'Lancashire lyrics written during the Cotton famine, 1861 - 5'

WELCOME, BONNY BRID

THA'RT welcome, little bonny brid,
But shouldn't ha' come just when tha did;
Toimes are bad.
We're short o' pobbies for eawr ]oe,
But that, of course, tha didn't know,
Did ta, lad?

Aw've often yeard mi feyther tell,
'At when aw coom i'th' world misel'
Trade wur slack;
And neaw its hard wark pooin' throo --
But aw munno fear thee,—iv aw do
Tha'll go back.

Cheer up! these toirnes 'll awter soon;
Aw'm beawn to beigh another spoon -
One for thee; --
An', as tha's sich a pratty face
Aw'll let thi have eawr Charley's place
On mi knee.

God bless thi, love! aw'm fain tha'rt come,
]ust try and mak' thisel awhoam:
Here's thi nest;
Tha'rt loike thi mother to a tee,
But tha's thi feyther's nose, aw see,
Well, aw'm blest!

Come, come, tha needn't look so shy,
Aw am no' blamin' thee, not I;
Settle deawn,
An' tak' this haupney for thisel',
Ther's lots of sugar-sticks to sell
Deawn i'th' teawn.

Aw know when first aw coom to th' leet,
Aw're fond o' owt 'at tasted sweet;
Tha'll be th' same.
But come, tha's never towd thi dad
What he's to co thi yet, mi lad,
What's thi name?

Hush! hush! tha mustn't cry this way,
But get this sope o' cinder tay
While it's warm;
Mi mother used to give it me,
When aw wur sich a lad as thee,
In her arm.

Hush-a-babby, hush-a-bee,—
Oh, what a temper! —dear-a-me
Heaw tha skrikes!
Here's a bit o' sugar, sithee;
Howd thi noise, an' then aw'll gie thee
Owt tha likes.

We've nobbut getten coarsish fare,
But, eawt o' this tha'll get thi share,
Never fear.
Aw hope tha'll never want a meal,
But allus fill thi bally weel
While tha'rt here.

Thi feyther's noan been wed so lung,
An' yet tha sees he's middlin' thrung
Wi' yo' o.
Besides thi little brother Ted,
We've one upsteers, asleep i' bed,
Wi' eawr ]oe.

But tho' we've childer two or three,
We'll mak' a bit o' reawm for thee,
Bless thee, lad!
Tha'rt th' prattiest brid we have i'th' nest,
So hutch up closer to mi breast;
Aw'm thi dad.

by Samuel Laycock