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(1) 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(2)          That scrats down under t' grund ;     Of worrms, an' mawks,(3) an' bummel-clocks(4)          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(5) 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(6) 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.