  A story of two rustics, and the history of their several mistakes during a holiday which they took, in 1842, to go to Scarborough to see the Florentine Venus, then being exhibited in that town. 'Twas on a fiahne cleer sunny day, Aboot the end o' summer, When all the goa was Scarbro' spo, Between the Tees an Hummer. Coaches grained 'neath top heavy leeads, Gigs, carriages an sike like, Skew'd dust like fun fra' all the rooads, At' end at Scarbro' tonpike. Lauk! what a dust there was kick'd up Like deed what blustrin storance, A waint queer seeght was seen that da, Some waxwark thing fra Florence. Jerry an Jack, twea treshers bold, Wer bangin 'oot and barley, A dusty trade, hard by the rooad Sweatin an broilin rarly. "Dod dang," says Jack, "yau knocks an delves, Digs, plews, sows, maws, an what for? Pately at yau may live yau's sens, Bud mare to keep up that, Jer." He pointed ti twea carriage leead 'O fashionable people; Wea seem'd to knoo the arts 'o ease, Sat couple feeacing couple. "Why can't we hev a bit 'o spree, As weel as uther folks, Jer?" "I deean't see why," quoth Jer, "dang me! If ahle ageean strike strooak, ser. "Afoor I'v seen that Florance thing, It nobbut costs a shillin; Besides I lang ti hev a spree, An get a thorough swillin." "Bonni!" says Jack, "bonni, my lad, I like the risolution; Let's hev thi hand, thi scheeam's weel plan'd, We'll het i' execution." Seea Jack and Jer shack'd hands and showd 'At peasant cud wi peasant, Like prince wi prince, an lord wi lord, Laugh loud, feel pleased, luke pleasant. Seea yam tha went, wesh'd, scrub'd, an brush'd, An sware tha wad hev rare spooat; An eeach put on his bran new suit, New breeches, cooat, an waiscooat. An off tha went: "God speed ya weel!" Cried Jinny, that was Jack's wife; "An i' yer harts his love reveeal," "I wop yoo'll hev a pleasant da." "I wop you will," said Jenny: "I wop we sal," said Jack, "hurra!" "I wop we sal," said Jerry. An tha wer gone, lauk hoo tha preached, An laugh'd all't way tha though; Far on afoor their voices reach'd, Ther mirth was getin vent so. The wavy fiels 'o yallow wheat, Spread wide i' view ther treasure; The side swung wots, an bearded John, 'At fills the tankard measure, Did sweetly vie wi promises Zi fill oor barns wi plenty: "Thank God," says Jack, "these are his gifts, Ye fields 'twas him at sent ye." Plenty thronged like an empress sat Upon the broo 'o Cayton; Wea laughed an made the hills ti smile For miles round bonny Ayton. |
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