That's a Fact.

A poem by John Hartley

"A'a Mary aw'm glad 'at that's thee!
Aw need thy advice, lass, aw'm sure; -
Aw'm all ov a mooild tha can see,
Aw wor nivver i' this way afoor.
Aw've net slept a wink all th' neet throo;
Aw've been twirlin abaat like a worm,
An' th' blankets gate felter'd, lass, too -
Tha nivver saw cloas i' sich form.
Aw'll tell thee what 't all wor abaght -
But promise tha'll keep it reight squat;
For aw wod'nt for th' world let it aght,
But aw can't keep it in - tha knows that.
We'd a meetin at th' schooil yesterneet,
An Jimmy wor thear, - tha's seen Jim?
An he hutch'd cloise to me in a bit,
To ax me for th' number o'th' hymn;
Aw thowt 't wor a gaumless trick,
For he heeard it geen aght th' same as me;
An he just did th' same thing tother wick, -
It made fowk tak nooatice, dos't see.
An when aw wor gooin towards hooam,
Aw heeard som'dy comin behund:
'Twor pitch dark, an aw thowt if they coom,
Aw should varry near sink into th' graund.
Aw knew it wor Jim bi his traid,
An aw tried to get aght ov his gate;
But a'a! tha minds, lass, aw wor flaid,
Aw wor nivver i' sich en a state.
Then aw felt som'dy's arm raand my shawl,
An aw said, "nah, leeav loise or aw'll screeam!
Can't ta let daycent lasses alooan,
Consarn thi up! what does ta mean?"
But he stuck to mi arm like a leach,
An he whispered a word i' mi ear;
It tuk booath mi breeath an mi speech,
For aw'm varry sooin thrown aght o' gear.
Then he squeezed me cloise up to his sel,
An he kussed me, i' spite o' mi teeth:
Aw says, "Jimmy, forshame o' thisel!"
As sooin as aw'd getten mi breeath.
But he wod'nt be quiet, for he sed
'At he'd loved me soa true an soa long -
Aw'd ha geen a ear off o' my ye'd

To get loise - but tha knows he's soa strong. -
Then he tell'd me he wanted a wife,
An he begged 'at aw wodn't say nay; -
Aw'd ne'er heeard sich a tale i' mi life,
Aw wor fesen'd whativver to say;
'Coss tha knows aw've a likin for Jim;
But yo can't allus say what yo meean;
For aw tremb'ld i' ivvery limb,
Wol he kussed me agean an agean.
But at last aw began to give way,
For, raylee, he made sich a fuss,
An aw kussed him an all - for they say,
Ther's nowt costs mich less nor a kuss.
Then he left me at th' end o' awr street,
An aw've felt like a fooil all th' neet throo;
But if aw should see him to neet,
What wod ta advise me to do?
But dooant spaik a word - tha's noa need,
For aw've made up mi mind ha to act,
For he's th' grandest lad ivver aw seed,
An aw like him th' best too - that's a fact!"