My Piece is O’ Bu’ Woven Eawt
by Richard Rome Bealey (1828-1887)
From ‘A Lancashire Garland of Dialect Prose and Verse. Selected and Edited by G. Halstead Whittaker. Published in 1936 by Geo. Whittaker & Sons, Eclipse Works, Stalybridge, 2nd Impression, 1936.
Richard Rome Bealey was born in Rochdale and was a founder, and first honorary Secretary, of the Manchester Literary Club. He was a colleague of Bamford, Swain, Ridings, Brierley, Waugh and Laycock. Link to Glossary.
The poem is an allegory for life. The 'piece' is the length of cloth produced by the hand-loom weaver, an analogy for life. The quality of the materials that the weaver has had to work with has been poor - bad warp and weft - but the weaver has done his best and when his master (God) looks at it he hopes due allowance will be made. Now read on.
My Piece is O’ Bu’ Woven Eawt
by Richard Rome Bealey
My "piece" is o’ bu’ woven eawt,
My wark is welly done:
Aw’ve "treddled" at id day by day,
Sin’ th’ toime ‘ut aw begun.
Aw’ve sat i’ th’ loom-heawse long enough,
An’ made th’ owd shuttle fly;
An’ neaw aw’m fain to stop it off,
An’ lay my weyvin’ by.
Aw dunnot know heaw th’ piece is done;
Aw’m fear’d it’s marr’d enough;
Bu’ th’ warps weren’t made o’ th’ best o’ yarn,
An’ th’ weft were nobbut rough.
Aw’ve been some bother’d neaw an’ then
Wi’ knots an’ breakin’s too;
They’n hammper’d me so mich at toimes
Aw’ve scarce known what do do.
Bu’ th’ Mester’s just, an’ weel He knows
‘Ut th’ yarn were none so good;
He winna "bate" me when He sees
Aw’ve done as weel’s aw could.
Aw’se get my wage – aw’m sure o’ that;
He’ll gi’e me o’ ut’s due,
An’, mebbe, in His t’other place,
Some better wark to do.
Bu’ then, aw reckon, ‘tisn’t th’ stuff
We’n gettn t’ put i’th loom,
Bu’ what we mak’ on’t good or bad,
‘Ut th’ credit on’t ‘ll come.
Some wark i’ silk, an’ other some
He’e cotton i’ their gear;
Bu’ silk or cotton matters nowt,
If nobbut th’ skill be there.
Bu’ now it’s nee’ to th’ eend o’ th’ week,
An’ close to th’ reckonin’ day:
Aw’ll tak my "piece" upon my back,
An’ yer what th’ Mester’ll say:
An’ if aw nobbut yer His voice
Pronounce my wark "weel done,"
Aw’ll straight forget o’ th’ trouble past
I’ th’ pleasure ‘ut’s begun.