A Weighver’s Song
Deawn i’ th’ shed on a summer’s day,
Th’ owd sun shinin’ through th’ white-weshed top;
Brids on th’ slate are chirpin’ away,
An’ aw whistle a tune to every cop;
Clatterin’ loom an’ whirlin’ wheel,
Flyin’ shuttle an’ steady reed –
This is wark to make a mon feel
There’s wur jobs nor weighvin’ i’ time o’ need.
Straight-drawn alley an’ clen white wo’s,
Picking-pegs noddin’ their yeads o reaund,
Warps bendin’ deawn like wayther-fo’s,
Cog-wheels rattlin’ a merry seaund,
Tidy skips runnin’ o’er wi’ weft,
Snowy cloth windin’ on to th’ byem –
Tak’ a good sniff o’ th’ flyin’ drift,
It’s clay an’ dust, an’ we’re nobbut th’ same.
Lads an’ lasses stonnin’ i’ rows,
Wortchin’ away fro’ morn to neet;
Tenters – Bobs, Sals, Bettys, an’ Joes –
Runnin’ abeaut o’ their nimble feet,
Keepin’ time to a steady tune,
Played bi th’ engine fro’ leet to dark
(Feed him wi’ wayther an’ coal, beaut spoon,
An’ he’s olez reet for another day’s wark);
Weighvin’ cotton o sizes an’ mak’s,
Tablecloths, hanketchers, owts an’ nowts,
Shirts for Africans an’ ‘Merica blacks,
Towels for Chinamen, India clouts,
Dhooties, jacconets, sheetin’s, twills,
Yard-wide, narrow-widths, heavy an’ leet,
Brats and petticwots, fancies, drills –
We con weighve owt, an weighve it reet!
Deawn i’ th’ shed on a winther’s day,
Th’ sun asleep in his cleaudy bed,
Scores o’ gasleets blazin’ away
On shinin’ pulley an snowy thread;
Clattherin’ loom an’ whirlin’ wheel,
Flyin’ shuttle an’ steady reed –
This is wark to make a mon feel
There’s wur jobs nor weighvin’ i’ time o’ need.