Subject: Dinnet Let Words Myek Ye
From:
*#1 PEASANT*
Date: 26 Mar 02 - 08:00 PM
Dinnet Let Words Myek Ye Sad!
Tune: Cum Whoam to yor Childer an' Me. Young Jimmy com cryin frae scheul;
Says the muther, What's hurt ye, me son?
Says he, Whey aw cannet but cry
Throo them words thor's been said be Mat Dunn;
He sneer'd an' he call'd us glee-eyed
Afore a' the big lads i' the scheul,
An' aw thowt as it went te me heart,
At the time that aw luckt like a feul. The muther says, Jim, dinnet cry,
Or ye'll myek us as bad as yor-sel,
He shuddint myed gam o' yor eyes,
But he's vext as he sees ye excel;
Ye can beet ivry lad i' the class
At sife'rin an' writin as weel,
An' envy 'ill myek them gie vent
Te the spite that they cannet conceal. Ye knaw that Mat Dunn he's a dunce,
An' he's one o' the bad, selfish kind
That wad like ivry lad like his-sel,
Or warse, so his spite dinnet mind,
Thor's nivor a man i' the world
That gets on weel can please ivry one,
So his ignorance ye munnit heed,
But just think o' yorsel, an' push on He call'd ye glee-eyed,-- so he did,
Whey then let him, it winnet hurt ye,
'Twes God's will te myek ye that way,
An' we cannet help what hes te be,--
It's what's i' the heed myeks the man,
Tho silly foaks mock them, me lad,
They de the most har te thor-sels,
So dinnet let words myek ye sad! -Source: Joe Wilson, Tyneside Songs and Drolleries
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