The Leane

They do zay that a travellen chapHave a-put in the newspeaeper now,That the bit o' green ground on the knapShould be all a-took in vor the plough.He do fancy 'tis easy to showThat we can be but stunpolls at best,Vor to leaeve a green spot where a flower can grow,Or a voot-weary walker mid rest.Tis hedge-grubben, Thomas, an' ledge-grubben,Never a-doneWhile a sov'ren mwore's to be won.

The road, he do zay, is so wideAs 'tis wanted vor travellers' wheels,As if all that did travel did rideAn' did never get galls on their heels.He would leaeve sich a thin strip o' groun',That, if a man's veet in his shoesWer a-burnen an' zore, why he coulden zit downBut the wheels would run over his tooes.Vor 'tis meaeke money, Thomas, an' teaeke money,What's zwold an' boughtIs all that is worthy o' thought.

Years agoo the leaene-zides did bear grass,Vor to pull wi' the geeses' red bills,That did hiss at the vo'k that did pass,Or the bwoys that pick'd up their white quills.But shortly, if vower or viveOv our goslens do creep vrom the agg,They must mwope in the geaerden, mwore dead than alive,In a coop, or a-tied by the lag.Vor to catch at land, Thomas, an' snatch at land,Now is the plan;Meaeke money wherever you can.

The childern wull soon have noo pleaeceVor to play in, an' if they do grow,They wull have a thin musheroom feaece,Wi' their bodies so sumple as dough.But a man is a-meaede ov a child,An' his limbs do grow worksome by play;An' if the young child's little body's a-spweil'd,Why, the man's wull the sooner decay.But wealth is wo'th now mwore than health is wo'th;Let it all goo,If't 'ull bring but a sov'ren or two.

Vor to breed the young fox or the heaere,We can gi'e up whole eaecres o' ground,But the greens be a-grudg'd, vor to rearOur young childern up healthy an' sound,Why, there woont be a-left the next ageA green spot where their veet can goo free;An' the goocoo wull soon be committed to cageVor a trespass in zomebody's tree.Vor 'tis locken up, Thomas, an' blocken up,Stranger or brother,Men mussen come nigh woone another.

Woone day I went in at a geaete,Wi' my child, where an echo did sound,An' the owner come up, an' did reaeteMe as if I would car off his ground.But his vield an' the grass wer a-let,An' the damage that he could a-tookWer at mwost that the while I did open the geaeteI did rub roun' the eye on the hook.But 'tis dreven out, Thomas, an' heven out.Trample noo grounds,Unless you be after the hounds.

Ah! the Squier o' Culver-dell HallWer as diff'rent as light is vrom dark,Wi' zome vo'k that, as evenen did vall,Had a-broke drough long grass in his park;Vor he went, wi' a smile, vor to meetWi' the trespassers while they did pass,An' he zaid, "I do fear you'll catch cwold in your veet,You've a-walk'd drough so much o' my grass."His mild words, Thomas, cut em like swords, Thomas,Newly a-whet,An' went vurder wi' them than a dreat.