The Gardener And The Robin

Why! Bobbie, so thou’s coom agean! I’m fain to see thee here; It’s lang sin I’ve set een on thee, It’s ommost hauf a yeer. What’s that thou says? Thou’s taen a wife An’ raised a family. It seems thou’s gien ’em all the slip Now back-end’s drawin’ nigh. I mun forgi’e thee; we’re owd friends, An’ fratchin’s not for us; Blackbirds an’ spinks I can’t abide, At doves an’ crows I cuss. But thou’ll noan steal my strawberries, Or nip my buds o’ plum; Most feather-fowl I drive away, But thou can awlus coom. Ay, that’s thy place, at top o’ t’ clod, Thy heead cocked o’ one side, Lookin’ as far-learnt as a judge. Is that a worrm thou’s spied? By t’ Megs! he’s well-nigh six inch lang, An’ reed as t’ gate i’ t’ park; If thou don’t mesh him up a bit, He’ll gie thee belly-wark. My missus awlus lets me know I’m noan so despert thin; If I ate sausages as thou Eats worrms, I’d brust my skin! Howd on! leave soom for t’ mowdiwarps That scrats down under t’ grund ; Of worrms, an’ mawks, an’ bummel-clocks Thou’s etten hauf a pund. So now thou’ll clear thy pipes an’ sing: Grace after meat, I s’pose. Thou looks as holy as t’ owd saint I’ church wi’ t’ brokken nose. Thou’s plannin’ marlocks all the time, Donned i’ thy sowdier coat; An’ what we tak for hymns o’ praise Is just thy fratchin’ note. I’ve seen thee feightin’ theer on t’ lawn, Beneath yon laurel tree; Thy neb was reed wi’ blooid, thou looked As chuffy as could be. Thou’s got no mense nor morals, Bob, But weel I know thy charm. Ay, thou can stand upon my spade. I’ll niver do thee harm.