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Michaelmas  – a holiday of Archangel Michael, celebrated on the 29th of September

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I wer sure he’d sarve ye out! He’s a grand lad! He’s getten t’ raight sperrit in him! He knaws – ay, he knaws, as weel as I do, who sud be t’ maister yonder – He made ye skift properly!  – I was sure he’d serve you right! He’s a grand lad! He’s got the right spirit in him! He knows – yes, he knows, as well as I do, who should be the master here – He made you shift properly!

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Chevy Chase  – a 15th-century ballad describing the battle of Otterburn

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I’d rayther, by th’ haulf, hev’ ’em swearing i’ my lugs fro’h morn to neeght, nor hearken ye hahsiver! It’s a blazing shame, that I cannot oppen t’ blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to Sattan, and all t’ flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th’ warld! Oh! ye’re a raight nowt; and shoo’s another; and that poor lad’ll be lost atween ye. Poor lad! he’s witched: I’m sartin on’t. Oh, Lord, judge ’em, for there’s norther law nor justice among wer rullers!  – I’d rather, by half, have them swearing in my ears from morning to night, than hear you! It’s a blazing shame that I cannot open the blessed Book (the Bible) but you set up those glories to Satan, and all the frightening wickedness that ever were born into the world! Oh! you’re a real nothing, and she’s another; and that poor lad will be lost between you. Poor lad! he’s bewitched: I’m certain of it. Oh, Lord, judge them, for there’s neither law nor justice among our rulers!

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Tak’ these in to t’ maister, lad, and bide there. I’s gang up to my own rahm. This hoile’s neither mensful nor seemly for us: we mun side out and seearch another.  – Take these to the master, lad, and stay there. I’m going up to my own room. This hole is neither proper nor looks like it’s for us: we must move out and search for another.

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Ony books that yah leave, I shall tak’ into th’ hahse, and it’ll be mitch if yah find ’em agean; soa, yah may plase yerseln!  – Any books that you leave, I shall take into the house, and it’ll be much if you find them again; so, you may please yourself!

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I mun hev’ my wage, and I mun goa! I hed aimed to dee wheare I’d sarved fur sixty year; and I thowt I’d lug my books up into t’ garret, and all my bits o’ stuff, and they sud hev’ t’ kitchen to theirseln; for t’ sake o’ quietness. It wur hard to gie up my awn hearthstun, but I thowt I could do that! But nah, shoo’s taan my garden fro’ me, and by th’ heart, maister, I cannot stand it! Yah may bend to th’ yoak an ye will – I noan used to ’t, and an old man doesn’t sooin get used to new barthens. I’d rayther arn my bite an’ my sup wi’ a hammer in th’ road!  – I must have my wages and I must go! I had aimed to die where I’d served for sixty years; and I thought I’d store my books up into the garret, and all my bits of stuff, and they should have the kitchen to themselves for the sake of quietness. It was hard to give up my own hearthstone (fireside seat), but I thought I could do that! But no, she’s taken my garden from me, and by the heart, master, I cannot stand it! You may bend to the yoke (oppressive power) and you will – I’m not used to it, and an old man doesn’t soon get used to new burdens. I’d rather earn my bite and my sup with a hammer (by hard work) in the road!