Luv In A Chimley. Poem by William Baron

Aw've a bit uv a tale 'at aw'll tell yo,
If yo'll nobbut be quate for a while,
O'er a young chap 'at lived up i' Whit'oth,—
An' aw'll warrant it meks yo o smile.
They co'd him ' Flash Turn' for a nick-name,
For he allus dressed up like a swell;
An' he courted an owd farmer's dowter,
'At lived just aboon Healey Dell.

Neaw, th' name o' this lass 'at he went wi'
Wur Mary, at least sooa aw'm towd;
Hoo'd cheeks 'at 'ud shame th' breetest rosy,
An' hur hair wur like ringlets o' gowd.
An' i' th' anthems an' hymns, uv a Sunda',
Hur-sweet voice nooan failed to admire?
For Mary wur th' principal treble
At that time, i' th' Whit'oth church choir.

Heawever they geet agate courtin'
Is mooar nor aw happen to know;
But he thowt th' world abeawt hur, that's sartin,
An' he wur thowt th' same on an' o.
They'd meet just at th' end o' th' owd shippon,
An' Turn's waited theer, oft enuff,
To hev a nice ramble wi' Mary
Reawnd Broadley, or deawn bi Shawclough.

But, someheaw, Turn grew to be jealous,
An' this wur just heaw it begun :
He'd seen hur give one or two glonces
At young Harry, th' game-keeper's son.
When they'd bin gooin' eawt on ther rambles,
They'd met him i' th' road once or twice,
An' Mary hed smiled as he passed 'em,
An' Turn thowt it didno' look nice.

He begun to be snappish an' sulky,
An' acted like nowt but a too';
An' Mary wur lost to know th' reason,
For hoo thowt nowt o' Harry, not hoo.
Sooa at th' finish hoo axed him what ailed him,
'At med him so peevish an' queer;
Then he managed to smile, an' say ' Nowt, lass,'
An' wig' that o wur reet agent wig' hurl.

He went up to th' heawse th' Sunday' after,
But he stopped when he'd getting to th' dooar;
For he yerd someb'dy talkin' i' th' kitchen,—
It wur young Harry's voice, he felt sure.
' By gum, aw've dropped on 'em,' he muttered,
' For aw ne'er sed aw'd come up to-neet,
Aw'd give owt for some place to hide in,—
Just to hearken, an' be eawt o' seet.

He wur starin' abeawt like a dummy,
When his een fell on th' owd chimley top;
Then a sudden idea seemed to strike him,
For he sed, 'Theigher!—aw've just fun' th' reet shop!
If aw could but get deawn into th' chimley,
They'd never suspect aw wur theer;
An' bi lowerin' misel to th' first storey,
Every word 'at they say aw could hear.'

Quick as thowt, he geet howd uv a ladder,
An' reared it agenst th' side'o' th' heawse;
Then he geet on to th' roof, an' i' th' chimley,
An' he dropped deawn as quate as a meawse.
He geet up to th' waist—then he stuck theer,
An' he wriggled, an' gav' sich a sheawt;
For wi' strugglin' he'd jammed hissel tighter,—
He could noather get in, nor get eawt.

At th' noise, Mary rushed eawt o' th' kitchen,
For hoo couldno' tell what wur to do;
An' hur brother coom eawt an' o wi' hur,—
It wur him 'at hoo'd bin talkin' to.
They thowt ther wur burglars on th' buildin',
An' they'd run eawt hawf-freetent to deeath ;
But they looked up, an' seed Turn i' th' chimley,
Welly chokin', an' gaspin' for breeath.

His sheawts hed browt eawt some o' th' nayburs,
An' a greyt creawd geet reawnd him at last;
An' a lot on 'em poo'd hard to loce him-—
But no use—he wur jammed in too fast.
Sooa at last, they'd to fotch two bricklayers,
'At lived just on th' eawtskirts o' th' teawn ;
An' poor Turn hed to promise to pay 'em,
Afore they'd poo th' owd chimley deawn.

To finish mi tale,—when they'd loced him,
Turn wur rayley a comical seet;
An', aw might say, his courtship wi' Mary
Wur browt to a finish that neet.
They chaffed him that mich up i' Whit'oth,
Till they finally drove him away ;
An' you've nobbut to ax 'em abeawt it,
To raise a laff theer ony day.