Love Poems and Others/A Collier's Wife
A COLLIER’S WIFE
Somebody’s knocking at the door
Mother, come down and see.
—I’s think it’s nobbut a beggar,
Say, I’m busy.
Mother, come down and see.
—I’s think it’s nobbut a beggar,
Say, I’m busy.
It’s not a beggar, mother,—hark
How hard he knocks . . .
—Eh, tha’rt a mard-’arsed kid,
’E’ll gi’e thee socks!
How hard he knocks . . .
—Eh, tha’rt a mard-’arsed kid,
’E’ll gi’e thee socks!
Shout an’ ax what ’e wants,
I canna come down.
—’E says “Is it Arthur Holliday’s?”
Say “Yes,” tha clown.
I canna come down.
—’E says “Is it Arthur Holliday’s?”
Say “Yes,” tha clown.
’E says, “Tell your mother as ’er mester’s
Got hurt i’ th’ pit.”
What—oh my sirs, ’e never says that,
That’s niver it.
Got hurt i’ th’ pit.”
What—oh my sirs, ’e never says that,
That’s niver it.
Come out o’ the way an’ let me see,
Eh, there’s no peace!
An’ stop thy scraightin’, childt,
Do shut thy face.
Eh, there’s no peace!
An’ stop thy scraightin’, childt,
Do shut thy face.
“Your mester’s ’ad an accident,
An’ they’re ta’ein ’im i’ th’ ambulance
To Nottingham,”—Eh dear o’ me
If ’e’s not a man for mischance!
An’ they’re ta’ein ’im i’ th’ ambulance
To Nottingham,”—Eh dear o’ me
If ’e’s not a man for mischance!
Wheers he hurt this time, lad?
—I dunna know,
They on’y towd me it wor bad—
It would be so!
—I dunna know,
They on’y towd me it wor bad—
It would be so!
Eh, what a man!—an’ that cobbly road,
They’ll jolt him a’most to death,
I’m sure he’s in for some trouble
Nigh every time he takes breath.
They’ll jolt him a’most to death,
I’m sure he’s in for some trouble
Nigh every time he takes breath.
Out o’ my way, childt—dear o’ me, wheer
Have I put his clean stockings and shirt;
Goodness knows if they’ll be able
To take off his pit dirt.
Have I put his clean stockings and shirt;
Goodness knows if they’ll be able
To take off his pit dirt.
An’ what a moan he’ll make—there niver
Was such a man for a fuss
If anything ailed him—at any rate
I shan’t have him to nuss.
Was such a man for a fuss
If anything ailed him—at any rate
I shan’t have him to nuss.
I do hope it’s not very bad!
Eh, what a shame it seems
As some should ha’e hardly a smite o’ trouble
An’ others has reams.
Eh, what a shame it seems
As some should ha’e hardly a smite o’ trouble
An’ others has reams.
It’s a shame as ’e should be knocked about
Like this, I’m sure it is!
He’s had twenty accidents, if he’s had one;
Owt bad, an’ it’s his.
Like this, I’m sure it is!
He’s had twenty accidents, if he’s had one;
Owt bad, an’ it’s his.
There’s one thing, we ’ll have peace for a bit,
Thank Heaven for a peaceful house;
An’ there’s compensation, sin’ it’s accident,
An’ club money—I nedn’t grouse.
Thank Heaven for a peaceful house;
An’ there’s compensation, sin’ it’s accident,
An’ club money—I nedn’t grouse.
An’ a fork an’ a spoon he’ll want, an’ what else;
I s’ll never catch that train—
What a trapse it is if a man gets hurt—
I s’d think he’ll get right again.
I s’ll never catch that train—
What a trapse it is if a man gets hurt—
I s’d think he’ll get right again.