  BANE ta Claapam town-end lived an oud Yorkshire tike, Who i' dealing i' horseflesh hed ne'er met his like; 'Twor his pride that i' aw the hard bargains he'd hit, He'd bit a girt monny, but nivver bin bit. This oud Tommy Towers Hed an oud carrion tit that wor sheer skin an' baan; Ta hev killed him for t' curs wad hev bin quite as well, But 'twor Tommy's opinion he'd dee on himsel! Well! yan Abey Muggins, Thowt ta diddle oud Tommy wad be a girt treat; Hee'd a horse, too, 'twor war than oud Tommy's, ye see, Fort' neet afore that hee'd thowt proper to dee! Thinks Abey, t' oud codger'll nivver smoak t' trick, I'll swop wi' him my poor deead horse for his wick, An' if Tommy I nobbut can happen ta trap, 'Twill be a fine feather i' Aberram cap! Soa ta Tommy he goas, an' the question he pops: "Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops? What wilt gi' me ta boot? for mine's t' better horse still?" "Nout," says Tommy, "I'll swop ivven hands, an' ye will!" Abey preached a lang time about summat ta boot, Insistin' that his war the liveliest brute; But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, Till Abey shook hands, and sed, "Well, Tommy, done!" "O! Tommy," sed Abey, "I'ze sorry for thee, I thowt thou'd a hadden mair white i' thy ee; Good luck's wi' thy bargin, for my horse is deead." "Hey!" says Tommy, "my lad, soa is min, an' it's fleead!" Soa Tommy got t' better of t' bargin, a vast, An' cam' off wi' a Yorkshireman's triumph at last; For thof 'twixt deead horses there's not mitch ta choose, Yet Tommy war richer by t' hide an' fower shooes. |
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