What Wor it?

A poem by John Hartley

What wor it made me love thee, lass?
Aw connot tell;
Aw know it worn't for thi brass; -
Tho' poor misel
Aw'd moor nor thee, aw think, if owt,
An what aw had wor next to nowt.

Aw didn't love thi 'coss thi face
Wor fair to see:
For tha wor th' plainest lass i'th' place,
An as for me,
They called me "nooasy," "long-legs," "walkin prop,"
An sed aw freetened customers throo th' shop.

Aw used to read i' Fairy books
Ov e'en soa breet,
Ov gowden hair, angelic looks,
An smiles soa sweet;
Aw used to fancy when aw'd older grown,
Aw'd claim some lovely Fairy for mi own.

An weel aw recollect that neet, -
'Twor th' furst o'th' year,
Aw tuk thi hooam, soaked throo wi' sleet,
An aw'd a fear
Lest th' owd man's clog should give itsen a treat,
An be too friendly wi' mi britches seeat.

What fun they made, when we went in; -
They cried, "Yo're catched!"
An then thi mother sed i'th' midst o'th' din
"They're fairly matched,
An beauty's in th' beholder's e'e they say,
An they've booath been gooid childer, onyway."

An then aw saw a little tear,
Unbidden flow,
That settled it! - for then an thear
Aw seemed to know,
'At we wor meant to share each others lot,
An Fancy's Fairies all could goa to pot.

Full thirty years have rolled away,
Sin that rough time;
What won mi love aw connot say,
But this is mine,
To know, mi greatest prize on earth is thee,
But pray, whativver made thee fancy me?

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