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Lancashire Songs

Chapter 21: YESTERNEET.
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About This Book

A collection of short songs and ballads written in a regional northern dialect that captures everyday rural and working-class life through domestic scenes, courtship, local characters, celebrations, and moments of hardship. The verse mixes humor and sentiment, employing conversational rhythms, refrains, and vivid local idiom to render communal ties, seasonal chores, and small pleasures. Arranged as brief lyric pieces, the poems alternate playful storytelling, moral reflection, and musical choruses that evoke the sounds and social routines of village life.


YESTERNEET.


I geet up a-milkin’ this mornin’,— I geet up afore it wur leet; I ne’er slept a minute for thinkin’ What Robin said yesterneet; I’ve brokken two basins i’th dairy; I’ve scoaded my gronny wi’ tay; It’s no use a tryin’ a-spinnin’— My wheel’s eawt o’ trim to-day.
Chorus. It’s oh, yon Robin, yon Robin; His e’en ne’er twinkle’t so breet, As they did when he meazur’t my finger For th’ little gowd ring last neet.
Eawr Dorothy’s singin’ i’th shippon; Eawr Jonathan’s leawngin’ i’th fowd; Eawr Tummy’s at th’ fair, where he lippens O’ swappin’ his cowt for gowd; My gronny’s asleep wi’ her knittin’, An’ th’ kittlin’s playin’ wi’ th’ yarn; Eawr Betty’s gone eawt wi’ a gallon To th’ chaps at their wark i’th barn.
Chorus—But oh, yon Robin, yon Robin.
Th’ lasses an’ lads are i’th meadow; They’re gettin’ their baggin’ i’th hay; I yer ’em as leetsome as layrocks, I’th sky ov a shiny day; But, little I care for their marlocks; I dunnot want them for to see, Though I’m fitter for cryin’ than laughin’, There’s nob’dy as fain as me.
Chorus—For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin.
When I crept into th’ nook wi’ my sewin’, My mother looked reawnd so sly; Hoo know’d I could see across th’ coppice, Where Robin comes ridin’ by; Then hoo coom to me, smilin’ an’ tootin’, An’ whisperin’, “Heaw doesto feel? Dost think I should send for a doctor?” But, th’ doctor hoo knows reet weel.
Chorus—It’s nought i’th world but Robin.
My feyther sits dozin’ i’th corner, He’s dreamin’ o’th harvest day; When Robin comes in for his daughter, Eh, what’ll my feyther say? Th’ rosebuds are peepin’ i’th garden; An’ th’ blossom’s o’th apple tree; Oh, heaw will life’s winter time find us,— Yon Robin o’ mine, an’ me?
Chorus—For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin.
Then, hey for kisses an’ blushes, An’ hurryin’ to an’ fro; An’ hey for sly, sweet whispers, That nob’dy but me mun know! Then, hey for rings, an’ ribbins, An’ bonnets, an’ posies fine! An’ eh,—it’s o’ in a flutter,— This little fond heart o’ mine!
Chorus. For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin; His e’en ne’er twinkle’t so breet, As they did when he meazur’t my finger For th’ little gowd ring last neet.