Бенджамин Брирли (Benjamin Brierley)

To Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Edinburgh on Her Wedding

HAIL to thee, chick o'th' eagle hee,
Ut flaps its wings o'er th' Baltic Sea;
Theau'rt welcome to eaur Sal an' me,
                                    An' Walmsley Fowt.

Theau comes wi' th' snowdrops, fair as they,
Peepin' eaut at th' wintry day;
But soon theau'll see an English May
                                    I' Lunnon Fowt.

Theau should ha' come'n some years bygone,
Just when I're shepst'rin'* th' owdest son,
Before thoose feights wur lost and won
                                    I'th' Crimean Fowt.

Theau met ha' saved us summat then,
I' peawther, gowd, an' lives o' men;
But theau'd hardly crept fro' under th' hen,
                                    When th' War-cocks fowght.

Come o'er t'eaur heause—bring Alfred, too;
Beaut him th' owd rib mit jealous groo—
We'n have a glorious Lanky brew,
                                    I' Walmsley Fowt.

We'n have a crimbly-crusted pie
O' Paddy's grapes; an' if theau'll try
A plateful on't, soon th' news 'll fly
                                    To Peter's fowt.

They'd raise a steeam o' Neva's shore
Would keep th' owd brook fro' freezin' o'er,
An' warm folk as they're ne'er warmed before,
                                    Not e'en wi' th' Knout.

I'll show thee what theau's seldom seen—
Some happier folks than king or queen;
Wheere warmer hearts an' breeter e'en
                                    Ne'er blessed a fowt.

For o that, we'r no' donned like thee,
I' silk an' gowd and fiddle-de-de:
Blue print is eaur best finery,
                                    I' Walmsley Fowt.

We are no' fed o' nifles rare;
An' yet we'n just a little t' spare
For folk tit han their cubborts bare,
                                    I' any fowt.

Theau's not had porritch twice a day,
As I've had mony a time, nor tae
Ut's tasted like a brew o hay,
                                    An' sometimes nowt.

It's hardly likely theau'll e'er see
A whitenin' lip an' glazin' e'e,
Through want o' that God sent for me,
                                    An' o i'th fowt.

Theau winno' yer a little moan
I'th neet-time, when theau'rt feelin' lone.
When lips han muttered—"Is there noane—
                                    No bread i'th' fowt?"

But why wi' back-thowts fill my e'en?
That th' wo'ld's groon breeter may be seen—
On every face, an' hearth, an' green,
                                    I' mony a fowt.

Theau's made it breeter wi' that star
O' promise theau's browt from afar,
Ut tells us love shall conquer war,
                                    I' every fowt.

Better' ha weddin'-bells than th' clang
O' glitterin' steel, or cannon's bang:
A welcomer peal than thine ne'er rang
                                    O'er ne'er a fowt.

Yo'r Alfred's thine an' England's pride—
Spotless he laft his mother's side;
An' may no good that tongue betide
                                    Ut says he's prowt,

Look to him, then, wi' wifely care,
To keep him shy o' wicked snare;
Guard him wi' booath hont an' prayer,
                                    When eaut i'th' fowt;

For princes are no common folk,
But marks at which to fire a joke,
An' dirty wits their fun to poke,
                                    I' every fowt.

That brother-in-law o' thine—yo'r Ned—
Ever sin' he their Alick wed,
Has had a deeal abeaut him said
                                    I' mony a fowt.

But I ne'er tak' o in ut's towd:
A mon may be as good as gowd,
An' scandil's tongue shall have him jowed
                                    An' pown to nowt.

If e'er th' owd woman meddles o' thee—
But surely that con never be—
Dunno' like some wives, goo on th' spree,
                                    An' tell o th' fowt;

But use her kindly—hers has been
A life ne'er lived by other queen.
No wrong words ever passed between
                                    Her an' her fowt.

Walk theau i'th' track her shoon han made,
An' tak no heed o' whisperin' jade,
Ut yers things that han ne'er been said,
                                    I' ne'er a fowt.

Happen theau'll have a family—
A big un, sometime—we shall see.
If th' fust's a lad, then send for me
                                    To Walmsley Fowt;

An' I'll be godfeyther to th' bab—
(Just tak' a hint an' co' him AB)—
Then wouldno' there be a a roarin' gab
                                    I' England Fowt?


* Shepst'rin, nursing.