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Title: A Dialogue
Author: John Castillo [
More Titles by Castillo]
Between Rosedale Bob and Hartoft John, on a Speech
delivered by the Venerable The Archdeacon P——, L.L.D.,
at a Bible Meeting held in the new Church, Rosedale.
John.—What cheer, awd stock? say what’s ther beean te doo,
’At macks ye leeak seea dark aboot yer broo?
Yoo leeak as thof yer parliament petition
Had met wi’ sum romantic opposition!
Or mebby yoo hev met wi’ sum abuse,
Or fra’ sum quarter heeard sum heavy news!
Perhaps the trial may cum clooaser still,
Yer wife or childer may be takken ill.
Bob.—Alas! the news Ah hev te tell’s seea bad,
The fields an’ forests seeam i’ moorning clad;
By men unauthorized an’ unordeean’d,
Oor new erected Temple is profeean’d!
The cushions an’ the tassels all are soil’d,
The bell’s enchanted, an’ oor woorship’s spoil’d,
They’ve held in it, what’s caus’d this desecration,
A meetin’ for t’ Baable’s circulation.
John.—If that be all the thing’s as leeght as chaff,
The fields an’ fleeads may clap ther hands an’ laff;
Sin’ better sense is teeachin’ greeat an’ small,
Te send this glorious leeght fra’ pole te pole!
’Tis yan o’ Jesus Christ’s last greeat commands,
Te send this leeght te dark an’ heathen lands.
Lets whooap the profit ’ll ootweigh the loss;—
If t’parson beean’t t’Church ’ll be neea worse!
Bob.—Whah, Ah’s neea scholar, nowther will pertend
Te say, hoo far this mischief may extend.
Oor greeat Divine, afoore he left the pleeace,
He tell’d us positive it wur the keease:
Hiz argument did raise te that amoont,
The Church wur ruin’d on this seeame accoont;
When sike like wark the church’s pillars shake,
Hiz maister’s honner foorc’d him for te speak.
John.—Whether Divine, M.A., or L.L.D.,
’Tis lahtle matter whea or what he be:
The thing’s reveal’d tiv us as clear as him,
What God approves man owght nut te condemn.
Whate’er may be his sacerdotal geeans,
The public, they may thenk him for hiz peeans;
’At he seea fine a sample sud dispense
Ov college iddicated influence.
Bob.—Cud it be heeard an’ understeead on reeght,
Daft Hannah’s speech be quite as full o’leeght.
She thinks t’awd man sud nut ha’ beean seea vext,
Bud tonn’d hiz leeaf an’ teean anuther text.
The bad effects hez beean, she hez neea doot,
Wi’ brush or beezom swept an’ carried oot;
They teeak true pains te mack all clean an’ clivver,
An’ t’ Church is noo as gud an’ weel as ivver.
John.—Bud leeak thoo heer, this is the thing they dreead,
If yance t’Baable an’ the truth be spreead,
The veil ’ll fall fra’ off the people’s eyes,
An’ t’ commons then will as the lords be wise;
They then ’ll graw so base i’ disposition,
Te heigher powers they will disdain submission;
An’ will te men ov honourable name,
Refuse that homage which ther titles claim!
Bob.—Then chapels will i’ all directions rise,
Wi’ saucy steeples moonting te the skies;
An’ preeachers run, or ride on hoss or gig,
As rank as sheep that travel Blaca rig,
If sike proceedings further be alloo’d,
Awd England’s sun ’ll set behinnd a clood:—
Nur need we wonder they alood procleeam,
Thooase men sal speeak neea longer i’ this neeame.
John.—’At sike a meetin’ sud be held i’ t’ church,
By men ’at scarce wur fit te stand i’ t’ porch,
Wur sike a stain upon its consecration,
As roused his reverence’s indignation.
What cud thooase expect as ther reward,
Bud fra’ sike bold attempts te be debarr’d;
Nur ivver mare mun they cum theer again,
Whahl he hiz sacred office does sustain!
If sike like doctrines spreead an’ sud prevail,
Then Bishop’s ordination treead ’ll fail;
Then grace ’ll mare than larning be admired,
An’ priests stand i’ the market place unhired:
Men will fra’ ivvery secret corner creep,
Or oot o’ coalpits into pulpits leap;
Whahl wi’ ther gestures an’ insinuations,
They’ll rob the Churches o’ ther congregations.
Bob.—Then fooaks ’ll ton, like bees ’at’s left the hive,
Seea stupid as te nowther leead nur drive,
Nur draw by gifts, nur binnd doon by oppression,
Nur scar by Apostolical Succession:
In vain a man may then hiz feeace disguise,
An’ landlords ower ther tenants tyrannize.
Neea patchwark then ’ll answer as afoore,
Nur gowns, nur blankets buy or sell the poor.
That Parson then by chance may loss hiz pleeace,
Whea hunts, or gallops i’ the Steeple Chase;
Whea i’ the ring appears a jovial fellow,
Sits by his wine or grog till he is mellow;
Then wi’ hiz dogs pursues the grouse or game
Mare than the cottage ov the poor or lame;
Or if hiz gun sud chance te miss the mark
Te rap an’ sweear, an’ lie all t’bleeam o’ t’ clerk.
John.—Nur wonder thoo that venerable man,
Sud be seea feearful ov hiz treead an’ clan;
If better leeght be spreead by land an’ sea,
Oor heeame boond slaves ’ll seek for liberty,
They’ll finnd they’re neean seea fit te show the way,
As thooase ’at walks theerin fra’ day te day.
Bud God himsel has teeak the thing i’ hand,
An’ Baable Meetings yet sal bless oor land;
Oor God ’ll raise up men ov noble soul,
An’ He the sleepy churches will controul:
Will send hiz sarvants whea hiz judgements knaw,
Te thunner oot the terrors ov His law;
Whahl Jesus will hiz meeghty airm mack bare,
An’ tack the flocks himsel into hiz care.
Bob.—Sike laws amang oor heeigh up chaps exist,
As labouring men finnd hard for te resist.
O’t’ Sabbath days they rob beeath God an’ man,
That scribe may preeav this statement fause as can.
All hands mun haste seean as they hear the bell,
To t’steeple hoose let t’priest be what he will;
An’ thooase ’at izzen’t satisfied wi’ t’kirk,
Mun owther quit ther farm or loss ther woark.
John.—Thooase laws mitch differ fra’ the laws ov heaven,
Fra’ God te man for holy purpose given;
Peace te promote an’ put an end te strife,
Te regulate hiz hoosehod an’ hiz life.
In holy days afoore the churches fell,
Neea music soonded like the sabbath bell;
The ministers wur thoughtful, holy men,
Nur threeats wur needed, nur compulsion then.
Bob.—Yan wad be fain sike days again te see,
An’ hear fooaks sing wi’ love an’ melody,
As yan hez reead i’ bukes ov holy men,
’At nowther cared for fire nur lion’s den:
Bud dreeaded sin wi’ all its scorpion stings,
Mare than the wrath ov heathen priests an’ kings.
All whea te God in meek submission boo,
Thof t’way be dark, He’ll awlus bring ’em throo.
John.—Jist wait a whahl, till taame reverse the scene,
An’ Anti-Christ hez hed hiz pompous reign;
When persecution wi’ her torch an’ foark,
Sets carnal men an’ ministers te woark,
Te help the Beast te mack hiz proselytes,
Te purge hiz fleer, an’ bon the hypocrites:—
Then thooase whea live, an’ hev the truth maintained,
I’ cleearer leeght ’ll hev the thing explained.
[The end]
John Castillo's poem: Dialogue
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