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Alfred Lord Tennyson - Northern Farmer: New Style
Work rating: Low

Dosn`t thou `ear my `erse`s legs, as they canters awaäy?
    Proputty, proputty, proputty—that`s what I `ears `em saäy.
    Proputty, proputty, proputty—Sam, thou`s an ass for thy paaïns:
    Theer`s moor sense i` one o` `is legs, nor in all thy braaïns.
     Woä—theer`s a craw to pluck wi` tha, Sam; yon `s parson`s `ouse—
    Dosn`t thou knaw that a man mun be eäther a man or a mouse?
    Time to think on it then; for thou`ll be twenty to weeäk.
    Proputty, proputty—woä then, woä—let ma `ear mysén speäk.
     Me an` thy muther, Sammy, `as been a`talkin` o` thee;
   Thou`s beän talkin` to muther, an` she beän a tellin` it me.
   Thou`ll not marry for munny—thou`s sweet upo` parson`s lass—
   Noä—thou `ll marry for luvv—an` we boäth of us thinks tha an ass.

    Seeä`d her todaäy goä by—Saäint`s-daäy—they was ringing the bells.
   She`s a beauty, thou thinks—an` soä is scoors o` gells,
   Them as `as munny an` all—wot`s a beauty?—the flower as blaws.
   But proputty, proputty sticks, an` proputty, proputty graws.

    Do`ant be stunt; taäke time. I knaws what maäkes tha sa mad.
   Warn`t I craäzed fur the lasses mysén when I wur a lad?
   But I knaw`d a Quaäker feller as often `as towd ma this:
   "Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!"

    An` I went wheer munny war; an` thy muther coom to `and,
   Wi` lots o` munny laaïd by, an` a nicetish bit o` land.
   Maäybe she warn`t a beauty—I niver giv it a thowt—
   But warn`t she as good to cuddle an` kiss as a lass as `ant nowt?

    Parson`s lass `ant nowt, an` she weänt `a nowt when `e `s deäd,
   Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her breäd.
   Why? for `e `s nobbut a curate, an` weänt niver get hissén clear,
   An` `e maäde the bed as `e ligs on afoor `e coom`d to the shere.

    An` thin `e coom`d to the parish wi` lots o` Varsity debt,
   Stook to his taäil thy did, an` `e `ant got shut on `em yet.
   An` `e ligs on `is back i` the grip, wi` noän to lend `im a shuvv,
   Woorse nor a far-welter`d yowe: fur, Sammy, `e married for luvv.

    Luvv? what`s luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an` `er munny too,
   Maäkin` `em goä togither, as they`ve good right to do.
   Couldn I luvv thy muther by cause `o `er munny laaïd by?
   Naäy—fur I luvv`d `er a vast sight moor fur it: reäson why.

    Ay, an` thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass,
   Cooms of a gentleman burn: an` we boäth on us thinks tha an ass.
   Woä then, proputty, wiltha?—an ass as near as mays nowt—
   Woä then, wiltha? dangtha!—the bees is as fell as owt.

    Breäk me a bit o` the esh for his `eäd, lad, out o` the fence!
   Gentleman burn! what`s gentleman burn? is it shillins an` pence?
   Proputty, proputty`s ivrything `ere, an`, Sammy, I`m blest
   If it isn`t the saäme oop yonder, fur them as `as it `s the best.

    Tis`n them as `as munny as breaks into `ouses an` steäls,
   Them as `as coats to their backs an` taäkes their regular meäls,
   Noä, but it `s them as niver knaws wheer a meäl`s to be `ad.
   Taäke my word for it Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.

    Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun `a beän a laäzy lot,
   Fur work mun `a gone to the gittin` whiniver munny was got.
   Feyther `ad ammost nowt; leastways `is munny was `id.
   But `e tued an` moil`d issén dead, an` `e died a good un, `e did.

    Looök thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the `ill!
   Feyther run oop to the farm, an` I runs oop to the mill;
   An` I `ll run oop to the brig, an` that thou `ll live to see;
   And if thou marries a good un I `ll leäve the land to thee.

    Thim`s my noätions, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick;
   But if thou marries a bad un, I `ll leäve the land to Dick.—
   Coom oop, proputty, proputty—that`s what I `ears `im saäy—
   Proputty, proputty, proputty—canter an` canter awaäy.
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