Matty's Reason.

A poem by John Hartley

"Nah, Matty! what meeans all this fuss?
Tha'rt as back'ard as back'ard can be;
Ther must be some reason, becoss
It used to be diff'rent wi' thee.

Aw've nooaticed, 'at allus befoor
If aw kussed thi, tha smiled an lukt fain;
Ther's summat nooan reight, lass, aw'm sewer,
Tha seems i' soa gloomy a vein.

If tha's met wi' a hansomer chap,
Aw'm sewer aw'll net stand i' thi way;
But tha mud get a war, lass, bi th' swap, -
If tha'rt anxious aw'll nivver say nay.

But tha knows 'at for monny a wick
Aw've been savin mi brass to get wed;
An aw'd meant thee gooin wi' me to pick
Aght some chairs an a table an bed.

Aw offer'd mi hand an mi heart;
An tha seemed to be fain to ha booath;
But if its thi wish we should part,
To beg on thi, nah, aw'd be looath.

An th' warst wish aw wish even yet, -
Is tha'll nivver get treeated soa meean; -
Gooid neet, Matty lass, nivver freeat,
Tha'll kuss me when aw ax thi agean."

"Nah, Jimmy lad, try to be cooil, -
Mi excuse tha may think is a funny en;
Aw've nowt agean thee, jaylus fooil,
But thi breeath savoors strongly o' oonion."
Wi' wonderin 'een he luk't abaat,
Dazzled wi' th' blaze o' leet,
Then drooped his heead, reight wearied aght
Wi' cold an wind an weet.
Then tenderly shoo tuckt him in
A little cosy bed,
An kissed once moor his cheek soa thin,
An stroked his curly head.

Noa owner coom to claim her prize,
Tho' mich shoo feear'd ther wod,
It seem'd a blessin dropt throo th' skies
A New Year's gift throo God.
An happiness nah fills her heart,
'At wor wi' sorrow cleft;
Noa wealth could tempt her nah to part,
Wi' her Heaven sent New Year's gift.
A New Year's Gift.

A little lad, - bare wor his feet,
His 'een wor swell'd an red,
Wor sleepin, one wild New Year's neet, -
A cold doorstep his bed.
His little curls wor drippin weet,
His clooas wor thin an old,
His face, tho' pinched, wor smilin sweet, -
His limbs wor numb wi' cold.

Th' wind whistled throo th' deserted street,
An snowflakes whirled abaat, -
It wor a sorry sooart o' neet,
For poor souls to be aght.
'Twor varry dark, noa stars or mooin,
Could shine throo sich a storm; -
Unless some succour turns up sooin,
God help that freezin form!

A carriage stops at th' varry haase, -
A sarvent oppens th' door;
A lady wi' a pale sad face,
Steps aght o'th' cooach to th' floor.
Her 'een fell on that huddled form,
Shoo gives a startled cry;
Then has him carried aght o'th' storm,
To whear its warm an dry.

Shoo tended him wi' jewelled hands,
An monny a tear shoo shed;
For shoo'd once had a darlin lad
But he, alas! wor dead.
This little waif seemed sent to cheer,
An fill her darlin's place;
An to her heart shoo prest him near,
An kissed his little face.

Wi' wonderin 'een he luk't abaat,
Dazzled wi' th' blaze o' leet,
Then drooped his heead, reight wearied aght
Wi' cold an wind an weet.
Then tenderly shoo tuckt him in
A little cosy bed,
An kissed once moor his cheek soa thin,
An stroked his curly head.

Noa owner coom to claim her prize,
Tho' mich shoo feear'd ther wod,
It seem'd a blessin dropt throo th' skies
A New Year's gift throo God.
An happiness nah fills her heart,
'At wor wi' sorrow cleft;
Noa wealth could tempt her nah to part,
Wi' her Heaven sent New Year's gift.

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