
 
 -n 
 
 8^ 
 
 =^ ^ 
 
 1 -^ 
 
 
 
 9^ 
 
 - r- 
 
 -•^ 
 
 —■1 -<: 
 
 2 — 
 
 
 MABEL PEACOCK
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 7 
 
 Sy 
 
 TALES AND EHYMES 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH,
 
 NORTH LINCOLNSHIRE DIALECT. 
 
 TALES Am RHYMES 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LiroSEY FOLK-SPEECH, 
 
 BY 
 
 MABEL PEACOCK, 
 
 ENTERED AT HTATIOXERS' HALL. 
 
 GEORGE JACKSON & SON, Buiao. 
 GEORGE BELL & SONS, 
 
 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEX, LOXDOX. 
 
 1886.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Yorkshire and Lancashire people write in 
 their own words about their own ways, 
 and why should not Lincolnshire folks do. 
 so also ? 
 
 Most of the books that we buy speak 
 of strange, far-away places and persons, 
 but this one is about things that have 
 happened in Lincolnshire, and about every- 
 day men and women such as we have known 
 all our lives. Some of the stories told here 
 are true, but the real names of the people 
 concerned in them are not given, for 
 perhaps they and their friends would not 
 care to see their names in print. 
 
 As someone who does not understand 
 the Lincolnshire dialect may chance to read 
 
 961731
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 this book, it is as well to mention tliat in 
 Lindsey the letter fc is generally pronounced 
 like the go in foot ; that the 1/ in wj/, 
 f//j/, &c., is usually, though not always, 
 short, like the i in /;?y ; that, as a general 
 rule, the vowel sounds in the pronouns are 
 shortened as much as possible, unless par- 
 ticular stress is laid on the word ; that one, 
 wTitten here tcwi, rhymes with on; that ?var, 
 swarm, want, wasjy, &c., have the a sounded 
 like a in ant, and that the pronoun / is 
 often sounded nearly like a.
 
 CONTEXTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 How IT HAPPENS THAT WE LIVE IN LINCOLNSHIRE . 9 
 
 Th' Lad 'at went oot to look feu Fools ... GO 
 
 Th' M.iN an' th' Boggarij G7 
 
 The Lass 'at seed her awn Graave dug . . .72 
 
 T' Curate 'at ca.4.me era Linnvn . . . . 7G 
 
 A Peace auoot Poachin' .84 
 
 Jack To'ner 88 
 
 Th' owd Woman 'at could cure Toothaache . . 97 
 
 Tom's Convarsion . . 99 
 
 Th' Yaller-legg'd Cock'ril 105 
 
 Owd-fashion'd Riddles for Owd-fas}iion'd Fo.iKs . 109 
 
 A Lincolnsheer Letter ...... 122 
 
 Th' Lincolnsheer Po.icHER 126 
 
 Peater .......... 130 
 
 A Last Wo'd 134
 
 Tales and Rhymes 
 
 IX THE 
 
 Lii^DSET Folk-Speech. 
 
 HOW IT. HAPPENS THAT WE LIVE 
 IN LINCOLNSHIRE. 
 
 No one knows when men first came into 
 England ; but it must have been a long time 
 ago, for stone knives and spear-heads have 
 been found lying side by side with the 
 bones of the wild beasts, that lived here 
 before the people who knew how to use 
 copper and iron crossed the sea and settled 
 in this country. 
 
 In the earliest books about England we 
 are told that the Pha3nicians, who were a 
 people near akin to the Philistines spoken
 
 10 TALES AND BUYMES IN 
 
 of in the Bible, used to come to Britain 
 (which was not called England till long 
 after those days) to buy tin ; and the Greeks 
 came also to get lead, skins, slaves, and 
 hunting- dogs from the natives of the 
 country. The fore-elders of these people 
 had come into Britain from the stretch of 
 land we now call France, so the men on 
 both sides of the sea lived in the same way 
 and spoke nearly the same language. 
 
 In those days the Eomans, who were 
 natives of Italy, had spread themselves 
 over all the West of Europe, and, besides 
 that, they had conquered the Egyptians, the 
 Greeks, and the Hebrews, with many other 
 peoples. At last they found their way to 
 Britain, and set to work to make themselves 
 masters of the countr}^ They crossed over 
 the sea from France fifty-live years before 
 the birth of our Saviour, and, though a long 
 time passed by before they had conquered
 
 THE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 11 
 
 the whole country, they looked on Britain 
 as their own from the time when they first 
 landed on the shore. 
 
 The Eomans found the Britons lived by 
 cultivating the land, by cattle-breeding, and 
 by hunting. They dressed themselves in 
 checked cloaks and in skins, and they lived 
 in huts built of wood, or made of the reeds 
 that grew in the bogs. When they went 
 out to fight they drove in war-chariots with 
 scythes fixed to the axles, and they defended 
 their towns by digging deep ditches round 
 them, and by setting up walls made of trees, 
 felled in the neighbouring forests. 
 
 These Britons were very fond of fighting, 
 but they were no match for the Eomans, 
 so they had to give way before them, and 
 own themselves beaten. Then the Eomans 
 began to make roads, to build towns, and 
 to drain the low land by the rivers. In 
 Lincolnshire they built a beautiful city.
 
 12 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 which they called Lindum Colonia, and 
 which we now call Lincoln. They had 
 another town at Horncastle, and another 
 at Caistor, which place gets its name from 
 the Eoman word castra, a camp. At one 
 time the shire must have been full of houses 
 built by the Eomans, or by the Britons, 
 who tried to copy Eoman ways. Bits of 
 their broken bricks, drain -tiles, and pottery 
 may be dug up near most of the villages in 
 Lincolnshire. 
 
 The road running from Wiutringham to 
 Lincoln, and from Lincoln right down into 
 the south of England, Tilbridge Lane, and 
 the Foss-way, were all Eoman roads. They 
 made the Foss-dyke also, and used it for 
 carrying off the water from the low land 
 near Lincoln, and for bringing boats full of 
 corn up to the town. 
 
 No doubt the Eomans were hard masters 
 to the people they had conquered, but they
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 13 
 
 taught tliem how to build good houses, and 
 they improved trade in all ways. During 
 the time that they ruled the country the 
 Britons learnt to work the land so well that 
 they were able to sell a great deal of corn 
 and other farm-stuff to foreigners. It was 
 while the Romans were here, too, that mis- 
 sionaries first came into the country, and 
 taught both the Eomans and the Britons to 
 give up the old heathen religions and be- 
 lieve in Christianity. ISTearly all the people 
 were converted, and many churches were 
 built; but before very long such misfortunes 
 came upon the whole land that all religion 
 seemed to be lost. For, after a while, the 
 Roman government in Italy and in the con- 
 quered countries began to grow weak, and 
 the Roman soldiers had to leave Britain 
 and go home to help their own people. 
 Then the Scotch tribes, who had been 
 kept in order by the soldiers, came down
 
 14 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 from the North into South Britain, and 
 began to spread themselves over the land, 
 murdering the people, burning the villages, 
 and driving off all the cattle they could 
 lay hands on. 
 
 In, or about, the year 450 — that is, more 
 than fourteen hundred years ago — the poor 
 Britons did not know which way to turn 
 for help. They had enough to do fight- 
 ing with the 2Deoj)le who came out of 
 Scotland, but at this time a greater 
 trouble fell on them. The men of the 
 countries we now call North Germany, 
 Holland, and Denmark, began to cross the 
 sea, land on the British shore, and carry 
 off all the women, children, and cattle 
 they could find; thus the Britons had to 
 struggle against two sets of enemies at 
 once. At last it struck them that it 
 would be a goo^^ plan to get the sea-
 
 THE LIXDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 15 
 
 robbers from Germany and Denmark to 
 help them against the Scots ; so they in- 
 vited them to take a share in their battles, 
 which invitation these Angles gladly ac- 
 cepted, for they liked nothing better than 
 knocking other people on the head. When, 
 however, the Scots had been driven away, 
 and the Britons wanted these soldiers to 
 go back to their homes again, they would 
 not hear of any such thing, but said they 
 meant to stay where they were. What 
 was worse, the}^ sent over the sea for their 
 friends and relations, and told them to 
 come over and settle in the land which 
 the Britons were too weak to defend. It 
 was in this way that the Angles, or Eng- 
 lish, first came into the country, and 
 changed its common name from Britain 
 to England, These English were all 
 heathens, and believed in man}^ gods.
 
 16 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 They tliouglit that the greatest of the 
 gods was named Woden, or Odin, that he 
 was very wise, and that he knew all the 
 things that were going to happen on the 
 earth. Thor, Thunnar, or Donner, was the 
 god of thunder and fighting; and when 
 there was a heavy thunderstorm, the people 
 used to think that the god made the 
 lightning by throwing his heavy hammer 
 at the wicked devils who were always 
 o^oins; about bewitchincj men and cattle. 
 The days of the week are still called after 
 the old heathen gods and their mates. 
 When we say Wednesday, we mean the 
 day of Woden. Thursday is Thor's day, 
 and Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday are 
 named after gods. As the English were 
 very fond of fighting, they had learnt to 
 be skilful in making shields, spears, bows, 
 arrows, swords, and battle-axes, besides
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 17 
 
 whicli they used heavy clubs set over with 
 iron spikes. With these weapons they 
 drove the Britons quite away from the 
 eastern side of the country, till they had 
 chased them into Cumberland, Wales, and 
 Cornwall; then they settled down in the 
 empty towns and villages, and took the 
 land for themselves. A great many Eng- 
 lish came into Lincolnshire, and gave their 
 names to the villages wdiich are still to be 
 found there. Those places whose names 
 end in /iff»^ and fo/i are nearly all called 
 after English settlers. Messingham was, 
 no doubt, the village of the Messing tribe. 
 Elkington got its name from the people 
 called Elking, and Donnington from men 
 named Donning. A tribe or a family used 
 to settle down together, and hold a stretch 
 of land as common propertj^, though each 
 man had a separate house. The plough- 
 
 B
 
 18 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 land and the hay-fields generally lay near 
 the houses in the middle of the township, 
 and outside was the grazing-land, where 
 the cows and horses ran in the summer. 
 Besides these closes and ojDen fields, there 
 were many acres of hoggy land, where the 
 people could catch fish and wild ducks, 
 and there were also forests from . which 
 they fetched Avood for building their 
 houses and for burning in their fires. 
 Many kinds of wild beasts lived in the 
 uncultivated land in those days : wolves, 
 deer, and wild cattle were to be found all 
 over England. The herds of pigs which 
 the English kept ran in the forests, too, 
 and fattened on the acorns of the great 
 oaks which grew there. As time went 
 on the people began to find that they 
 could work the land better if each man 
 had a share to himself, so they divided
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 1S» 
 
 the plough-land and meadow into lots. 
 But still the land did not always stay 
 in one man's hands during the whole ot 
 his life ; for in many places the people 
 met together and dealt it out again, 
 after a certain length of time had passed 
 away. All the people who had a right 
 to the land were freemen, and could vote 
 at the public meetings of the villages, 
 or of the set of villages that formed 
 a hundred; so they had the power of 
 choosing the men who acted as magis- 
 trates or filled other public offices. 
 
 Besides these freemen there were people 
 who held land on condition that they 
 worked for the landowner, or gave him a 
 share of what they got from the land. 
 These men were not free, for they could not 
 leave the village to settle in another town- 
 ship ; they had not a right to vote, and in 
 B 3
 
 20 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 many cases they could not marry till they 
 had paid a fine to the master of the land on 
 which they lived. But all the same they 
 were not slaves. The landowner had to 
 help them if they were too weak to guard 
 themselves against any enemy that might 
 try to get the better of them, and he could 
 not make them leave their farms so long as 
 they paid him the fixed rent of the land. 
 
 The real slaves were men and women 
 who had been guilty of crimes, or the 
 children of such men and women ; for, unfor- 
 tunately, the children of slaves were slaves, 
 too, no matter whether the poor things had 
 done any wrong or not. In some cases poor 
 people who could not get bread to eat sold 
 themselves and their little ones into slavery ; 
 but this only happened when times were 
 very bad. 
 
 In the year 597 — that is, about thirteen
 
 THE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 21 
 
 hundred years ago — tlie people of Kent were 
 converted to Christianity by a missionary, 
 sent from Eome by Saint Gregory the 
 Grreat, who was Pope at that time. It is 
 said that one day, when Saint Gregory was 
 walking in the market-place at Rome, he 
 saw some fair-skinned, flaxen-haired lads 
 standing there ; so he asked who they Avere, 
 and the slave merchants who owned them 
 told him that they were Angles or English- 
 men, and that they had been sold by their 
 parents. Then Saint Gregory said, " These 
 beautiful boys ought to be called Angels, 
 not Angles," and he made up his mind to 
 go to England and preach the faith of 
 Christ to the people there. But the men of 
 Rome said they could not spare him, for he 
 was one of the best and cleverest priests 
 in the world ; so, as he was not allowed to 
 do the work himself, he sent Augustine, a
 
 22 TALES AND BHYMES IN 
 
 monk, with forty other missionaries, to 
 preach the Gospel in Enghmd. After the 
 conversion of the people of Kent, and of 
 the rest of the south of England, many 
 missionaries came further north, and one of 
 the followers of St. Chad, the priest who 
 converted the people of mid-England, came 
 into Lindsey, and taught the men, women, 
 and children to give up their heathen ways 
 and believe in Christ. This missionary was 
 called Higbald, and from him the church 
 and village of Hibbaldstowe take their 
 name. Other good men went into the 
 north of England to convert everyone who 
 would listen to the Grospel. Nearly a 
 hundred, years went by before all the Eng- 
 lish became Christians, because man}^ of the 
 heathens liked their old religion so much 
 that they did not want to give it up. It 
 was not easy for fighting-men to learn
 
 THE LIND8EY FOLK-SPEECH. 23 
 
 to forgive their enemies and to do good to 
 those who hated them, for it seemed to 
 them much more sensible to take a club and 
 knock a man's brains out if he did not 
 behave properly. Still, they did not mind 
 much when their wives and children were 
 converted ; so little by little the missionary 
 got all the people to leave their old beliefs 
 and try to live like Christians. 
 
 After a time rich men began to build 
 churches and religious houses, in which 
 priests and monks lived, and kept schools, 
 for the sake of the boys and young men 
 who wanted to learn more than their fathers 
 and mothers could teach them. Crowland 
 Abbey, in the south of Lincolnshire, was 
 one of these religious houses. Pious women, 
 too, lived in companies together, and taught 
 the girls and young women, and before long 
 England was full of religious and learned
 
 24 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 people. This was a very happy time for 
 the country, for both the rich and the poor 
 people left off many of their rough and 
 cruel ways, and began to think more of 
 living in peace and quiet than of fighting. 
 But in the year 832 great misery fell on 
 the land, for fresh tribes of sea-robbers 
 began to sail up the rivers and burn the 
 villages, just as the English had done when 
 they came to settle in Britain. These new- 
 comers were heathens who knew nothing of 
 Christ ; so, after killing all the men they 
 could find, they stole the gold and silver 
 ornaments out of the churches, seized the 
 women and children, and destroyed every- 
 thing that they could not carry away in 
 their boats. Year by year, when the east 
 wind blew in sprhig, these pirates would 
 come sailing over the sea to land on the 
 English shore, and year l^y year English
 
 THE LIND8EY FOLK-SPEECH. 25 
 
 men and women sent up tlie prayer, " From 
 the fary of the Northmen, deliver us, 
 Lord," while their enemies marched through 
 the country slaying all who tried to stand 
 against them. Sometimes the robbers built 
 a winter camp in a place where the English 
 could not attack them ; but no matter 
 whether they went back to their own homes, 
 or stayed here during the cold weather, 
 they were always ready for their cruel 
 work when the summer came round again, 
 and set on the English with their long 
 swords and heavy battle-axes, giving them 
 no rest till they had taken the best land in 
 the east and in the north of England for 
 their own families to live on. Lincolnshire 
 was full of Northmen, and we may still find 
 out where they made their homes by count- 
 ing the names of the villages that end in di/ 
 and thorpe, for these two words in their
 
 26 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 language meant dwelling-place and village ; 
 so Aslackby is the dwelling-place of a man 
 named Aslack, and Thoresthorpe means the 
 village of Thor. Algarkirk in South Lin- 
 colnshire was most likely named after a man 
 named Algar, who built a church at that 
 place after the Northmen were converted to 
 Christianity. For when the English found 
 they could not drive their unwelcome 
 '^dsitors away, they set to work and taught 
 them to give up their belief in Odin and 
 Thor and become good Christians. Lincoln 
 and Stamford were both celebrated towns in 
 the time of the Northmen. Grimsby was 
 also a well-known place, and is mentioned 
 several times in the poems written by the 
 Northmen. Gainsborough, too, was visited 
 by the men of Denmark, Sweden, and 
 Norwa}', and we know from old books that 
 Swegen, King of Denmark, sailed up the
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 27 
 
 Humber and Trent, and after spending 
 some time in Lincolnshire, died at that 
 town in 1014 Cnut, his son, who was 
 a wise man and brave soldier, made himself 
 king of England, and ruled very justly, 
 treating the English as fairly as he did his 
 own people, the Danes. This king was not 
 born a Christian, but he became one. It is 
 said that one day when his servants and 
 friends were trying to flatter him by saying 
 that he was so powerful that even the sea 
 would obey him, he ordered his throne to be 
 placed on the sea-shore, and then, sitting on 
 it, with his crown on his head and his kingly 
 sceptre in his hand, he said to the rising 
 tide, " Come no further," pretending to be- 
 lieve that the water would do as he told it. 
 Of course the sea went on creeping up the 
 sand, till at last it wetted his feet, and then 
 he turned to his servants and said to them ;
 
 28 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 " The power of kings is but vanity. He 
 only is king who can say to the ocean, ' 27ius 
 far shall thou go and no further' " 
 
 Unfortunately, Cnut's children were not 
 so wise as their father. Two of his sons fol- 
 lowed him in turn on the English throne; 
 but they were bad and foolish men, who 
 thought more of feasting and drinking than 
 of their duty to the country over which they 
 ruled. After the death of these two Danes, 
 Edward, a man of the old English royal 
 family, was put on the throne; but the 
 Northmen still kept the land they had won 
 in Lincolnshire and in other counties, and 
 they did not lose it all even when William, 
 the Duke of Normandy, came over from 
 France and made himself king. This 
 duke, and many of the people who followed 
 him, were of the same blood as the North- 
 men. Their forefathers had made theni'
 
 THE LIND8EY FOLZ-SPEEGH. 29 
 
 selves masters of a part of France ; and, as 
 they were named Normans, that is, North- 
 men, the land they took was called Nor- 
 mandy after them. Duke William claimed 
 the kingship of England because Edward 
 had left him the throne by will ; but the 
 Englishmen did not want to have him in 
 the country, so they tried to drive him over 
 the sea again. Harald, the prince who led 
 the English army, had just won a great 
 victory over a band of Northmen and Eng- 
 lishmen who had turned against their own 
 country, when he heard of the landing of 
 the Norman Duke. Without taking time 
 to rest he marched down from Yorkshire 
 into the south of England, and met the 
 enemy at a place in Sussex now called 
 Battle, from the great fight which was 
 fought there between the English and the 
 Normans. After a bloody struggle, Harald
 
 30 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 was killed by an arrow, the English fled, 
 and Duke William remained master of 
 the field. Soon he was master of Eng- 
 land too ; for though the people tried to 
 rise against him and drive him away, he 
 and his fighting-men were far stronger than 
 they were, so in the end they had to give 
 way. Hereward of Brunn, who took his 
 name from Bourn, in Lincolnshire, was a 
 celebrated Englishman who held out for a 
 long time against the Duke ; but at last he 
 had to submit to William, who became king 
 of England, and was called William the 
 First, or William the Conqueror. 
 
 This William came into England in the 
 year 1066 — that is, rather more than eight 
 hundred years ago — and since his days the 
 country has never been conquered by a 
 foreign nation. The Normans spoke French 
 for many years after tbey settled here, but
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 31 
 
 they could not hinder the English speak- 
 ing their own language. After a while, 
 they themselves began to speak English 
 too, and when that happened, all the people 
 in the land became one nation. The 
 Britons in Wales kept to their own tongue; 
 but the Normans, Danes, Englishmen, and 
 most of the Britons who lived in England, 
 learnt to use one language and live under 
 one kind of law. 
 
 By this time the old ways of managing 
 the land had changed a good deal in Lin- 
 colnshire and in the other English counties. 
 The king was supposed to own all the land, 
 and he gave it out in lots to his friends on 
 condition that they would fight for him 
 when he needed help. Then his friends 
 divided it out again into smaller lots among 
 the men who promised to help them if 
 they had any fighting to do; and these
 
 32 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 people dealt it out again on the same condi- 
 tion, or on condition that the tenants would 
 work for them so many days a week, or 
 give them part of the stock and crop at the 
 end of the year. Sometimes the rich men 
 were cruel to the small land-holders, but 
 generally they got on very well together, 
 for, though some of the farmers were bond- 
 men and could not leave the township when 
 they wished, their masters could not take 
 the land away from them while they went 
 on paying the rent agreed on. 
 
 When William the Conqueror came to 
 England there were no slaves in Lincoln- 
 shire, so we may very well believe that the 
 Northmen had done away with the custom 
 of holding slaves. It is known that the 
 priests, monks, and other pious people were 
 very kind to poor folks, and that they 
 often freed children who had been sold, so,
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 33 
 
 perhaps, they helped the Northmen in this 
 work. 
 
 The priests did a great deal of good in 
 another way. While the king, and the fierce 
 barons who held land under him, taught 
 men the use of the sword, sj)ear, and battle- 
 axe, and trained them to guard the country, 
 the priests, monks, and nuns spoke of lead- 
 ing holy and quiet lives, and showed people 
 how to cultivate the land, rear cattle, and 
 do house-work in the best way. A few 
 years after the Norman conquest, a bishop 
 began building the great Cathedral at Lin- 
 coln. This church was accidentally burnt 
 down ; but a new one was soon raised on 
 its ruins, and some years later another 
 bishop enlarged the Cathedral, by building 
 the choir, the eastern transept, and the 
 chapter-house, making it one of the most 
 beautiful churches in the world, 
 c
 
 34 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 About seventy years after William the 
 Conqueror came to England, a great quarrel 
 took place between two of his grand- 
 children. Stephen, one of his grandsons, said 
 that he ought to be king, because no woman 
 had a right to reign in England ; but his 
 cousin Matilda, who was the daughter of 
 the king who had just died, declared that 
 she had a right to be queen, as there was 
 no law against a woman ruling the English 
 people. This quarrel led to a long war, 
 and many battles were fought before the 
 question was settled. The city of Lincoln 
 was twice besieged by Stephen, who, how- 
 ever, only succeeded in taking it once ; for 
 before he could get it into his hands a 
 second time he was made prisoner by 
 Matilda's friends. The quarrel was at last 
 ended by an agreement which gave Stephen 
 the throne during his life, with the under-
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK- SPEECH. 35 
 
 standing that Matilda's son Henry should 
 be king after him. 
 
 This son of Matilda was crowned in 
 London when he became king, and after- 
 wards he was crowned again at Lincoln, 
 which was then one of the most important 
 towns in England. In the reign of Henry's 
 s.on, John, a war broke out because the king 
 wished to take all liberties from his sub- 
 jects. The barons, the Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury (who at that time was Stephen 
 Langton, a Lincolnshire man), the bishops, 
 and many of the yeomen rose against the 
 tyrant, and declared that no freeman should 
 be imprisoned, made an outlaw, or have his 
 land taken away from him, unless he were 
 lawfully declared guilty of crime by a court 
 of his peers — that is, of his equals. The 
 barons were to be tried by barons, and the 
 simple freemen by freemen. When the 
 c 2
 
 36 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 king would not consent to this, they fought 
 against him till he was obliged to grant 
 what they asked for. Then they drew up 
 the list of laws called Magna Carta, or the 
 Grreat Charter, and made the king put his 
 seal to it. These laws are looked on as 
 the foundation of the liberties of England, 
 though of course changes have been made 
 in them since they were first written. 
 Though King John was forced to sign this 
 charter, he never meant to obey it ; and as 
 soon as he had the power to do so, he began 
 to ill-treat his people again ; so the barons 
 offered the kingship of England to a 
 French prince, who gathered an army and 
 came over the sea to fight against John. 
 John was soon hunted down into Norfolk, 
 where he took shelter among the people of 
 Lynn. Then, finding he must go north- 
 ward, he crossed the Wash and reached
 
 TEE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 37 
 
 Swinesliead Abbey, in Lincolnsliire, thougli 
 he nearly lost his life in so doing, for before 
 he had got safely off the sands of the Wash 
 the tide came rushing in, and swept away a 
 great part of the company that was crossing 
 with him. He himself reached the shore ; 
 but many of his companions were drowned, 
 and his crown and other kingly ornaments 
 were swallowed up by the sea. When he 
 had reached Swinesliead, King John fell ill, 
 and not long after leaving that place he died. 
 Most likely his sickness was a low fever, 
 caught in the fens of Lincolnshire ; but 
 many people thought that the king had 
 been poisoned by a man who heard him say, 
 while they were sitting together at supper 
 in Swinesliead Abbey, that he would make 
 a half-penn}^ loaf cost a shilling before the 
 year was out. 
 
 After the death of John, the baron?.
 
 38 TALES AND EHYMES IN 
 
 who had called the French king's son over 
 the sea, thought they could do without him, 
 and told him that he might go home again. 
 This, however, he did not wish to do; so his 
 army fought against the English at Lin- 
 coln, and the English won the day. Then 
 the Frenchmen were obliged to leave the 
 country, and John's son was set on the 
 throne. In the years that followed Lincoln- 
 shire was not much troubled with wars, 
 though a great deal of fighting went on in 
 different parts of England. 
 
 In the year 1366, a grandson of the 
 king then reigning Avas born at Bolingbroke 
 in Lincolnshire. This child, who, from his 
 birthplace, was named Henry of Boling- 
 broke, grew up to be a very clever man, and 
 after the death of his grandfather, he drove 
 his cousin off the throne and made himself 
 king in his place. This act caused a great
 
 THE LIND8EY FOLK-SPEECH. 39 
 
 war in Eng4and in after-days, for a constant 
 quarrel about the heirship to the throne 
 went on. So many bloody battles were 
 fought, and so many people were beheaded 
 or hanged, that nearly all the royal famil}'- 
 and many of the nobles were killed off 
 before the dispute was settled. In the year 
 1485 a great battle was fought in Leicester- 
 shire, and the prince who won it made him- 
 self king, and put an end to the war by 
 marrying the heiress of the family who 
 fought against him. After this the country 
 was more quiet ; but in the next reign new 
 trouble came on England. The king at 
 that time was Henry the Eighth. At 
 first he governed his people very well, but 
 after many years of married life he took 
 it into his head that he wanted to divorce 
 his wife, because she had only one living 
 child, a daughter, and he wished for a
 
 40 TALES AND EHYMES IN 
 
 son. So lie wrote to the Pope and asked 
 him to say that the queen had never been 
 a lawful wife, and that the king might 
 marry again. But this the Pope refused 
 to do, saying he would have no hand in 
 such wickedness. Then King Henry had 
 to think of another way of getting rid of 
 his wife, and the plan he thought of was 
 this. He declared that it was a great 
 mistake to think that the Pope was head 
 of the Christian Church on earth ; and that 
 /te himself was head of the Church in Eng- 
 land, and, having said this, he divorced the 
 queen and began to take away the land 
 given for religious and pious uses. Some of 
 the rich people were glad to help the king 
 in this work, because he gave them a share 
 in the land which he seized ; but many 
 well-to-do jDeople and nearly all the work- 
 ing men and women were very angry
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 41 
 
 when they saw the property taken by the 
 greedy king. The bishops, abbots, and 
 clergy had generally been kind and charit- 
 able, and had helped poor folks who could 
 not earn enough to live upon ; but the 
 friends of the king thought only of their 
 own advantage, and did nothing for their 
 needy neighbours. Now, when the men of 
 Lincolnshire got to understand what had 
 happened they came together under the 
 leadership of the Abbot of Barlings, say- 
 ing that the new law the king had made 
 was a wicked one and oug-ht not to be 
 obeyed ; but as they were not trained to 
 fighting Henry's soldiers soon drove the poor 
 fellows back to their homes asfain. Some 
 of them were taken prisoners and executed 
 at Tyburn, near London, with the Abbot of 
 Barlings and the vicar of Louth, who had 
 led them. After this defeat the people of
 
 42 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 Lincolnsliire had to submit to the laws of the 
 king, but still they only gave him outward 
 obedience. When Henry sent his men about 
 the country to arrest the priests who held the 
 old religion and said the king was not the 
 head of the Church, the people used to hide 
 them away in their houses and barns, or in 
 the woods near the villages. This wicked 
 king had many Catholics hanged or burnt 
 because they would not change their reli- 
 gion, and he was just as cruel to the Pro- 
 testants who thought it right to follow the 
 teaching of the Bible instead of doing what 
 he told them. Nearly all his subjects, no 
 matter what their religion was, were glad 
 when the brute fell ill and died. This king 
 was not more than fifty-six j^ears of age at 
 his death, but in his not very long lifetime 
 he married six wives, two of whom he had 
 beheaded, two others he divorced, while one
 
 THE LIXDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 43 
 
 died a natural deatli, and the last one was 
 fortunate enough to outlive him, though 
 once, when he was angry with her, she ran 
 a very narrow risk of having her head 
 taken off. 
 
 In the reign of Henry's son both 
 Catholics and Protestants were persecuted 
 if they would not pretend to believe in the 
 established religion. This king, who died 
 when he was sixteen, was followed on the 
 throne by his sister Mary, who had been 
 brought up a Catholic before her father 
 quarrelled with the Pope, and who had 
 always believed in the old religion. She is 
 often called " bloody Mar}^ " because many 
 Protestants were put to death during her 
 reign, though her government was no more 
 cruel than that of her brother, or of the sister 
 who was queen after her, for they persecuted 
 all Protestants and Catholics who did not
 
 44 TALES AND BHYMES IX 
 
 believe what the Government taught them. 
 In those d-dys nearly all good j)eople thought 
 that men and women who held views dif- 
 ferent from their own about religious ques- 
 tions were very wicked and ought to be put 
 to death, for fear they should teach their 
 wrong way of thinking to other persons. 
 
 It was in the reign of Mary's sister, 
 Elizabeth, that the first poor-law w^as made. 
 Before the Church lands had been taken 
 away poor people had had little difficulty in 
 getting help when they were out of work, 
 but after this loss the working-men and 
 their families had a great deal to suffer. 
 To make matters worse the money of most 
 of the GuiUU — which were societies some- 
 thing like the Odd-Fellows' and Foresters' 
 Clubs — had been seized by the Grovernment 
 during the reign of Henry's son, so the poor 
 people lost their friends, the rich clergy.
 
 TEE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 45 
 
 and their own savings also, and liad nothing 
 left to fall back on when they could not get 
 employment. At that time, too, there 
 was a great deal of misery throughout the 
 country, because men who held large estates 
 found it pay better to lay their land down 
 to grass than to plough it, so many people 
 who had lived by cultivating the soil were 
 thrown out of work. Besides this trouble 
 there was another very serious one. The 
 small landowners in many villages had, as 
 years went by, either sold or lost the right 
 of feeding their cattle on the common lands, 
 fetching wood from the forest, and fishing 
 in the rivers and becks ; so the little farmers 
 were nearly as badly off as the day-labourers, 
 and it was no wonder that a jDOor-law was 
 needed to help people wdio were quite unable 
 to help themselves. In Queen Elizabeth's 
 reign the first English colony was founded
 
 46 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 in America. America liad been discovered 
 
 during the reign of her grandfather by an 
 
 Italian sailor named Christopher Columbus, 
 
 who had persuaded the king of Spain to 
 
 lend him men and ships to go across the 
 
 sea which washes the west coast of Europe, 
 
 saying that he was sure there must be land 
 
 on the other side of the water. Before 
 
 Columbus found America, potatoes, turkeys, 
 
 Indian-corn, tobacco, and many other useful 
 
 things, were quite unknown here ; so we owe 
 
 a great deal to the sailor who crossed the 
 
 wide sea in search of the land which is still 
 
 called the " New World." In later years 
 
 the greater part of North America was 
 
 taken by the English, who drove the 
 
 natives away, or killed them off, and then 
 
 settled down on the newly-gained land, just 
 
 as their forefathers had done in England 
 
 hundreds of years before.
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 47 
 
 Queen Elizabeth never married; so at 
 her death her cousin James, the king of 
 Scotland, was made king of England also, 
 and since his time both countries have had 
 the same kings or queens. James was 
 followed on the throne by his son Charles 
 the First, who got into sad trouble because 
 he wished to raise taxes without the leave 
 of Parliament. The English people saw 
 very well that, if the king were allowed to 
 tax the country without first getting the 
 consent of the men who were chosen by the 
 voters to sit in parliament, the whole nation 
 would soon be ruined, so they refused to let 
 the king take their money. The king raised 
 his war-banner at Nottingham in 1642, and 
 soon after he did this, a battle was fought 
 between the men who took his side in the 
 quarrel and those who thought that the 
 Parliament and its followers were in the
 
 48 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 right. Neither party gained much advant- 
 age that day ; but, after a struggle for power 
 which lasted some years, the Parliamentary 
 soldiers conquered Charles's men, managed 
 to get the king himself into their own 
 hands, and then tried him and put him 
 to death. 
 
 In the early part of the war, Gains- 
 borough, which was looked on as an im- 
 portant town, because it stood on the Trent, 
 and could easily be supplied with food and 
 arms, was held for Charles by the Earl of 
 Kingston ; then the place was taken for the 
 Parliament by Lord Willoughby of Parham, 
 who, however, did not manage to keep the 
 prize long, for the Marquis of Newcastle 
 came and seized it again for the king. In 
 the year 1644 Oliver Cromwell and his 
 soldiers appeared before the town, took it 
 again for the Parliament, and, putting men
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 49 
 
 into the ^^lace to hold it against Charles's 
 forces, marched off for York. 
 
 In 1643 a skirmish had taken place 
 near Horncastle. This battle was called 
 Horncastle or Winceby fight, and a 
 lane in tbe neighbourhood is still called 
 " Slash Lane " in memory of the king's 
 soldiers who were killed there. In the year 
 1658 a party of the Cavaliers, as the 
 people who fought for Charles were called, 
 came out of Yorkshire into Lincolnshire 
 and marched to Lincoln, where they opened 
 the prison and let out all the prisoners. 
 Then they went to the bishop's palace, which 
 Captain Bee, a woolen-draper, and thirty 
 other men defended against them for three 
 hours. At the end of that time the Cava- 
 liers set fire to part of the house, and by 
 this means made the men inside yield the 
 place to them. Then they took Captain Bee 
 
 D
 
 50 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 prisoner, and carried him and all his wares 
 and goods, with the money and arms they 
 found in the palace, away to Grainsborough. 
 When the news of this reached Eossiter, the 
 Parliamentary Colonel who held Belvoir 
 Castle in Leicestershire, he gathered all 
 the troops that could be spared from the 
 neighbouring counties, and marched into 
 Lincolnshire ; and, learning that Sir Henry 
 Cholmondeley and his soldiers were near 
 Grainsborough, and would hinder the Cava- 
 liers from ferrying over the Trent and so 
 escaping, he made for that town. When 
 he had got about half way, he met a Cap- 
 tain Taylor, who was in command of a troop 
 of horse from Ljmn. They agreed together 
 to camp for the night in Waddingham fields, 
 near Lincoln ; then, the next day, they 
 marched through Lincoln towards Grains- 
 borough. But, as Colonel Eossiter learnt
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEEGH. 51 
 
 from a man who had heen taken prisoner 
 b}^ the Cavaliers and had got away from 
 them, that the enemy had drawn off from 
 Gainsborough and marched towards Newark, 
 he altered his course and followed the king's 
 men to Willougliby, a place about seven 
 miles from Nottingham. Here he and his 
 troops, with the help of some gentlemen and 
 freeholders of Lincolnshire and Leicester- 
 shire, and the further aid of seventy or 
 eighty men from Derbyshire and Rutland, 
 defeated the Cavaliers and took many of 
 them prisoners. Though this was not a 
 great battle, it must have been looked upon 
 as a fine victory by the Lincolnshire people, 
 most of whom took the Parliamentary side 
 in the war. 
 
 In King Charles the First's reign, several 
 Dutch engineers came into England to 
 drain the fens and bogs. Some of them got 
 D 2
 
 'o2 TALES AND RHYMES IJV 
 
 leave to settle in the Isle of Axliolme in 
 North Lincolnshire, and many a quarrel 
 rose between them and the men of the Isle, 
 who thought that the Dutchmen would 
 drown the good land while they were trying 
 to get the water off the bad. 
 
 The draining of the fens in the south 
 of Lincolnshire was also begun about this 
 time. But the war between the king and 
 Parliament, as well as the ill-will of the 
 Fen-men, prevented the work going on 
 quickly, so many years went by before it 
 was finished. 
 
 After King Charles had been beheaded, 
 Oliver Cromwell, the great Parliamentary 
 soldier, took on himself the government of 
 the country. Though he had only the title 
 of Protector, he was far more powerful than 
 most kings, and ruled in the way he thought 
 best, instead of asking what the people and
 
 TEE LINBSEY FOLK-SFEEGE. 53 
 
 Parliament wislied to do. As lie was 
 backed up by the army which had con- 
 quered Charles he could do just as he 
 liked, and there is no denying that he was 
 a tyrant, though on the whole he was a 
 wise and good one, who did well by his 
 country. When he died his son was 
 Protector for a few months, but he soon 
 gave the work up, so the eldest son of the 
 late king was put on the throne. This 
 man and his brother, who reigned after 
 him, both wished to govern in opposition 
 to the will of the Parliament ; so some of 
 the great English families banded together, 
 drove the family away, and put Mary, the 
 eldest daughter of the king, and her 
 husband, the Prince of Orange, on the 
 throne. After Mary and her husband 
 were both dead, the next daughter, Anne, 
 was made queen, and at her death the
 
 54 TALES AND BEY2IES IN 
 
 kingship was given to a German prince, 
 who was the nearest Protestant heir to the 
 Crown. The king who had been driven 
 away was a Catholic, and a law had been 
 passed that no Catholic should reign over 
 England and Scotland. 
 
 George the First, the German prince, 
 was the great-great-great-grandfather of 
 the present Queen. Soon after he came to 
 England, the old royal family tried to get 
 back the throne again, and they tried once 
 more during the reign of his son ; but they 
 did not succeed in the undertakings, for, 
 though many men wished to bring them 
 back again, a great many more were glad to 
 be rid of them, as they did not want a set 
 of kings who could not understand that the 
 people of a country ought to have a share 
 in the government. 
 
 In the year 1745, when the last attempt
 
 TEE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 55 
 
 to restore the outcast royal family was 
 made, those Lincolnshire people who were 
 on King Greorge's side were afraid that the 
 enemy would pass through Lincolnshire on 
 the way to London from Scotland; so they 
 began packing up their most valuable things 
 and getting ready to run away, if there 
 should be any need to do so. Fortunately 
 for them, the Scotch soldiers never came 
 near Lincolnshire, though several of King 
 George's trooj)S passed through Stamford 
 on their way to the North. On April the 
 16th, 174G, the king's son, William Duke 
 of Cumberland, defeated Charles Edward 
 Stuart, the heir of the old royal family, at 
 Culloden, in Scotland. This was the last 
 battle fought in the island of Grreat Britain. 
 It was during the reign of George the 
 Second that John Wesley, the founder of 
 Methodism, began to preach. He was born
 
 56 TALES AND BHYMES IN 
 
 at Epworth, in the Isle of Axliolme, whicli 
 town was also the birth-place of Kilham, 
 another, but less known, religious teacher, 
 who was the founder of the New Connexion 
 Methodists. 
 
 In the reign of George the Third, the 
 present Queen's grandfather, many of the 
 open fields which lay round Lincolnshire 
 villages were enclosed. Till that time, 
 wide stretches of land had been left unculti- 
 vated ; but as the population grew greater 
 it was found needful to take in the wild 
 grazing land and cut it up into closes in 
 which corn might be grown. Some of the 
 open commons which lay near the Trent 
 were warped, so that a stretch of country 
 which had hardly grown anything for the 
 use of man was turned into verj^ good corn 
 and j)otato land. When the enclosures 
 were made most of the small freeholders
 
 THE LIND3EY FOLK-SFEEGH. 57 
 
 sold tlieir common-rights, or exclianged 
 them for a piece of the land newly taken in ; 
 but in a few villages, commons and common- 
 rights still remain, and in these places the 
 old English way of managing the land is 
 partly kept up. A man who has a cow-gate 
 in the public pasture owns that cow-gate, 
 because hundreds of years ago, when the 
 English came over the sea and dealt out the 
 land, it was the custom to keep the grazing 
 ground in common, and let every landowmer 
 run a certain number of cattle on it. 
 
 In the year 1764 England began to 
 get into difficulties with her American 
 colonies, for the king, and some of the men 
 who governed under him, wished to make 
 the colonists pay taxes, whether the Colonial 
 Parliaments consented or not ; just as 
 Charles the First had wished to make 
 Englishmen pay a hundred years before.
 
 58 TALES AND BEYMES IN 
 
 The Americans, who knew well enougli 
 how their forefathers had withstood the 
 king who tried to oppress them, said flatly 
 that they had not settled in a new country 
 with the intention of being robbed of their 
 rights as freemen, and declared they would 
 only pay the taxes that their own repre- 
 sentatives thought just and reasonable. 
 Then, when the king and the English 
 Government tried to get the better of them, 
 they broke into open rebellion, and said 
 that they would not let the King of 
 England, or any other king, be their 
 master. On the 4th of July, 1776, thirteen 
 united colonies declared themselves to be 
 free and independent States, and set up a 
 government of their own. But though the 
 United States and England are now separate 
 nations, they have the same language and 
 the same blood, for many Englishmen have
 
 TEE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECE. 59 
 
 gone, and still go, to settle in America ; so 
 we speak the exact truth when we call the 
 Americans our cousins. Many Lincolnshire 
 people have relations in the United States 
 and in the other countries which have been 
 taken by Englishmen, and now the descen- 
 dants of the Britons, Eomans, English, 
 Northmen, and Normans mav be found in 
 all parts of the world, carrying English 
 ways and English words to lands which 
 their fore-elders never heard of.
 
 TH' LAD 'AT WENT OOT TO LOOK 
 FEB FOOLS. 
 
 WoNCE when I was sittin' i' frunfc o' th' 
 Pywipe, doon by river at Lincoln, a man 
 cuni'd up wi' won o' them theare barges an' 
 sets hissen doon, an' efter a bit we gets to 
 talkin', an' hed a pot o' beer together. He 
 was fra oot 'n Oxfordsheer, an' he tell'd me 
 a rum taale aboot foaks 'at liv'd i' them 
 parts, an' said it was all on it as trew as 
 Bible ; bud I'm o'must fit to think 'at he'd 
 putten a bit or two to it hissen, to top it 
 up like. Well, he tell'd me 'at ther' was 
 an' owd man an' his wife, an' thaay'd gotten 
 a nice bit o* land o' the'r awn, an' a nice 
 bit o' munny i' bank an' all. An' thaay'd
 
 TALES AND RHYMES. 61 
 
 nobbucl won bairn, a doiighter; an' wencli 
 heel a sweetheart 'at was call'd Jack. An' 
 won daay owd man was i' gardm' a diggin' 
 taaties, an' he thinks to hissen, " If I hev'n't 
 liv'd here five an' tho'ty year, an' niver 
 putten noii paales roond well ! Why, if 
 oor Polly marries Jack, an' lies a bairn, it's 
 saafe to get i'to watter an' droond itsen ! " 
 Then he sits doon an' flills to cryin' an' 
 groiinin', an' oot cums his wife an' axes him 
 what aails him. " Why," says he, "if oor 
 Polly weds Jack, an' hes a bairn, it's tied 
 to fall doon yon well an' get droonded." 
 " Ey, that's sarten,'' says owd woman, an' 
 doon she sits an' begins sobbin' an' gooin' 
 on fit to kill hersen. Then oot cums lass 
 an' all, an' axes, " Whativer's matter noo ? 
 Hes Jack happen'd owt? " " Naay," says 
 owd man, " nobbud well isn't fenced off, 
 thoo knaws; an' if tlioo and Jack gets
 
 62 TALES AND BEYMES IN 
 
 married and lies a bairn, it's saafe to fall 
 i'to watter an' droond itsen." " I niver 
 tliowt o' that afoor," says lass, " bud 
 it's ower trew," an' slie was soon agaate o' 
 cryin' an' all. An' tlieare thaay stan's 
 bealin' an' carryin' on, till tliaay'd o'must 
 wept enif to fill a wesh-tub brimful o' 
 watter. Well, it happens 'at Jack cums up 
 laane an' fin's 'em belderin' all of a raw. 
 An' he axes 'em if coo's tekken wrong 
 waay, an's deed i' cauvin'. "Naay," says 
 owd man, " it isn't that." " Bank hesn't 
 brokken wi' yer munny, lies it ? " says 
 Jack. " Nofi," says owd woman, " it's not 
 that." "Well then," says Jack, "what's 
 up wi' ye all ? " An' thaay tells him 'at 
 it's a oppen well, wi'oot a cage roond it, 
 an' 'at if he weds Polly, an' Polly hes a 
 bairn, it's saafe to fall i'to watter an' get 
 droonded. Well, when he heerd 'at thaay
 
 TEE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 63 
 
 was makkin' all tliis to-do aboot a nowt 
 o' that soort, he gets as mad as a bear, 
 an' says, " I'll tent it fra droondin', I 
 weant niver get married at all, if supposin' 
 I can't fin' three foiiks as is as blaam'd big 
 fools as 3^ou, afoor I've gotten a pair o' 
 new boots worn oot." Then he claps 
 gardin' gaate to wi' a bang, goas to shop 
 an' buys hissen a pair o' new boots, cuts 
 hissen a esh-plant, to notch doon all 
 fools he fin's on, an' starts off to look fer 
 softest foaks he can leet on i' all cuntry- 
 side. Well, afoor long he cums to a stack- 
 yard, an' seas a man rare an' throng 
 shuvelin' summats up agean stacks wi' a 
 scowp, nobbud ther' wasn't nowt at all 
 i' scowp, an' soa Jack axes him what he 
 reckons he's doin' on. An' man says " I'm 
 shuvelin' sunshine up to dry corn as was 
 led when it was ower weet, bud I doan't
 
 64 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 seam to get noa fo'tlier \vi' it/' " Well, if 
 iver I seed a born fool, tlioo's him," says 
 Jack. " Why doant t' set sheaves up i' 
 stocks i' sun ? Thaay'd dry fast enif then." 
 " I niver thowt o' that afoor," says man ; 
 " bud awiver, I'll try it noo," an' he flings 
 doon shuvel, fetches his stee, an' begins to 
 tear stack top off. An' Jack cuts a mark 
 o' his stick, an' goas a peace fo'ther. An' 
 afoor he'd gotten far he cums up o' a man 
 'at's tryin' to reast a cobble-stoane oppen 
 wi' his knife. " What art te doin' on ? " 
 axes Jack. " Why," says man, " I want 
 to get ken'il oot'n this here stoiin, bud 
 knife's that blunt it slips an' slithers 
 i' stead o' gooin' in." " Here's anuther on 
 'em," thinks Jack, an' notches his esh- 
 plant agean, an' then he says to man, 
 " Thoo mun get a hammer an' break 
 cobble, if te wants to knaw what's i'side
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 65 
 
 on it." " By goes ! " says man, " that 
 tliowt niver cum'd i'to my head, bud I'll 
 sea what I can do noo." Well, Jack goiis 
 a bit fo'ther, an' afoor long- he cums to an' 
 owd thakt barn 'at's grawn ower wi' gress, 
 an' he seas a man sittin' upo' rig, a tryin' 
 to lug a coo up a-top on barn by a band 
 roond it neck. An' he axes man what he's 
 a doin' on. An' man says, " There's a rare 
 lot o' gress up here, an' I haate to sea it 
 waasted ; nobbud I can't get coo up to eat 
 it — she's that stewpid, the moor I pull won 
 waay the moor she pulls t'uther." " This 
 caps all," thinks Jack, an' he cuts anuther 
 nick i' his stick, an' says, " Get yer hook, 
 soft un, an' cut gress of 'n thack, an' fling 
 it doon to coo, then she'll eat it fast enif." 
 " Lau'sy'me," says man, " if I'd nobbud 
 heerd tell o' that waay afoor, I shouldn't ha' 
 choak'd such 'n a many coos wi' this here 
 
 E
 
 es TALES AND BEYIIES. 
 
 band ; "" an^ he teks off to look fer his hook. 
 Bud Jack begins to think 'at Polly an' her 
 feyther an' muther isn^t noil softer then 
 gen'rality o' foiiks, an' soil he goas back an's 
 married afoor he's gotten a mnnth's wear 
 oot'n his new boots. An' owd man put a 
 raalin' roond well ; nobbud when childer 
 begun to cum ower thick an' fast he pulls it 
 up agean^ an' says to his wife, 'at he's sewer, 
 if Loord means to tek 'em, a bit o' fencin' 
 wean't stan' i' his road. Bud not long efter 
 that thease here burial-clubs cum'd up, ye 
 knaw, an' then bairns begun deein' afoor 
 iver thaay was big enif to creap doon 
 gardin' to well. If Loord didn't tek 'em, 
 sum'ats else did, soil thaay niver lied 
 chanche to fall i'to watter an' droond 
 the'rscns — an' that's th'end o' taale.
 
 67 
 
 TH' MAX AX' TW BOGGARD, 
 
 Ther' isn't noa boggards here-aboots 'at I 
 knaw on, bud when I liv'd i' No'tliampton- 
 sheer I beerd tell o' won 'at reckon'd 'at 
 best farm i' loordsbip belonged to him, if 
 ivrywon bed tlie'r awn, an' be let foaks 
 knaw it an' all. One daay be cums to man 
 'at bed bowt land a peiice back, an' says 'at 
 he mun quit. Well, at fo'st man taks noa 
 noiitice on him whativer, an' maks as if be 
 didn't sea him, nor hear him nay ther ; bud 
 at last, when he begins to get fair stall'd on 
 his witterin' an' knaggin', he says 'at bogg- 
 ard mun tek law on him if he wants to get 
 houd o' land. He wean't gie it up till he's 
 maade. Then boggard chaanges his tune, 
 E 2
 
 63 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 an' says, " I tell ye what it is. Me an' you 
 '11 goii shares. I'll tek hairf stuff off 'n 
 land, an' you'll tek t uther hairf. We wean't 
 hev' novvt to do wi' them lawyers. I haate 
 'em wo'ser then I haate gingey-beer 'ats hed 
 kerk left oot." Well, man says 'at he does 
 n't want to mak hissen i' noii waays awk- 
 'ard, soa he'll let boggard goa shares. 
 " Nobbud, we mun sattle won thing fo'st 
 off," says he, " an' when we 've sattled it 
 we mun stick to it. Will ye tek what 
 graws aboon grund, or what graws benean 
 grund?" Then boggard studies a peace, 
 an' efter a bit he says, " I'll tek what graws 
 aboon grund, an' I'll cum an' fetch it at 
 back-end, when you've gotten ivrything in." 
 Then man thinks to hissen, " If I'm to hev' 
 all 'at's benean grund, I'll set taaties Bogg- 
 ard mun tek taatie-tops an' welcome." 
 Soa when sattlin'-time cums, an' boggard
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. G9 
 
 wants to hev' his share o' crop, man's as 
 ready as owt, an' lets him hev' all twitch 
 an' such-like kelter 'at's cum'd up, as well as 
 taatie-haums. But boggard doesn't feiil 
 clear suited, an' soil he says, " We'll swap. 
 1 mun hev' all 'at graws benean grund next 
 time." "All raight," says man ; " nobbud, 
 ye knaw, you mun stick to it noo you've 
 said it." Then he saws wheat, an' when 
 boggard cums i' fall, man gets corn an' 
 straw, an' boggard gets nowt bud stubble. 
 Well, at fo'st off he was real foul aboot it, 
 an' says as lawyers can't be no-how wo'ser 
 then this here ; but efter a bit he cools 
 doon, an' then he tells man 'at next time 
 thaay moan't share crop oot, tliaay mun start 
 mawin' it together, an' each on 'em mun 
 tak what he maws. Man didn't think a 
 deal to this here waay o' goin' on, fer bogg- 
 ard look'd as strong as a six-year-owd
 
 70 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 hoss, an' liis airms was o'must as long as 
 teakle-powls ; bud, awiver, he says to hissen 
 'at he'll manage to get o' his blind side yit. 
 An' soil him an' boggard sattles at it's to be 
 i' that how, an' then boggard goas awaay as 
 pleased as a dog wi' two taails. Bud when 
 harvest-time's cum'd roond, man goas to 
 blacksmith's shop, an' gets blacksmith to 
 maak him a lot o' iron rods 'at's aboot as 
 thick as a claay pipe shank. Then he goas 
 an' sticks 'em up amung corn at boggard 
 falls to maw, fer he'd sawn wheat agaiin 
 that year an' all. An' he waaits till bogg- 
 ard cums wi' his great long scythe, an' 
 thaay starts fair an' sets to wark. Bud 
 afoor long boggard's scythe cums agen won 
 o' th' iron rods, an he says, " My wo'd, bud 
 thease here docks is straange an' hard to 
 cut." Then scythe edge catches agen 
 anuther on 'em, an' he stops to whet, an'
 
 TEE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECH, 71 
 
 co'sses an' swears all time ; bud ivrj swing 
 o' scythe maacle things wo's, an' at last he 
 says, " I'm that hot 3'e mud wring my shet 
 oot, let's knock off an' liev' a bit o' bacca." 
 " Bacca! " says man, "what can ye be think- 
 in' on ? Wh}^ ye hev'n't mawn a rood yit. 
 I sha'n't gie ower till eleven, an' it's nobbud 
 just goin' eaght by owd che'ch clock." 
 Well, when boggard hears this, he flings doon 
 his scythe an' says, " Ye maay tek mucky 
 owd land, an' all 'at's on it. I wean't ha' 
 nowt moor to do wi' it. I'm as sick as a 
 toad on it, an' on you an' all." An' off he 
 goas an' niver cums back noil moor. Bud 
 foaks says 'at man took scythe hofim wi' 
 him, an' 'at it's hingin' i' his barn noo, to 
 testify to trewth on it.
 
 THE LASS 'AT SEED HER AWN 
 GRAAVE DVG. 
 
 Did I niver tell ye aboot oor Bessie, gran'- 
 mutiier, 'at seed lier awn graave dug, poor 
 lass ? It's a queer taale that, an' ivry wo'd 
 on it's trew. She was a real pretty lass, 
 wi' flaxen hair an' blew ees, an' ther' was a 
 man, call'd Fox, 'at was straange an' fond 
 on her. Well, he maade a deal on her, an' 
 when he'd gotten his awn wark dun, he'd 
 tidy hissen up a bit, an' then he'd walk 
 ower to her feyther's hoose, an' help her to 
 milk coos, sarve pigs, an' such-like. Foaks 
 reckon'd he was clear soft aboot lass, bud 
 gell's fej^ther, 'at haated to seil him loongin' 
 aboot plaace, alus said, " He's ower keiin by
 
 TALES AND RHYMES. 73 
 
 hairf, an' ye knaw, ' When luve's ower 
 strong it niver lasts long.' " Awiver, noa- 
 body bud tli' owd wimmin took noa noatice 
 on liim. Ivrybody knaw'd 'at he thowt 'at 
 lass could ha' gotten her wark dun wi'oot 
 ony o' Fox's help, an' gotten thrif it a 
 deal sharper an' all, an' soa foaks nobbud 
 laughed when he carried on. Well, won 
 daay when her feyther was oot a smglin' 
 to'nups. Fox cums an' says, " I've gotten to 
 goa to markit to-morrer. If te can, cum to 
 th' big esh i' Galley-daales, an' then I can 
 sea yer hotim, an' we'll sattle aboot gettin' 
 married." " That's a long waay to walk," 
 says lass, " an' it's a straange loanly road, 
 an' I should be fine an' scarr'd if I met 
 owt." Bud at last Fox gets her talk'd 
 ower an' she says she'll be under th' esh a 
 bit efter seven, an' then off he goiis. Well, 
 that neet th' lass bed a straange queer
 
 74 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 dream, an' she says to hersen next daay, 
 " I liedn't that theare dreiim fer nowt. 
 I'll be i' Galley-daales afoor he tell'd me, I 
 reckon ; then I shall get to knaw what he's 
 up to." Soa she gets her wark dun, an' 
 then she shuts off to Galley-daales wi'oot 
 saayin' nowt to noabody. An' when she 
 gets to big esh-tree, she climbs up, an' hides 
 hersen i' th' beughs, an' sits as still as a bea. 
 An' efter a bit Fox cums, an' pulls a 
 spaade oot'n hedge-bottom, an' begins to 
 dig a graave aneiin th' esh. He was that 
 throng wi' it, he niver looked up an' seed 
 th' lass. An' efter he'd gotten it dun, he 
 walks up an' doon, smookin' an' lookin' at 
 graave, an' talk in' to hissen. Well, he 
 waaited, an' waaited fer lass till he was 
 stall'd, bud she niver cum'd, an' at 
 last he shuvels mouds i'to graave agaan, 
 an' goas awaay, chunterin'. Then lass
 
 TEE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECn. 75 
 
 slips cloon, an' runs lioam, as quick as if a 
 boggard was efter her. An' next daay, 
 when Fox cums an' axes why she'd bauk'd 
 him i' that how, she says, " I'll tell th' if 
 te can mak this here oot : 
 
 Riddle me, riddle me righ,- 
 Up i' th' beughs so high ; 
 Th' wind it blew, 
 Th' cocks thaay crew, 
 Th' leaves did shaake, 
 My heart did aache 
 To sea th' hoale 
 Th' fox did maake ; 
 Riddle me, riddle me i-igh." 
 
 An' when Fox hears this he was fer 
 makkin' off ; bud in cums lass's f ey ther, wi' 
 five or six uther men, an' teks him stright 
 awaay to prison. An' if it hedn't been fer 
 that theare dream, 'at was sent her, lass 
 wo'd ha' been mo'der'd, as trew as I stan' 
 here.
 
 T' CURATE 'AT CAAME ERA LUNNUN. 
 
 It's straange an' eiisy to laugh at parsons, 
 an' I've dun it mysen times enevv ; bud I 
 gev' it up fer good a peace back, an' I'll tell 
 ye fer why. Mr. Beulah cums to me, an' 
 says, " I've gotten a curate cummin' fra 
 Lunnun, an' I want ye to tek him in. That 
 parlour an' best chaamber o' yours is just 
 th' plaace to suit him, an' he's that quiet he 
 wean't be noa waays i' yer road. He'll alus 
 be set a readin' his books an' things, when 
 he isn't at che'ch, or runnin' aboot efter 
 poor foiiks i' parish." Well, my wife gets 
 rooms ready, puts up clean white winder- 
 cot'ns, sets chiney dogs an' praayin' Samuel 
 up o' mantil-shelf, spretids my gran'muther
 
 TALES AXD RHYMES. 77 
 
 patchwork quilt upo' bed, an' meks ivry- 
 thing as cumfortable as cumfortable, an' 
 curate cums afoor wetik-end. Well, lie'd 
 nobbud been wi' us a neet or two, when I 
 says to my wife, " Mr. Beulali lied raight on 
 it when he tell'd me 'at curate was a quiet 
 un. Why, he sticks to his books as if he 
 was glew'd to 'em." " Ey," says she, "if 
 he'd a bit less larnin', an' a bit moor sense, 
 it wo'dn't be noii ho't to him. What's th' 
 good o' his books an' things when he 
 hardlin's knaws if cauves is born wi' horns 
 upo' the'r heads or no ? Them foJiks i' 
 Lunnun mun ha' straange queer waays o' 
 bringin' bairns up. I niver seed such 'n a 
 knaw-nowt i' all my born daays." Well, 
 we tried to insense him aboot things, bud it 
 wasn't noii good. You mud as well ha' 
 talk'd to a stoan, as talk'd to him. He was 
 that scarr'd o' bosses an' beiis', an' things,
 
 78 TALES AND BEYME8 IN 
 
 'at we hedn't noa peace wi' him. Why, 
 won Settercla', when I was awaay at Don- 
 caster, an' my wife an' th' lass was throng 
 i' th' hoose, cleiinin' up fer Sunda', th' owd 
 poll-coo kep' him fra hairf-past-three to five 
 i' a corner o' th' hoam-cloase, an' he niver 
 hed sense to remember 'at she was blind 
 o' one ee, an' he mud ha' gi'en her slip 
 an gotten i' to the o'tchard wi'oot her 
 knawin' owt aboot it. I beleave he'd ha' 
 been stood theare yit if oor little lad hedn't 
 shooted an' tell'd him. Afoor he'd been a 
 munth wi' us I was as stall'd as a dog o' 
 seein' him aboot plaace. It was won body's 
 wark takkin' care on him, an' at last I says, 
 " If things isn't different soon, I shall hev' 
 to keap a lad to tent him, an' scii him up to 
 toon an' by agaan, fer ivry mo'tal thing 
 aboot yard knaws 'at he's frighten'd to deiid 
 o' owt 'at goiis o' fower legs, an' plaays up
 
 TEE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 79 
 
 as soon as thaay seas him a cummin'." 
 Well, won daay i' haay-time, when I was at 
 far end o' th' Black-Sykes agen raailway, 
 settin' a gang o' wimmin on to the'r wark, 
 th' lad 'at was drivin' reaper gets off, an' 
 leaves the hosses b}^ the'rsens wi'oot lowsin' 
 'em, whilst he goas fer a drink o' cowd tea. 
 An' afoor he'd gotten back ageiin th' quick 
 traain fra Sooth cums by, an' hosses hears 
 it, an' off thaay goas as hard as thaay can 
 tear, wi' reaper efter 'em. My heart to'n'd 
 cleiin ower, fer thaay was mekin' stright fer 
 gaate- stead, an' oor little Jack was set 
 plaayin' fair i' middle o' th' road. I runn'd 
 that daay till I o'must bursted mysen, bud 
 just when I was bet I seas curate hed gotten 
 theare, an' nobbud just i' time an' all. He'd 
 been a walkin' i' gardin, wheare he hedn't 
 noa nead to be scarr'd o' nowt, if he kep' 
 awaay fra bea-skeps, an' he hears hosses
 
 80 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 gallopin' like mad and seiis bairn i' front 
 on 'em, an' oot lie runs, wi' niver a tliowt o' 
 liis awn daanger, an' flings liissen betwixt 
 Jack an' bosses an' tries to stop 'em. Bud 
 be misses clickin' bond o' tbe'r beads, an' 
 nobbud maks 'em swarve a bit to won side, 
 an' reaper, 'at's swingin' aliind 'em, cums wi' 
 it fingers agen bis legs, an' cuts bim 
 o'must i' peaces afoor I knaw'd wbat be 
 was up to. Well, we gets bim carried i'to 
 tb' boose, moor dead tben alive, an' ligs 
 bim doon upo' bis bed, an' tben I gallops 
 off opo' tb' graay fer doctor. An' wben 
 doctor cums be says, " You mun send fer 
 bis mutber, an' sbe mun cum as quick as 
 iver sbe can." An' soil I goiis doon to 
 staation an' telegrapbs. An' next daay I 
 meets ivry traain, an' sbe cums at noon — 
 a little bit o' a woman, wi' wbite bair, 
 just sucb 'n anutber as my awn mutber.
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLKSFEECH. 81 
 
 All' when she seas me stannin' waaitin', 
 she begins to shak' like trem'lin'-gress, 
 an' says, "He's not dead, is he?'' An' 
 I says, " Doctor says 'at wi' care an' 
 kindness he'll cum roond yit ; an' he'll get 
 boatli under my roof-tree, mak' yersen 
 sewer o' that." It was a lee aboot doctor, 
 though ; he hedn't said nowt o' soort. 
 Nobbud I couldn't stan' there an' tell her 
 'at her bairn was deein'. Then I lifts her 
 i'to cart, an' brings her hoiim. An' my 
 missis taks her to th' lad bed-side. Doon she 
 goas o' her knees, an' looks an' looks at him 
 as if she'd niver ha' dun lookin', an' me 
 an' my wife slips oot an' leaves 'em aloan 
 wi' the'rsens. 
 
 Bud efter a bit she cums doon stairs, 
 
 an' begins to thank us fer what we've dun 
 
 fer her bairn, an' tells us what a deal he'd 
 
 reckon'd on us, an' all he'd said i' his letters. 
 
 r
 
 82 TALES AND RHYMES IX 
 
 Au' then my wife fetches Uttle Jack an' 
 says, " We've nobbud this one left, an' if it 
 hedn't been fer him as is liggin' up stairs 
 yonder, he'd ha' been i' che'chyard wi' Tom 
 an' Annie." An' then they boath on 'em 
 begins to cry, an' I thinks 'at I'll just seii 
 what lads is doin', soii oot I gotis an' leaves 
 'em to it. Well, curate took a to'n efter 
 his muther cum'd an' begun to mend, an' 
 her an' my wife no'ssed him up an' fed him 
 till he could get aboot agaan. He didn't 
 want fer nowt whilst he was i' oor lioose, 
 you maay depend. An' when doctor said as 
 how he mun hev' new milk an' cream an' 
 things, my wife, 'at's as near as near aboot 
 owt 'at '11 bring her in a bit o' butter- 
 munny, niver says nowt, but gies Jack a 
 kiss an's off to the dairy to th' red coo's 
 pancheon afoor doctor gets wo'ds oot 'n his 
 mooth. Soil he eiits an' drinks an' teks
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEEGH. 83 
 
 doctor's-stufF till he's o'must well agaan, an' 
 then off he goas to sea-side wi' his muther. 
 But afoor thaay starts I says to him, " I've 
 gone to chappil all my time, bud noo I'll 
 tek it to'n an' to'n aboot wi' che'ch. I can 
 do that fer ye, if I can't do nowt else." 
 An' he laughs, an' then he colours up an' 
 says, " I nobbud did my duty." Bud I kep' 
 to what I said, an' me an' my wife teks 
 Jack to che'ch reg'lar i' a mornin', an' goas 
 to chappil at neet. Ey, I've oftens laughed 
 at parsons, bud I've larnt different noo. 
 
 F 2
 
 84 
 
 A PEACE ABOOT POAGHIW. 
 
 Talk o' thy poacliin' ! Why, mun, if tlioo 
 bed been o' No'tbside wben As'by gang was 
 npo' goa tboo wo'd ha' knawd what real 
 poachin' was. Noo-a-daays if a man gets a 
 hare or two he thinks 'at he's dun sum'ats 
 to swagger on. Bud ther' wasn't noa 
 keapers i' all cuntry-side as do'st faace that 
 theare lot, nayther by neet nor by daay. 
 An' if by chanche won on 'em was ta'en, 
 why t'uthers clubb'd an' paaid fine ; an' if it 
 was a job at liggin' it oot, thaay kep' his 
 wife an' bairns all time he was i' jaail. 
 Ther' was aboot ten on 'em i' all, an' Bob 
 Kendal was best man amung 'em. If ther' 
 was a hare i' toonship, he was sewer to hev'
 
 TALES AND RHYMES. 85 
 
 his ee on her, an' afoor very long she'd 
 putten her head thruf a wire necklaace as 
 he'd setten i' won o' her runs. Bob nearly 
 scarr'd owd Squire Holeigh to dead, when 
 him an' his keaper was oot shootin' won 
 daay. Thaay seed Bob fire at a hare, an' 
 goa an' pick her up when she roU'd ower, 
 soa thaay hides the'rsens an' waaits. An' 
 when he cums up hedge-side oot jumps 
 keaper an' gets houd on him, an' Squire ligs 
 his awn gun doon, an' teks Bob's an' fires 
 barril ofi" i' th' air. Bud when he seas 
 what's up, Bob just slips oot 'n his coat, an' 
 hes houd o' Squire's gun i' a jiffy. An' 
 then he tells 'em boath he'll shoot 'em dead 
 if thaay doesn't promise to gie him his 
 gun agaan, an' let him clean off" an' all. 
 He look'd that awk'ard 'at thaay seed he 
 wo'd stick to what he said, an' nayther 
 Squire nor his man hed pluck o' a moose
 
 86 TALES AND BHYMES IN 
 
 i' tlie'r bellies ; soa tliaay lied to swear 'at 
 thaay'd niver saay nowt aboot this here 
 little business. Bud, awiver, when thaay'd 
 gotten well oot o' gun-shot, thaay begun to 
 think better on what thaay'd promised. 
 An' when it cum'd to, thaay hed Bob up at 
 magistraates' meetin', an' gev oot it was all 
 his lees when he tell'd foiiks how things 
 was. We alus know'd which on 'em spok 
 trewth though ; fer ther' was them as was 
 warkin' at them raailway arches, across 
 common yonder, 'at hed seed all fraay an' 
 knoow'd 'at Bob hed raight on it. 
 
 I've seen gang oot mysen, wi' nets an' 
 dogs, times enew ; bud it wasn't wo'tli my 
 while to let on to onybody, an' I'd alus a 
 rabbit fer th' axin, an' soa hed uther foaks 
 as could keiip a still tung i' the'r heads. 
 Things is different noo; bud i' them daays 
 we hed straange fine sprees, an' we wasn't
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 87 
 
 noan tli' wo's fer it, 'ufc I can seii. Won 
 time til' As' by lot an' Wraay's gang fra 
 Brigg was oot saame neet, an' got agaate o' 
 fallin' oot, an' keapers fra Scawby heerd 'em 
 an' cum'd up. Well, when Bob Kendal 
 seas 'em, he calls oot to Wraay, an' says, 
 " Here's a bigger bill then your's cum'd in 
 to be sattl'd, an' I reckon you'll hev' to help 
 to paay it." Then boath lots sets to an' 
 leathers keapers, an' when thaay'd dun wi' 
 them thaay to'ns to agaan an' baastes won- 
 anuther till sum on 'em can hardlins get 
 hoam. Five or six on 'em was ta'en next 
 daay ; fer ye seii thaay was fair to knaw, 
 wi' the'r black ees and bludy heads : bud 
 when thaay cum'd afoor magistraates next 
 justice daay. Sir Henr}^ an' owd Corfield 
 was ower pleased wi' taale to lig ovvt on ver^- 
 heavy, though i' a gen'ral waay thaay was 
 dead on poachers.
 
 88 
 
 JACK TO'NER. 
 
 Druxk agean is he? Well, if lie 's boond 
 to kill liissen i' that how, he mud as well do 
 it afoor he's gotten thrif ivry bit o' th' 
 munii}'- his wife browt him. Poor thing, I 
 niver sea her wi'oot thinkin' what a nist 
 widder she'd mak if owt happen'd to him. 
 An' sum'ats is tied to happen afoor long, if 
 he carries on at this raate. 
 
 Not bud what I've heerd foaks saay as 
 God teks care o' little bairns an' drunkards, 
 an' sells 'em saafe hoiim when thaaj hev'n't 
 sense to help the'rsens. 
 
 Didn't I niver tell ye aboot Jack 
 To'ner as was saaved fra bein' mo'der'd wi' 
 gettin' fresh one Horncastle fair? He'd
 
 TALES AND BHY2IES. 89- 
 
 been sellin' a string o' hosses — rare good 
 uns tliaay was an' all — an' he'd gotten a 
 biggish price for 'em. It was war-time, ye 
 knaw, when them French dealers was buyin' 
 up ivry likely tit 'at thaay could leet on. 
 Thaay didn't seam to mind a bit o' a 
 bump, or a chipp'd knee, an' thaay gev' 
 Jack o'must all he axed, an' a sight moor 
 then he'd reckon'd o' gettin'. Well, when 
 money 's paaid he puts it i'to a sample- 
 bag, rams it i'to his pocket, an' goiis aboot 
 pricein' blood-hosses an' gallowaays, till at 
 last he cums to a eaght-year-owd mare — an' 
 a real pictur she was — clean-bred, but wi' 
 plenty o' boan — an' Jack thinks to hissen, 
 " Yon's just th' mare fer Squire Killing- 
 holme." An' he gets talkin' wi' two men 
 'at's wi' her, and wants to knaw what 
 thaay 're axin' fer her. An' he tells 'em 
 it's poonds too much, 'at she was a good
 
 90 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 un afoor slie was spoilt wi' ower mucli wark 
 — onybody could sea that ; bud noo she's fit 
 fer nowt bud to draw a poany-carri'ge fer 
 an' owd laady as hes bowt an annuity, an' 
 hesn't nowt bud her blessin' to leave to her 
 relaations. An' then he hes a look at 
 t'uther bosses i' fair ; bud efter a bit he cums 
 back an' axes if thaay wean't tek ony less 
 fer mare. She's ower owd fer him ; he 
 wants sum'ats 'at's gotten it best years afoor 
 it, not a brokken-doon thing like yon ; bud 
 still she hes been a good mare i' her time, 
 an' she isn't a bad un to look at noo ; an' 
 as it isn't fer hissen he wants her, he does 
 n't mind givin' 'em a goodish price. Then 
 thaay stood an' argled a peiice ; bud thaay 
 couldn't cum to noli figure 'at look'd like 
 bargaining, an' at last thaay goiis i'to 
 Goudeti Cup fer a drink, an' sits doon an' 
 hes a glass or two. Awiver, thaay could
 
 THE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 91 
 
 n't get price sattlecl, soa at last Jack says, 
 " "Well, I wean't gie a penny moor then I've 
 tell'd ye, tek it or leave it. Bud if ye can't 
 mek up yer minds which waay it's to be 
 noo, ye mun stan' fair to-daay, an' I'll stan' 
 wo'd at my figure till to-morrer. Ye knaw 
 wheare I live, an' I'm saafe to be at hoam i' 
 mornin' ; nobbud if ye'll saay wo'd noo ye can 
 hev' munny doon. It's here i' my pocket." 
 Well, coupers says thaay'll tek chanche 
 o' sellin' her i' fair, an' let him knaw afoor 
 next noon. Then thaay've anuther glass 
 wi' him, an' goas back to mare. Bud Jack 
 gets talkin' wi' Ned fra Ho'den, Dick 
 Woodhus, an' a lot moor 'at he hesn't seen 
 sin' last fair-time. An' thaay sits smookin' 
 an' drinkin', an' braggin' on the'r bosses 
 an' prices thaay've maade, till sum on 'em 
 's bed as much as thaay can very well carry, 
 an' mebbe a drop or two moor.
 
 92 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 Jack was alus steady enif i' a gen'ral 
 waay, bud he was ower fond o' good 
 cump'ny ; an' he stops listenin' to taales, an' 
 songs, an' things, till, when it's time to be 
 gooin', he hesn't right ewse o' his legs, an' 
 as soon as he gets upo' his feat doon he 
 cums chib-lunch upo' floor an' bashes his 
 hat in. Well, thaay helps him up, an' 
 strlghtens oot his hat, an' manages to get 
 him oot upo' door-step ; bud afoor he's fair 
 i' streat, doon he cums agean an' blacks his 
 ee upo' scraaper. " I can't hev' this," says 
 landlord. " Whativer shall we do wi' 
 him? Plaace is that ram full o' cump'ny 
 I can't let him be tum'lin aboot i' bar, an' 
 he 's saafe to get tekken up if he staays 
 ootside i' th' streat." 
 
 Then AVoodhus says, " Me an' Tim 
 Elliot an' Crookleshanks is gooin' doon to 
 Frank Bean's, an' we mud as well goii roond
 
 THE LIND8EY FOLK-SPEECH. 93 
 
 by Jack's hoose an' sea him saafe hoam." 
 Well, tliaay sets Jack upo' his legs agean, 
 an' Elliot gets upo' won side an' Crookle- 
 shanks upo' t'uther, soa as he can't very 
 well cum doon, an' off thaay sets. An' at 
 fo'st thaay got him along pretty fair — he 
 was daazed like wi' fallin' aboot, an' that 
 kep' him quiet, an' pleacemen isn't very 
 partic'ler at fair-time, ye knaw, an' it bed 
 gotten middlin' dark an' all. Bud when 
 thaay'd tekken him oot 'n toon thaay'd 
 bonny wark wi' him, an' noa mistaake. 
 He'd nowt better to do then to begin 
 reapin up owd bygones agen Crookleshanks ; 
 an' then he sets hissen doon by road-side, 
 an' says he isn't a gooin' a step fo'ther till 
 thaay 've bed it oot. Then Crookleshanks 
 gets mad an' all, an' starts a taale as long 
 as fra here to Lunnun an' as stallin' as 
 heavy dumplin's, all aboot Jack an' a mare
 
 94 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 an' foal thaay'd been i' co aboot. An' thaay 
 went on at wonanutber till Woodbus says 
 he'll leave 'em to it if Jack doesn't get up 
 off 'n bank, an' bebaave as be bed owt. 
 An' then Jack does get up, an' gies 
 Woodbus, as wasn't expectin' owt o' soort, 
 a crack upo' tb' bead wi' bis fist, an' knocks 
 him i'to dyke-bottom, an' sets off doon 
 laane by bissen. 
 
 Woodbus an' Crooklesbanks was that 
 mad thaay swoor thaay wo'dn't bev nowt 
 moor to do wi' him ; bud Elliot, as hedn't 
 happen'd owt, tell'd 'em 'at thaay mudn't 
 tak noii noatice on him; an' soa thaay 
 follows him doon roiid, nobbud thaay keaps 
 a goodish bit behind him, an' lets him walk 
 wi' bissen. An' afoor long. Jack teks to 
 shootin' an' singin', till yer couldn't bear 
 yersen speak; but all of a sudden like, 
 when he gets roond yon to'n wheare owd
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 95 
 
 wilier stump graws, he stops, an' calls oot 
 sum'ats i' a different waay — tliaay niver 
 knavvs what — bud next minute thaay hear 
 'at he's doon o' grund, an' 'at two or three 
 foiiks is a-top on him robbin' him. 
 
 Elliot alus tell'd me he niver knaw'd 
 what cum next ; bud, awiver, he fun' hissen 
 wi' his hand i' a man's neckhan'kercher, an' 
 he was a twistin' it till it was that tight he 
 o'must maade as good a job on it as Mar- 
 wood maks at Lincoln. 
 
 Crookleshanks lied dropp'd on t'uther 
 chap, an' was giein' him a taaste o' his esh- 
 plant, and Woodhus was tryin' to get Jack 
 upo' his feat. Well, when Jack hed cum'd 
 roond a bit, an' gotten his wind agaiin, 
 Woodhus shuts off across cloasins to Jack's 
 hoose, an' gets lads to bring poany an' cart, 
 an' a lantern. An' when he gets by agaiin 
 wi' em he teks leet an' houds it doon, an'
 
 96 TALES AND RHYMES. 
 
 looks at men thaay've catcli'd. An' if it 
 wasn't them two as lied tried to sell blood- 
 mare to Jack ! 
 
 Tliaay knaw'd he'd gotten his munny 
 i' his pocket, ye seii, an' his hoose was a 
 loan plaace, an' thaay maade sewer o' lectin' 
 on him by hissen afoor he got hoame. An' 
 he was kickin' u]) such 'n a shine as he 
 cum'd along 'at thaay niver heerd t'uther 
 men behind him. An' soa gettin' a drop 
 too much that daay was luckiest thing Jack 
 iver did i' his life. Not bud what drink's 
 straange an' bad i' a gen'ral waay fer them 
 as can't carry it vvi'oot lettin' the'r soft cum 
 to top.
 
 97 
 
 TH' OWD WOMAN 'AT COULD CURE 
 TOOTHAACHE. 
 
 Gotten toothaaclie agaan, hev ye? Weil, 
 just do what I tell ye, an' you'll be shut o' 
 paain i' a jiffy. It's a real good cure, an' I 
 niver knaw'd it faail wi' them as tried it. 
 Owd Fan Jackson, her as liv'd doon by 
 beck, fun' it oot fo'st off, when her husband 
 was that bad wi' paain i' his faace he didn't 
 knaw wheare to put hissen. 
 
 Th' owd woman was stall'd past bearin' 
 o' seein' him traffickin' in an' oot, an' up an' 
 doon, ower her clean floor ; soii at last she 
 says to him, "I knaw what'R stop stangin', 
 Thoo mun hing clock- waaight upo' tooth. 
 That'll null paain if owt will." " I niver 
 
 G
 
 98 TALES AND BEYMES. 
 
 Leerd tell o' curin' faaceaaclie that how," 
 says owcl man. " Didn't te ? " saj's she. 
 " Why, it's best thing oot by a long waay." 
 " Well," says ovvd man, " theare isn't novvt 
 like tryin'." Then owd woman teks clock- 
 waaight, an' catgut baud it hung by, oot'n 
 clock, an' hanks it roond tooth — an' a real 
 great owd tooth it was an' all, o'must like a 
 boss's. " Noo, mind thysen,'' says she ; " I 
 man set waaight doon steady upo' taable, 
 soa as it weant swag." An' she meks as if 
 she was gooin' to put it doon that eiisy he 
 wo'dn't niver knaw owt aboot it. Bud 
 i'steiid o' settin' it upo' taable, she flings it 
 i'to floor as hard as she can, an' oot flies 
 tooth i' a crack. Owd man was a bit afoor 
 he knaw'd if she'd fetch'd his jaw off or noa ; 
 bud, my wo'd, didn't he saay a thing or two 
 as soon as he could speiik ! Awither, tooth- 
 aache was gone, sure enif.
 
 99 
 
 TOM'S C0NVAE8I0N. 
 
 I've niver been convarted mysen, an' I 
 doan't knaw I'm ony wo's fer that ; bud 
 wonce a partic'ler friend o' mine was browt 
 in at chappil, an' it was finest spree liim an' 
 me was iver consarn'd in. 
 
 It was i' this how it cum aboot. A lot 
 o' foaks hed c'llected munny, an' built 
 the'rsens a chappil ; an' ther' wasn't nowt 
 to be said agen that, ye knaw. Nobbud 
 when thaay'd gotten it dun thaay begun to 
 think the'rsens a straange sight bigger an' 
 religiouser then uther foaks. An' at last 
 sum on 'em got that owerbearin' ther' 
 wasn't noa livin' i' saame parish wi' 'em. 
 
 Well, Tom says to me won daay, when 

 
 100 TALES AND EHYMES IN 
 
 we was a knockin' oot beans wi' flaails i' tli' 
 owd thack barn. " I can't stan' tbis noa 
 moor. Here's owd Hard-Fist been knaggin' 
 at me aboot tbis bere religion agaan. I'll 
 gie bim bis fill on it afoor anutber weak's 
 oot, just tboo mind if I doan't." " Wbat 
 art te up to noo ? " says I. " Doan't get 
 tbysen i'to ony truble. My owd gran'- 
 mutber 'at larnt me tb' Loord's Prayer, alus 
 tell'd me to keap clear o' gaame-presarves, 
 magistraates, and cbappil-foaks, an' sbe bed 
 raigbt on it too." " Well, mun," says be, 
 " I'm tbat stall'd o' tbease bere goins'-on 'at 
 I'm boond to drop on 'em afoor I've dun, 
 an' if it bes to be, it mud as well be soon as 
 laate. Tben be tells me to mind and be at 
 cross-tree, bairf a noor afore foaks went i'to 
 cbappil o' Sunda' neet, an' off be goas wi' 
 anutber seek o' bciins. Tbat was upo' 
 Tbo'sda' ; an' wben I was at tb' Horn o'
 
 TEE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 101 
 
 Setterda' neet I lieerd as Tom lied gotten 
 religion powerful, an' 'at preachers and ivry- 
 body was tliat setten up wi' it thaay could 
 hardlin's bear the'rsens. 
 
 Well, I niver let on 'at I'd heerd owt 
 aboot it, bud when I gets oot'n hoose I leans 
 agen wall and laughs fit to split mysen; an' 
 then I goas to sea Tom, bud he wo'dn't tell 
 me nowt, an' he looked that solid I was 
 o'must fear'd 'at what foaks was sayin' was 
 trew. 
 
 Awiver, I cum'd to think diff'rent o' 
 Sun da'. When I gets to cross-tree, theare 
 was Tom an' two or three moor, waaitin' 
 fer me ; an' Tom says to us : " I'v^e nobbud 
 gotten this here to saay. When ye hear 
 me beginnin' to talk — an' ye'll be saafe to do 
 that afoor I've dun — you just houd door to, 
 an' doan't let noabody oot, not if it's 
 iversofi." Then he seiis owd Hard-Fist
 
 102 TALES AND BHY3IES IN 
 
 cumin' along toon-streat, an' he begins 
 tellin' us as how he's left off his wicked 
 waays an' 's tekken up wi' religion. An' 
 'at he doesn't think such 'n a sinner as him 
 can be saaved along wi' reg'lar chappil 
 foaks, bud 'at he's gooin' to do his best to 
 get a good plaace i' heaven. An' then him 
 an' owd Hard-Fist goas i'to chappil, an' 
 leaves us wi' wersens ootside. 
 
 Well, when all foaks hed gotten i'to 
 the'r seats, an' door was shutten to, me an' 
 my maates went an' stood an' listen'd. An' 
 at fo'st off things went on reg'lar like, bud 
 efter sarmon I heerd preacher saay : " Ey, 
 he's been a great sinner, bud he'll do 
 different noo ; " an' then Tom gets up an' 
 begins to tell his exper'ence. At startin' 
 he groiin'd fit to lift roof off, bud efter a bit 
 he got warm an' sattl'd doon to his wark, 
 an' then, my wo'd, didn't he let 'em hear
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 103 
 
 th' length o' his timg ! " It's ivrj wo'd on 
 it trew," says he, '' I hev' been a bad un, 
 an' noa mistaake ; bud, Loord, here's dozens 
 o' foaks i' this chappil 'at calls the'rsens 
 religious 'at's been as bad as me, an' wo's 
 an' all, an' Thoo mun excuse me, Loord. 
 I've lee'd like a good un wheniver I've hed 
 chanche to mak' owt by it, bud I niver got 
 six months at Kett'n, like Sep Barker 'at 
 swore false agen his sister husband. Ey, 
 Loord, I'm fair grufted in wi' sin, bud I 
 niver stoal a flick o' bacon fra a widder 
 woman, as Kester Watson did when he 
 robb'd his awn muther." An' then he 
 groans agaan wo's than iver, an' foaks begins 
 to want to get oot 'n chappil. Bud we 
 houds to door agen 'em, an' he teks a fresh 
 start, an' belders oot till ye could ha' heerd 
 him fair across toon-streat : " Ey, Loord, I 
 knaw I've been cloase wi' my munny, bud I
 
 Joi TALES AND RHYMES. 
 
 niver let noa bairn o' mine dee on parish, 
 ]ik Sam fra Top Farm ; an' if I hev'n't dun 
 as I lied owt, I've niver carried on like owd 
 Natty Hard-Fist, an' him a married man 
 too. Soa, Loord, if te can saave th' likes 
 o' them Thoo mon't forget a deacent chap 
 like me." Well, I couldn't houd oot noa 
 moor. I bed to let the sneck goa, an' sit 
 doon upo' door-step an' laugh till I was as 
 weet as muck wi' sweat. An' them as was 
 i'side was that mad they pull'd door awaay 
 fra t'uther lads, an' oot thaay cums, w^on a 
 top o' anuther. Owd Hard- Fist, an' Kester 
 Watson, an' that lot, was i' fo'st flight ; an' 
 thaay alus let Tom aloane efter that. An' 
 fer a good pelice thaay wasn't as setten on 
 bringin' foaks in as thaay bed been afoor, 
 nayther.
 
 105 
 
 TH' TALLER-LEGG'D COGK'RIL. 
 
 He's a good hand at swagg-erin' hissen off, 
 he is. Bud it'll be happenin' to him as it 
 happen'd to tli' yaller-legg'd cock'ril, if he 
 doesn't mind what he's aboot. 
 
 What soort'n a taale's that, do ye saa}' ? 
 Why, it's a peace 'at m}^ gran' -fey ther offens 
 tell'd me when I was a little lad at hoame. 
 
 Yaller-legg'd cock'ril liv'd i' frimt yard 
 wi' owd white cock 'at was his- feyther, an' 
 red cock liv'd o' steam-hoose side o' yard. 
 An' won daay, when owd cock's sittin' 
 crawin' upon crew-yard gaate, cock'ril gets 
 up an' begins to craw an' all. " Cock-a- 
 doodle-do," says owd cock. " Kick-a-ee- 
 a-ee," says cock'ril; he couldn't craw plaain
 
 106 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 yit, he was ower yung. " Houd thy noise," 
 says owd cock, as couldn't abear to hear 
 him skreehn' like yon. " Houd thy noise. 
 Bairns should be seiin an' not heerd." Soa 
 cock'ril, 'at thinks as he's doin' on it fo'st 
 raate, hes to get off gaate an' tek up wi' th' 
 hens an' chickens agaan. An' owd cock 
 craws and craws, till at last cock fra t'uther 
 side o' yard cums to knaw what's up. Bud 
 when he seas who it is 'at's makkin' all to- 
 do, he reckon's 'at he's nobbud dropp'd in 
 by chanche, an' passes time o' daay ; an' 
 then says as how he mun goa and seii if 
 garthman isn't sarvin' pigs, an' if he hesn't 
 slatter'd a few taaties an' things 'at '11 mak 
 a dinner f er that theare last cletch 'at graay 
 hen's browt off. An' soil he teks his hook 
 back agaain to steam-hoose yard. 
 
 Bud daay efter, when owd cock's gone a 
 peace o' waay doon sandy laane wi' a pullet
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 107 
 
 'at's lookin' fer a nest, cock'ril flies iipo' 
 gaate agaan, an' claps his wings an' craws 
 till til' hens is o'must stoane-deaf. Fo'st 
 won on 'em tell'd him to cum doon an' 
 then annther, bnd it wasn't noa good : he 
 was that setten upo' hearin' hisseu 'at he 
 niver lied noa time to listen to onybody else. 
 Awiver, just when he reckon'd 'at he'd 
 gotten to do it o'must as well as his feyther, 
 or mebbe a bit better, up cums cock fra 
 t'uther side o' yard wi' all his neck-feathers 
 up, an' he says to cock'ril, " I tliowt I 
 heerd ye at it yesterdaay, an' noo I knaw I 
 did ; cum on." An' afoor cock'ril could 
 get oot anuther craw, red cock lied him oft' 
 gaate an' doon i' crew-yard. An' when 
 he'd gotten him theare, he wasn't long afoor 
 he'd raaade an' end o' him. An' when owd 
 cock cum'd hoam he fun' pigs just fiuishin' 
 cock'ril's yaller legs, an' he heerd red cock
 
 108 TALES AND RHYMES. 
 
 cra\vin' like mad upo' steam-hoose wall. 
 " A-deary-me," says he, "I knaw'd how it 
 would be if he wouldn't keap his tung still. 
 Well, you uther chickens mun tak warnin' 
 by him, an' mind what I tell ye : Niver craw 
 till yer spurs is grawn."
 
 109 
 
 OWD-FASRION'D RIDDLES FOR OWD- 
 FASHION'D FOAKS. 
 
 Qiiesfio7i: As I was gooiii' ower Lunnun 
 Brig, 
 I met a load o' sou'jers : 
 Sum i' ickits, sum i' ackits, 
 Sum i' red an' yaller jackits — 
 AVbat was tliaay ? 
 Answer: V^\\y, a swarm o' wasps. 
 
 Question : As I was gooin' ower Lunnun 
 Brig, 
 I look'd in at a winder, 
 An' fower an' twenty laadies 
 Was dancin' on a cinder — 
 What was tliaay? 
 A?}sive?': Sparks i' fire-graate.
 
 110 TALES AND BEYMES IN 
 
 Question : She's black an' breet, 
 An' runs wi'oot feet — 
 What's that? 
 Answer: A flat-iron. 
 
 Question : Eoond th' hoose, 
 
 An' roond th' hoose, 
 
 An' i' cupboard? 
 Answer: Why, it's a moose. 
 
 Question : Fower an' twenty white beas' 
 
 Stannin' i' a stall, 
 Power an' twenty white beas' 
 
 An' red un licks 'em all ? 
 Answer : Th' teath an' th' tung. 
 
 Question : As black as ink, an' isn't ink ; 
 
 As white as milk, an' isn't milk ; 
 
 As soft as silk, an' isn't silk ; 
 
 An' hops aboot like a filly foal — 
 What's yon ? 
 Answer: A magpie.
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECE. Ill 
 
 Question : Black I am, and much admired ; 
 
 Men do seek me till tbaay're 
 tired ; 
 
 Tire horse, an' tire man ; 
 
 Lowse me riddle if te can. 
 Ansioer: Coal. 
 
 Question : Eoond th' hoose. 
 
 An' roond th' hoose, 
 And in at parlour winder — 
 What's that ? 
 
 A?istver: Why, sunshine, to be sewer. 
 
 Question : Creap thrif hedge an' steal corn, 
 Little coo wi' leather horns — 
 What's yon ? 
 Answer: A hare. 
 
 Question: Under watter, ower watter. 
 An' niver tuches watter — 
 What's that ?
 
 112 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 Answer: Why, a lass gooin' ower a brig 
 wi' a paail o' waiter o' her 
 head. 
 
 (Question : Red wi'in, an' red wi'oot, 
 
 Fower corners roond aboot ? 
 Ansiver : Why, that's a brick. 
 
 Question: As I was gooin' ower Lunnun 
 Brig, 
 I sees a little red thing ; 
 I picks it up, an' sucks it blud, 
 An' leaves it skin to dry. — 
 What's yon ? 
 Ansiver: That's an oringe. ^ 
 
 Question: As I was gooin' ower West- 
 minster Brig, 
 I chanch'd o' a Westminster 
 scholar ;
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 113 
 
 He pull'd off his liat, an drew off 
 
 his glove, 
 An' wish'd me good-morrer. 
 Tell me his naame, far I've 
 
 tell'd it to you. 
 Ansxoer: His name was Andrew. 
 
 Quesfiou: I heerd a great rumle, 
 
 As I was gooin' ower Hum'er 
 Three pots a boilin' 
 An' noa fire under — 
 What was that ? 
 
 Answer: Watter under boat. 
 
 Question: When T was gooin' thrif a cloiise 
 - o' wheat, 
 I pick'dupsum'ats'at's good to eat, 
 It wasn't fish, flesh, bo'd, nor boan; 
 I kep' it till it run aloan ? 
 
 Answer: Yon mun ha' been a e^g. 
 
 H
 
 lU TALES AXD RHYMES IN 
 
 Question: As I went tlirif oor gardin gap, 
 I met iny Uncle Ned, 
 Wi' pins an' neadles up'n his back, 
 An' he kep' joggin' a-head ? 
 
 Answer: That was a pricky-otchin. 
 
 Question : Roond th' hoose, 
 
 An' roond th' hoose, 
 
 An' leaves a white gluv i' winder ? 
 Answer: That's snaw. 
 
 Question: Roond th' hoose, 
 
 An' roond th' hoose, 
 
 An' leaves a black gluv i' winder ? 
 Answer: That's raain. 
 
 Question: Black wi'in, an' red wi'oot, 
 
 Fower corners roond aboot — 
 What's yon ? 
 Answer: Th' chimley.
 
 TEE LIXDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 115 
 
 Qifestion : Black wi'in, an' black wi'oot, 
 Fower corners roond aboot, 
 An' a white spot i' middle — 
 What's that? 
 
 Answer: Uven wi' a caake i' it. 
 
 Question: Black wi'in, an' black wi'oot, 
 
 Three legs an' a iron cap ? 
 Answer: A black pot. 
 
 Question: Full o' hoales, an' liouds 
 watter — 
 
 What's that ? 
 Answer: Eecken-hook. It liouds all watter 
 'at's i' pot ower fire. 
 
 Question: A riddle, a riddle, as I snp- 
 poase. 
 Fifty ees an' niver a noase ? 
 Answer: That's a wire sieve. 
 II 2
 
 116 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 Question : Tho'ty white hossesupon a red hill, 
 Noo thaay goa, noo tbaay goa, 
 noo they stan' still? 
 A7iswer : Them's yer teiith. 
 
 Question : Ten men's length, an' ten men's 
 strength, 
 An' ten men can't rear it ? 
 Ansicer : A waggon roape. 
 
 Question : Brass cap, an' wooden head, 
 
 Spits fire, an' spews lead ? 
 Answer : A gun. 
 
 Question : Grraws i' wood, whinnies i' th' 
 moor, 
 An' goas up an' doon oor hoose 
 floor — 
 What's that? 
 Anstoer : Asweepin'-brushmaadeonhosshair.
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 117 
 
 Quesfmi : Graws i' wood, an' yowls i' 
 
 toon, 
 An' addles it maister many a 
 
 croon ? 
 
 Answer : A fiddle wi' cat-gut strings. 
 
 Question : My ribs is lin'd wi' leather, 
 I've a hoale i' my side, 
 An' I'm offens wanted — 
 What's my naame ? 
 
 Answer : A pair o' bellers. 
 
 Question : Mother, feyther, sister, brother, 
 All rnnnin' efter wonanuther, 
 An' can't catch wonanuther? 
 
 Answer : Mill-saayles. 
 
 Question : As I went oot, soa I cum'd in. 
 
 An' oot'n th' dead I seed th' 
 livin' spring ;
 
 118 TALES AXD RHYMES IN 
 
 Seven ther' was, an' six ther' be, 
 Tell me riddle, an' then hang me. 
 Aiisiver : A bo'd 'at's maade it nest i' a dead 
 
 boss, an's gotten five yung 
 
 uns. 
 
 Question : Riddle me, riddle me ree, 
 
 Tell me what my riddle's to 
 
 be— 
 It'll goa thruf a rock, tbruf a 
 
 reel, 
 Thruf an ovvd woman's spinnin'- 
 
 wheel, 
 Thruf a milner's hopper, 
 Thruf a bag o' pepper, 
 Thruf an owd mare's shink-shank 
 
 boan ; 
 Such a riddle hev I knawn. 
 Answer: A worm. Worm's '11 get thruf 
 owt.
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 119 
 
 Quesfio)? : It is i' th' oyster, bud not i' tli' 
 
 shell ; 
 It is i' the clapper, bud not i' th' 
 
 bell; 
 It is i' th' church, bud not i' th' 
 
 steaple ; 
 It is i' th' parson, bud not i' th' 
 
 people ; 
 It is i' th' rock, bud not i' th' 
 
 stoane ; 
 It is i' th' marrow, bud not i' th' 
 
 boane ; 
 It is i' th' bolster, bud not i' th' bed; 
 It isn't in livin', nor yit i' th' dead. 
 Answer : The letter E. 
 
 Qi/ esti on : li\ym Parditum all cloatli'd i' 
 green, 
 Th' King couldn't read it, nor 
 madam, th' Queen ;
 
 120 TALES AND BEYME8 IN 
 
 Thaay sent fer wise men oot'n th' East, 
 'At said it heel horns, bud it wasn't 
 a beast — 
 
 What's that? 
 AuKwe?' : Why, prick-holly. 
 
 Question : When's a uven not a uven ? 
 Ansiver : When she's agaate. 
 
 Question : Which side on a sheiip does most 
 
 wool grow on? 
 Answer : Why, ootside to be sewer, bairn. 
 
 Question : As I was gooin' ower Borring- 
 ham Ferry, 
 I heerd a thing saay " Chit-a-ma- 
 
 cherry ; " 
 Wi' doony ban's, an' doony faace, 
 A white cockade, an' silver hiace ? 
 Answer : A monkey.
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 121 
 
 Question : What's that as is black, an' 
 white, an' red all over ? 
 
 Answer : A newspaaper. It's white paaper, 
 black ink, an' when you've 
 dun readin' it, it's read all 
 over.
 
 122 
 
 A LINCOLNSHEER LETTER. 
 
 Dick, thoo's o'must forgotten th'owd plaace, 
 
 I'm thinkin', noo. 
 Dost mind 'at we plaay'd i' th' crewyard, 
 
 an' rid o' th' red poll-coo, 
 Wi' a bit o' band fer a bridle ? An', Dick, 
 
 dost te mind thoo was scarr'd 
 When I call'd up th' pigs to eiit the, if iver 
 
 we went thrif yard ? 
 
 Dost mind 'at we went to catch bull-heads 
 wi' a tar-marl line, an' a preg 
 
 Thoo stoal fra oot 'n th' oat-stack, an' th' 
 nettles tang'd i\\\ leg, 
 
 An' I tell'd the it was a judgment fer 
 stealin' yon preg fer me ? —
 
 TALES AND RHYMES. 123 
 
 I'm thinkin', Dick, 'at ofens I was straange 
 an' hard o' thee. 
 
 Dost mind owd Drummer, an' Blackbo'd, 
 
 an' white-faced foal, an' mare 
 'At feyther bowt o' th' Squire an' sell'd at 
 
 th' 'tAndra Fair ? 
 Well, things is straange an' chaanged, Dick : 
 
 Miss Kaate an' th' Squire's dead, 
 An'yung Squire's gotten great ladso'hes awn, 
 
 an' he's gettin' graay hairs i' his heiid. 
 
 An' parson, he's dun up th' che'ch, Dick, 
 
 till it's o'must as good as new ; 
 An' putten in fresh oak seats, Dick, i'stead 
 
 o' yon owd broon pew, 
 Wheare we crack'd wer nuts i' door-sneck, 
 
 and plaay'd marbils, an' read yon taale, 
 0' th' she-bear svvallerin' all them bairns, 
 
 an' Joanah 'at liv'd i' a whaale.
 
 124 TALES AND RHYMES IN 
 
 Til' esh-tree 'at grew i' tli' lioss-cloase blew 
 
 up i' th' wind last fall, 
 An' Polly — thoo liesn't forgotten — she's 
 
 wedded an' widder'd au' all : 
 Foaks ses she'd ha' dun a deal better, to 
 
 tak thee i'steiid o' her Jim ; 
 Bud all's fer th' best, an' she's gotten good 
 
 riddance an' shuttance o' him. 
 
 It's tho'ty year sin' thoo went, Dick, cum 
 
 next owd Lammas-daay — 
 Tho'ty year sin' thoo'd wo'ds wi' her, an' 
 
 took off to Americaay — 
 An' mebbe if thoo cum'd back, Dick, to sea 
 
 th' owd toon an' plaace, 
 I shouldn't knavv it was thoo, Dick, an' 
 
 shouldn't remember thy faace. 
 
 An' 'Mericaay's hunderds an' huuderds o' 
 miles awaay ower sea fra here,
 
 THE LINBSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 125 
 
 An' mebbe I shouldn't fin' the, Dick, if I 
 
 went to seek the theare. 
 Thoo'U ha' gotten new waays an' speaks, 
 
 Dick, 'at I shouldn't understand, — 
 Bud if 'Mericaay is far awaay ther's a 
 
 Kingdom nigh at hand. 
 
 We mun mind an' get up theare, Dick, we 
 
 mun mind an' get up theare. 
 An' then thoo'll tell me all, Dick, thoo's 
 
 dun i' tho'ty year, — 
 We'll just be bairns together, Dick, together 
 
 thoo an' me ; — 
 When I think o' seiiin' the, why, Dick, I'm 
 
 o'must wantin' to dee !
 
 12t) 
 
 TH' LINCOLNSHEER POACHER. 
 
 (1881.) 
 
 " T'.r' 
 
 Th' doctors hev' given me ower ; 
 
 Thaay tell me I mun dee 
 
 I' th' fower stoane walls o' a prison, 
 
 Wheare ther's nowt — not a floower nor 
 a tree ; 
 
 I' til' fower stoane walls o' a prison 
 
 Wheare a daaisy '11 niver blaw, 
 
 An' nobbud gress i' th' flag-stoanes 
 
 An' bits o' moss '11 graw. 
 
 I'm not afeard o' deein', 
 
 Bud I want to hear agaan 
 
 Th' wind i' th' tops o' th' fir-trees, 
 
 An' smell th' smell o' tli' raan
 
 TALES AND RHYMES. 127 
 
 Wheare it cums doon streiglit t'ra 
 
 heaven ; 
 I want to hear th' call 
 O' th' py wipes i' th' marsh-land 
 An' th' craws ahind th' ploo. 
 End thaay say them daays is ower 
 An' dun', fer good an' all ; 
 I've nowt bud liggin' here waatin' 
 An deein' left to do. 
 
 Th' parson, he's been to sea me 
 
 Wi' a straange queer taale to tell, 
 
 0' a narrer rough roiid to heaven 
 
 An' a btright, smoothe waay to hell ; 
 
 Bud, I think, if th' Loord was sarten 
 
 'At He wanted us up abuv 
 
 He'd keap His roads a bit better — 
 
 An' how can Grod be luv' 
 
 If He maade the devil, an' all them things 
 
 'At's creapin' an' crowlin' beloa,
 
 128 TALES AND EHYMES IN 
 
 Wheare, parson says, 'at unchristen'd 
 
 bairns 
 An' mo'derers, an' sucli-like goa ? 
 
 I'm not agooin' to beleave it 
 
 0' Him 'at maade ivrything, 
 
 An' set th' sun to shine i' tli' sky 
 
 An' larnt tli' bo'ds to sing ; 
 
 Bud I'd rayther be doon wheare th' fire 
 
 An' brimstun foriver bo'ns, 
 
 An' just goa roond wi' a bucket 
 
 An' give foaks drinks by to'ns — 
 
 Then sit i' yon strlght-maade heaven, 
 
 Wheare saints an' aangels sing, 
 
 An' niver hear a pheasant craw, 
 
 Nor th' skirr o' a partridge wing; 
 
 Wheare ther' isn't a bank nor a plantin'- 
 
 side 
 Wheare rabbits cum oot an' plaay. 
 An' stamp wi' the'r feet o' a moonleet neei
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 129 
 
 Wheare it's warm o' tli' couclest daay ; 
 An' til' otcliins ligs hid i' winter — 
 Tber's nowt like this, I doot — 
 Why, them 'at gets sent up to heaven 
 Mun be stall'd when a week's runn'd oot. 
 
 It's a weary while I've been liggin' 
 
 Wi' my faace to a j)rison wall, 
 
 Bud I knaw ootside th' blackheads cry, 
 
 An' it's Spring, an' th' cuckoos call ;— 
 
 I' not afeard o' deein' 
 
 Bud I straangely want to see 
 
 Th' sun cum up ower Eanthrup 
 
 Agaan afoor I dee."
 
 130 
 
 PEATEB. 
 
 »s>« — 
 
 You'll gie me twenty poond fer tli' bull, 
 an' then you'll be buyin' him dear ? — 
 
 Why, I wo'dn't sell onr Peater fer hundreds 
 o' poonds a year. 
 
 It was Peater 'at saav'd ni}^ little lass — my 
 
 little Polly 'at's dead ; 
 An' Peater '11 fin' his meat i' my crib till 
 
 sods is ower my head. 
 
 Me an' my wife was at chappil, an' Polly at 
 
 hoam i' her bed, 
 An' preacher — I disremember a sight o' th' 
 
 things he said;
 
 TALES AXl) BUYMES. 131 
 
 Bud he tell'd us o' God an' His goodness, 
 His luv an' His wunderful waays, 
 
 An' said 'at He help'd tli' faaitliful noo, as 
 He help'd 'em i' Bible-daays. 
 
 Th' chappil was svvelterin' hot that neet, an* 
 I think I was o'must asleap ; 
 
 I thowt I was doon i' th' cloasins, wi' feyther 
 a weshin' th' sheap, 
 
 An' feyther's been dead nigh tif'teen year — 
 bud I cum'd slap oot'n my dreiira, 
 
 Th' bairns tliaay begun to belder like owt, 
 an' the wimmin begun to scream. 
 
 When sum'ats cum'd tearin' along th' streat, 
 
 an' bolt at th' chappil door, 
 An' Peater cums bang thrif door-stead, an' 
 
 doon o' th' chappil floor. 
 I :2
 
 132 TALES AND HEY ME 8 IN 
 
 " It's a message fra God," sajs preacher, 
 " we knaw He gev wo'ds to an ass. 
 
 Ey, great is th' Loord i' His goodness, and 
 brings miglity things to pass.'' 
 
 But I ups an' I says to Peater, as mad as I 
 iver could be, 
 
 " It's likely He'd send a message by a cross- 
 bred brewte like thee.'' 
 
 An' I clamm'd fast houd o' th' ring i' his 
 noase, an' started to lug him oot. 
 
 An' then, when I'd gotten him up to th' 
 door, I seed what he'd cum'd aboot : 
 
 Th' sky was a bright as a fo'nis at neet, wi' 
 
 yaller, and po'ple, an' red. 
 My hoose an' th' staables was all i' a low, — 
 
 an' Polly at hoain i' her bed I
 
 THE LINDSEY FOLK-SPEECH. 133 
 
 Me ? — ey, I laamed my back that iieet wi' 
 
 fetcliin' my Poll}'^ cloon : 
 Tliaay saay I was blinded au' daaz'd by tli' 
 
 smook, an' mebbe I jump'd ower soon. 
 
 Til' stairs an' th' landin' was all bo'ntawaay 
 — well, I was her feyther, you see, 
 
 An I couldn't leave my Polly up theare i' 
 th' fire to dee. 
 
 Bud she was nowt to Peater, an' Peater 
 
 saav'd her life 
 Wi' fetchin' us oot o' th' chappil, an' he'll 
 
 bide wi' me an' my wife, 
 
 An' eiit his fill i' th' crew-yard, till Peater 
 
 or us is dead ; 
 An' soil, if you want him, why then you mun 
 
 waait till th' sods is ower my head.
 
 134 
 
 A LAST WO'D. 
 
 I KXAW 'at it's written i' God's awn book 
 at bastard stocks shall dee, 
 But still til' lass is blud o' my bind, an' 
 her bairn is boane o' my boane. 
 I niver Lev said 'at slie'd dun as she'd owt ; 
 bud it's not fer tli' like o' me, 
 To Hing to th' door on my gell i' her 
 shaame, an' leave her to bear it aloane. 
 
 << Tl ' 
 
 Th' waages o' sin ! "■ — aw yis, I knaw ; 
 
 thaay'll last till her hair is gi'aay ; — 
 Th' waage 'at she's arn'd, it 11 last till 
 
 she's dead, an' th' coffin's naail'd to o' 
 
 her faace.
 
 TALES AND RHYMES. 135 
 
 I can't t'on her oot wi' lier bairn i' her 
 airras, an' co'ss her, an' drive her 
 awaay, 
 An' Him 'at was good to th' thelif o' th' 
 cross, wo'd ha' tell'd ye th' saame i' 
 my plaace. 
 
 " You wean't ha' noil bastards bred up o' yer 
 land, — I've gotten enif to do 
 Wi' keapin' things gooin', an' addlin' th' 
 rent, wi'oot tekkin' luve-bairns in " — 
 If you hed a doughter i' trubble like her, 
 wi' noane i' th' wo'ld bud you 
 To look to, you'd fling her oot i'to th' 
 streat, an' leave her to dee i' her sin ? 
 
 It's likely you wo'd ! bud rich foaks' hearts 
 isn't maade like uther men's — 
 You gie up yer baabies to sarvants to 
 keep, an' mebbe you wo'dn't mind,
 
 136 TALES AND RHYMES. 
 
 An' wo'dn't lig wakken 'at neet i' yer beds, 
 an' werrit an' witter yersens, 
 
 As long as you'd plenty o' vittles an' cloase, 
 'at yer childer was ragged an' pined. 
 
 " I mun leave my land, or th' lass mun 
 
 leave, — you'll lioud by wdiat you've 
 
 said ; 
 You wean't put up wi' th' likes o' her, 
 
 — 5''0u reckon you're mester here." 
 Then the land mun goa, an' I'll stan' by 
 
 her, — if her sins is as red as red. 
 The Loord, He can wesh 'em as white 
 
 as wool, an' I wean't gie her up — so 
 
 theare ! 
 
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