Classic Poem

Somebody's knockin' at th' door
Mother, come down an' see!
— I's think it's nobbut, a beggar;
Say I'm busy.

It's not a beggar, mother; hark
How 'ard 'e knocks!
— Eh, tha'rt a mard-arsed kid,
'E'll gie thee socks!

Shout an' ax what 'e wants,
I canna come down.
— 'E says, is it Arthur Holliday's?
— Say Yes, tha clown.

'E says: Tell your mother as 'er mester's
Got hurt i' th' pit — —
What? Oh my Sirs, 'e never says that,
That's not it!

Come out o' th' way an' let me see!
Eh, there's no peace!
An' stop thy scraightin', childt,
Do shut thy face!

" Your mester's 'ad a accident
An' they ta'ein' 'im i' th' ambulance
Ter Nottingham. " — Eh dear o' me,
If 'e's not a man for mischance!

Wheer's 'e hurt this time, lad?
— I dunna know,
They on'y towd me it wor bad —
It would be so!

Out o' my way, childt! dear o' me, wheer
'Ave I put 'is clean stockin's an' shirt?
Goodness knows if they'll be able
To take off 'is pit-dirt!

An' what a moan 'e'll make! there niver
Was such a man for a fuss
If anything ailed 'im; at any rate
I shan't 'ave 'im to nuss.

I do 'ope as it's not so very bad!
Eh, what a shame it seems
As some should ha'e hardly a smite o' trouble
An' others 'as reams!

It's a shame as 'e should be knocked about
Like this, I'm sure it is!
'E's 'ad twenty accidents, if 'e's 'ad one;
Owt bad, an' it's his!

There's one thing, we s'll 'ave a peaceful 'ouse f'r a bit,
Thank heaven for a peaceful house!
An' there's compensation, sin' it's accident.
An' club-money — I won't growse.

An' a fork an' a spoon 'e'll want — an' what else?
I s'll never catch that train!
What a traipse it is, if a man gets hurt!
I sh'd think 'e'll get right again.