The following clever _Address to "Dickie"_ was written by Mr. Samuel Laycock, and first appeared in the _Buxton Advertiser_.
Neaw, Dickie, be quiet wi' thee, lad, An' let navvies an' railways a be; Mon, tha shouldn't do soa,--it's to' bad, What harm are they doin' to thee? Deod folk shouldn't meddle at o', But leov o' these matters to th' wick; They'll see they're done gradeley, aw know,-- Dos' t' yer what aw say to thee, Dick?
Neaw dunna go spoil 'em i' th' dark What's cost so mich labber an' thowt; Iv tha'll let 'em go on wi' their wark, Tha shall ride deawn to Buxton for nowt; An' be a "director" too, mon; Get thi beef an' thi bottles o' wine, An' mak' as much brass as tha con Eawt o' th' London an' North Western line.
Awm surproised, Dick, at thee bein' here; Heaw is it tha'rt noan i' thi grave? Ar' t' come eawt o' gettin' thi beer, Or havin' a bit ov a shave? But _that's_ noan thi business, aw deawt, For tha hasn't a hair o' thi yed; Hast a woife an' some childer abeawt? When tha'rn living up here wurt wed?
Neaw, spake, or else let it a be, An' dunna be lookin' soa shy; Tha needn't be freeten'd o' me, Aw shall say nowt abeawt it, not I! It'll noan matter mich iv aw do, I can do thee no harm iv aw tell, Mon there's moor folk nor thee bin a foo', Aw've a woife an some childer misel'.
Heaw's business below; is it slack? Dos' t' yer? aw'm noan chaffin thee, mon' But aw reckon 'at when tha goes back Tha'll do me o' th' hurt as tha con. Neaw dunna do, that's a good lad, For awm freeten'd to deoth very nee, An' ewar Betty, poor lass, hoo'd go mad Iv aw wur to happen to dee!
When aw'n ceawer'd upo' th' hearston' awhoam, Aw'm inclined, very often, to boast; An' aw'n noan hawve as feart as some, But aw don't loike to talke to a ghost. So, Dickie, aw've written this song, An' aw trust it'll find thee o' reet; Look it o'er when tha'rt noan very throng, An' tha'll greatly obleege me,--good neet.
P.S.--Iv tha'rt wantin' to send a reply, Aw can gi'e thee mi place ov abode, It's reet under Dukinfilt sky, At thirty-nine, Cheetham Hill road. Aw'm awfully freeten'd dos t' see, Or else aw'd invite thee to come, An' ewar Betty, hoo's softer nor me, So aw'd _raythar_ tha'd tarry awhoam.