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 ■ • 4* 
 
BALLADS, 
 
 IN THE 
 
 CUMBERLAND DIALECT, 
 
 BY ROBERT ANDERSON. M 
 
 WITH NOTES, 
 
 descriptive of the manners and customs of 
 
 THE CUMBERLAND PEASANTRY { 
 
 A GLOSSARY OF LOCAL WORDS; 
 
 AND A 
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 ALNWICK: 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 W. DAVISON. BONDGATE STREET. 
 
 SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
- 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TAGE 
 
 Life of the Author ix 
 
 Betty Brown .,.li 
 
 Barbary Bell .. 19 
 
 Nichol the Newsmonger .... ... , 20 
 
 Worton Wedding... 23 
 
 Sally Gray 28 
 
 "Will and Kate 30 
 
 The Impatient Lassie 31 
 
 The Bundle of Oddities 33 
 
 Luckless Jonathan 35 
 
 Dick Watters 37 
 
 The Lass abuin Thirty 38 
 
 Tom Linton 40 
 
 The Happy Family 42 
 
 The Author on himself 43 
 
 Peace 45 
 
 The Cumberland Farmer 47 
 
 The Disappointment 48 
 
 Auld Marget 49 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ’ ; 
 
 First Luive 50 
 
 Lai Stephen 52 
 
 The Bashful Wooer 53 
 
 The Aunty 55 
 
 The Rural Visit 56 
 
 Watty 57 
 
 Jenny’s Complaint 60 
 
 Matthew Macree 61 
 
 Calep Crosby 63 
 
 Feckless Wully . 64 
 
 The Bleckell Murry-Neet 65 
 
 The Delights of Love 67 
 
 Ruth 69 
 
 The Peck o* Punch 70 
 
 The Thuirsby Witch 7i 
 
 The Village Gang 73 
 
 Dicky Glendinin 76 
 
 The Invasion 77 
 
 Grizzy 79 
 
 Gwordie Gill 80 
 
 A Weyfe for Wully Miller 81 
 
 The Twee Auld Men 83 
 
 Uncle Wully 87 
 
 Guid Strang Yell... 88 
 
 Burgh Races 89 
 
 Biddy 91 
 
 Dinah Dufton 92 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 vn 
 
 Ned Carnaughan „ . 93 
 
 The Cocker o’ Codbeck 95 
 
 Canny Cummerlan 96 
 
 Jeff and Job 98 
 
 Tib and her Maister 99 
 
 Jwohny and Mary 101 
 
 The Clay Daubin 102 
 
 The Fellows round Torkin 104 
 
 The Dawston Player Fwok : 108 
 
 Our Jwohny 110 
 
 King Roger Ill 
 
 Kitt Craffet 113 
 
 Elizabeth’ Burth-Day 116 
 
 Borrowdale Jwohny 1 18 
 
 Lang Seyne 120 
 
 The Auld Beggar 122 
 
 The Buck o’ King Watter 123 
 
 Marget o* the Mill 124 
 
 Madam Jane 126 
 
 Young Susy 127 
 
 The Reed-Breest 128 
 
 Three Scwore and Nineteen 129 
 
 Silly Andrew 131 
 
 Auld Robby Miller .. 132 
 
 Nanny Peal ,..133 
 
 Andrew’s Youngest Dowter 135 
 
 Soldier Yeddy 136 
 
VIII 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 The Dawtie 137 
 
 The Codbeck Weddin 139 
 
 The Beggar and Keatie 144 
 
 The Happy Couple 146 
 
 Carel Fair 147 
 
 Peggy Pen 132 
 
 The Aul Hollow Tree 154 
 
 The Widow’s Wail 157 
 
 The Lasses of Carel 158 
 
 The Ill-Gien Weyfe 159 
 
 The Days that are Geane .....163 
 
 Rob Lowrie 164 
 
 Mary 165 
 
 Notes 167 
 
 Glossary 208 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Robert Anderson was born on the morning of the 
 1st of February, 1770, at the Dam-Side, a suburb 
 of the city of Carlisle. He says of himself, “ I was 
 a poor little tender being, scarce worth the trouble 
 of rearing. Old Isabel, the midwife, who had 
 assisted at the birth of thousands, entertained many 
 fears that I was only sent to peep around me, shed 
 tears, and leave them : accordingly, ere twelve times 
 I’d seen the light, to the church they hurried me ; 
 and I have sometimes had reason to exclaim, 
 
 Oh ! that near my fathers they that day had buried me.” 
 The poet was the youngest of nine children, whose 
 parents were at that time somewhat advanced in 
 years, and suffering all the privations of poverty, 
 with the tedium of toil. 
 
 Robert, as indeed, it is probable, did all his 
 brothers and sisters, owed the first rearing of his 
 tender thought to the Mistress of a Charity School, 
 instituted and maintained by the Dean and Chapter 
 of Carlisle, for the education of children only — an 
 admirable institution, and to which the departed 
 bard has many times acknowledged his lasting 
 obligations. Having at this humble seminary of 
 elementary learning conquered the “ Primer,” and 
 the “ Reading made-easy,” he was transferred to 
 the more pretending tuition of a master, by whom 
 he was taught to write, and advance in reading and 
 spelling. He soon became a favourite with his 
 tutor, and used to accompany him in his rambles 
 
X 
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR^ 
 
 and fishing excursions at leisure hours, and on 
 holidays. “ I am led to suppose,*’ our Bard has 
 observed, " it was during our summer excursions 
 that an attachment to rural scenery first stole over 
 my youthful mind. The love of nature, where she 
 seems to say, 
 
 ‘ Behold me, man, in all my wild attire,’ 
 grew with me from that period to manhood.” 
 About this early period of his career, he had a 
 narrow escape from destruction. In crossing the 
 river Caldew, which flowed near to his home, by 
 means of a few stones placed for the purpose, his 
 foot slipped, and he fell into the water unobserved 
 by any one. Providentially an old woman, coming 
 immediately to the spot for a pail of water, perceived 
 him struggling and almost perishing in the stream ; 
 and with some difficulty she saved him. “ Mv 
 mother,” he has told us, in relating the occurrence, 
 “shed tears over her drenched child, and I was 
 ordered to bed till my clothes were dried ; for such 
 was the poverty of the family, I could not reckon 
 more than one suit at a time.” 
 
 After learning almost all that this his first Domi- 
 nie could teach him, our Bard was removed to the 
 school of a very talented man — Mr. Isaac Iiitson, 
 the Quaker, who, both as a Scholar and a Poet, 
 was deservedly held in high estimation. Under 
 Mr. Ritson, however, he had not the good fortune 
 to remain longer than a few weeks. His next 
 preceptor was Mr. Walter Scott, a native of the 
 Scottish Border, who was a teacher in Carlisle for 
 the long period of more than fifty years, from whom 
 our author received what may be termed the finish- 
 ing of his education, — though he had only just 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XI 
 
 completed his tenth year when he was transferred 
 from the school to the less congenial labours of a 
 Calico- Print Work, there to earn a weekly pittance 
 to aid in the support of his aged father, his mother 
 having died a short time previously. At this period 
 of his life Anderson was fond of drawing, and used 
 to devote his evenings to that pursuit, his produc- 
 tions generally putting a few pence in his pocket, 
 by which he was enabled to procure the reading of 
 books from a Circulating Library. The works of 
 Addison, Pope, Fielding, and Smollet, were his 
 favourite studies. # 
 
 In November, 1783, Anderson, being then about 
 13 years of age, entered upon that occupation 
 which was the chief manual employment of his 
 future life — that of a pattern-drawer for Calico- 
 printing. He was at that time bound apprentice 
 in the concern of Messrs. T. Losh and Co., of 
 Denton Holme, near Carlisle. At the expiration 
 of his apprenticeship he went to London, to fulfil 
 an engagement in his business. Unfortunately for 
 himself, he had pledged his word to serve a deceitful 
 wretch, whom he was compelled to arrest for wages, 
 earned by long study and close application. The 
 distress occasioned by the dishonesty of his employer 
 was beyond description. The poet was for several 
 months confined to a wretched garret, from which 
 he seldom durst venture ; and had it not been for 
 the kindness of his sister, his life would have been 
 forfeited to want and misery. He at length had 
 the good fortune to obtain employment under one 
 of amiable disposition and upright intentions. 
 His kindness was like that of a parent, and he 
 proved to be more like a companion than a master. 
 It was in London, in the year 1794, that he 
 
XII 
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 seems first to have tuned his lyre : we record the 
 circumstance in his own words. — “ Being at Vaux- 
 hall Gardens, I happened to fall in with a pleasant 
 youth, whose appearance was truly respectable. 
 We felt equally disgusted with many of the songs 
 written in a mock pastoral Scottish style; and 
 supposing myself capable of producing what might 
 by the public be considered equal, or perhaps 
 superior, on the following day I wrote four, viz., 
 4 Lucy Gray of Allendale,* 4 I sigh for the girl I 
 adore,’ 4 The lovely brown Maid,’ and 4 Ellen and 
 I.’ Lucy Gray was m.y first attempt at poetical 
 composition ; and was suggested from hearing a 
 Northumbrian rustic relate the story of the un- 
 fortunate lovers.” These songs, with some others, 
 were set to music by Mr. Hook, a composer of 
 eminence, with whom the writer had formed an 
 acquaintance, and were received with the utmost 
 favour by the public — particularly his first effort, 
 “ Lucy Gray,” which was sung at Vauxhall, and 
 elicited the warmest applause. 
 
 Our Bard, about this period, used occasionally 
 to engage his leisure hours in another description 
 of writing — one more manual than mental , — that 
 of putting given pieces in the smallest possible 
 compass ; and he succeeded in writing by candle 
 light, and without the aid of glasses, the Lord’s 
 Prayer, the Creed, the Ten Commandments, a 
 psalm, and his name, upon a piece of paper the size 
 of a sixpence . He also intended to write the w'hole 
 of the New Testament on a sheet of paper twenty- 
 two inches square ; but finding that, this would 
 engross the leisure hours of some years, he declined 
 the undertaking. 
 
 In 17S6, Anderson left London and returned to 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XIII 
 
 his native city, having accepted an offer of employ- 
 ment by Messrs. Lamb, Scott, Forster, and Co., 
 Calico Printers. It was during this period of his 
 residence in Carlisle, that he was first induced to 
 publish a volume of poems, which was printed by 
 John Mitchell, and dedicated to the late J. C. 
 Curwen, Esq., M. P. From this time he seems to 
 have directed his attention more particularly to the 
 Cumberland peasantry; and in 1801 his first ballad 
 in the Cumberland dialect appeared, entitled 
 “ Betty Brown.” It was so favourably received 
 as to encourage him to proceed in that peculiar 
 poetic walk ; and within a few months he had pro- 
 duced a sufficient number of such pieces to form 
 a volume, which he published under the title of 
 M Cumberland Ballads.” These were hailed with 
 rapture by the Cumbrians, and with admiration by 
 all ; and so popular did they immediately become, 
 that the first edition was soon exhausted, and a 
 new one was thereupon published by Mr. Hetherton, 
 of Wigton, who purchased the copy-right. The 
 Ballads have since passed through many editions. 
 
 Soon after the publication of his Ballads, 
 Anderson accepted a situation in the Print Works, 
 near Belfast. He remained in Ireland a few years, 
 and wrote several pieces of poetry, many of which 
 were published in the Irish papers, and from them 
 copied into English publications. Our Bard re- 
 turned to Carlisle in 1820, in somewhat destitute 
 circumstances. He was received with great kind- 
 ness, — a public dinner was given to welcome his 
 return by a respectable party of his friends ; and 
 measures were soon after adopted for publishing 
 his works by subscription, in order to secure him 
 some provision for his now declining years. The 
 
XIV 
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 design was well received and supported, about a 
 thousand subscribers being procured in a short space 
 of time. The work, in two volumes, was printed 
 in a very creditable manner by Mr. Scott : it con- 
 tained a short Auto-biography of the author — an 
 Essay on the manners and customs of the Cumber- 
 land peasantry, in illustration of the Ballads, by 
 Thomas Sanderson— a number of Poems — Cumber- 
 land Ballads — and Songs. In the publication of 
 these volumes, great zeal and kindness were displayed 
 in promoting and consummating the undertaking, 
 by Mr. Perring, at that time the talented and 
 much-respected Editor of the Carlisle Patriot. 
 
 From this time to the period of his decease, 
 Anderson continued to reside in Carlisle, or its 
 immediate vicinity. But his circumstances were 
 far from comfortable. One of his besetting sins 
 was a too ready yielding to the fascinations of the 
 convivial board — a love, indulged “ not wisely but 
 too well,” of those strong drinks, so well described 
 by Shakspeare as an enemy which “ men put into 
 their mouths to steal away their brains” — and which, 
 in poor Anderson’s case stole away his purse like- 
 wise. The changes, moreover, that had taken place 
 in the nature of his occupation as an artisan, 
 rendered it extremely difficult to obtain constant 
 and profitable employment. Under these circum- 
 stances, his temper became soured, his mind des- 
 ponding, and he presented a hapless picture of 
 misery and ruin — bearing a striking resemblance 
 to those “poor starved poets” whom Ben Jonson 
 describes as “ boasting of nothing but a lean visage 
 peering out of a seam-rent suit, the very emblems 
 of indigence.” Towards the close of his life, a few 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XV 
 
 of his old friends and admirers, much to their 
 honour, entered into a subscription to provide for 
 him ; and under their fostering care he was com- 
 fortably boarded and lodged in Annetwell Street, 
 Carlisle, where he expired, on the evening of 
 Thursday, the 26th of September, 1833, after a 
 gradual decay of his vital powers. His remains 
 were decently interred on the Sunday morning 
 following, in St. Mary’s Church-yard — his native 
 parish, — being followed to the grave by many who 
 had long cherished towards him the warmest 
 feelings of friendship as a man, and of admiration 
 as a Poet. 
 
 The manners and customs peculiar to the 
 peasantry of Cumberland have furnished subjects 
 to the pastoral muse of several of her provincial 
 Bards, — Relph, Clark, Lonsdale, and others. The 
 Cumberland Ballads written by Robert Anderson 
 display uncommon merit, and surpass those of his 
 predecessors as specimens of pastoral poetry. 
 He has taken a wider view of rural life, and has 
 been more happy in describing the peculiar cast 
 of thought and expression, by which individual 
 manners are distinguished. In delineating the 
 characters of his peasants, he has closely adhered 
 to nature and truth, never raising them above their 
 condition in life by too much refinement, and never 
 depressing them below it by too much vulgarity. 
 He holds them up often to laughter, but never to 
 contempt. He has the happy talent of catching 
 the ludicrous in every thing that comes before him, 
 and of expressing it with that felicity which gives it 
 in its full force to the reader. 
 
 The locality and peculiar phraseology of his 
 Cumberland Ballads must necessarily circumscribe 
 
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 their popularity; but their general merit is such 
 as will always find them admirers among those who 
 are acquainted with the provincial idiom in which 
 they are written, and with the manners and scenes 
 which they delineate. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 
 
 BETTY BROWN. 
 
 Tune — “John Anderson my jo” 
 wull y. 
 
 Come, Gwordie lad, unyoke the yad, 
 Let’s gow to Rosley Fair j 1 
 Lang Ned’s afwore, wi’ Symie’ lad, 
 Peed Dick, and monie mair : 
 
 My titty Greace and Jenny Bell 
 Are gangen bye and bye, 
 
 Sae doff thy clogs, and don thysel — 
 Let fadder luik to t’ kve. 
 
 GWORDIE. 
 
 O, Wully 1 Uetsome may ye be ! 
 
 For me, I downa gang ; 
 
 I’ve often shek’d a leg wi’ tee, 
 
 But now I’s aw wheyte wrang ; 
 
 My stomich’s geane, nae sleep I get ; 
 
 At neet I lig me down, 
 
 But nobbet pech, and gowl, and fret, 
 And aw for Betty Brown. 
 
 Sin’ Cuddy Wulson’ murry-neet, 
 
 When Deavie brees’d his shin, 
 
 I’ve niver, niver yence been reet, 
 
 And aw for her, I fin : 
 
 B 
 
18 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Ton kens we danc’d a threesome reel, 
 
 And Betty set to me — 
 
 She link’d sae neyce, and danc’d sae weel, 
 What cud a body de ? 
 
 My fadder fratches sair eneugh, 
 
 If I but steal frae heame ; 
 
 My mudder caws me peer deyl’d guf£ 
 
 If Betty I but neame : 
 
 A t ween the twee there’s sec a frase, 
 
 G but it’s bad to beyde ! 
 
 Yet, what’s far war, aye Betty says, 
 
 She wunnet be my breyde. 
 
 WULLY. 
 
 Wey, Gworge ! tou’s owther fuil or font, 
 
 To think o’ sec a frow ; 
 
 In aw her flegmagaries donn’d. 
 
 What is she ? — nought ’at dow : 
 
 Theer’s sceape-greace Ben, the neybors ken,, 
 Can git her onie day — 
 
 Ere I’d be fash’d wi’ sec a yen, 
 
 I’d list, or rin away ! 
 
 Wi’ aw her trinkum’s on her back, 
 
 She’s feyne eneugh for t’ squire ; 
 
 A sairy weyfe, I trow, she’d mak, 
 
 At cudn’t muck a byre : — 
 
 But, whisht ! here comes my titty Greace, 
 She’ll guess what we’re about — • 
 
 To mworn-o’mworn, i’ this seame pleace, 
 We’ll hac the stwory out. 
 
 December 19, 180i* 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 19 
 
 BARBARY BELL. 
 
 Tune — “ Cuddle and Cuddle us aw thegether” 
 
 O but this luive is a serious thing ! 
 
 It’s the beginner o* monie waes ; • 
 
 And yen had as guid in a helter swing, 
 
 As luik at a bonny feace now-a-days : 1 
 
 Was there ever peer deevil sae fash’d as me ? 
 
 Nobbet sit your ways still, the truth I’s tell. 
 For I wish I’d been hung on our codlin tree, 
 The varra furst time I seed Barbary Bell ! 
 
 Quite lish, and nit owre thrang wi’ wark, 
 
 I went my ways down to Carel fair,* * 
 
 Wi’ bran new cwoat, and brave ruffl’d sark, 
 
 And Dicky the Shaver pat flour i’ my hair; 
 Our seyde lads are aw for fun, 
 
 Some tuik ceyder, and some drank yell ; 
 Diddlen Deavie he strack up a tune, 
 
 And I caper’d away wi’ Barbary Bell. 
 
 Says I, 4 Bab,’ says I, 4 we’ll de weel eneugh, 
 
 4 For tou can kurn, and darn, and spin ; 
 
 4 1 can deyke, men car-gear, and hod the pleugh ; 
 
 4 Sae at Whussenday neist we’ll t* warld begin : 
 
 4 I’s turn’d a gayshen awt* neybors say, 
 
 4 1 sit like a sumph, nae mair myseP, 
 
 4 And up or a bed, at heame or away, 
 
 4 1 think o’ nought but Barbary Bell.’ 
 
 Then whee sud steal in but Rob o* the Nuik, 
 Dick o’ the Steyle,f and twee or three mair; 
 Suin Barb’ry frae off my knee they tuik, 
 
 * Wey, dang it !’ says 1, 4 but this is nit fair !* 
 
 • Carlisle fair. 
 
 t Noted pugilists. 
 
20 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Robbie he kick’d up a dust in a crack, 
 
 And sticks and neeves they went pel-mel, 
 The bottles forby the clock feace they brack, 
 But, fares-te-weel, whey te-fit. Barbary Bell ! 
 
 ’Twas nobbet last week, nee langer seyne, 
 
 I wheyn’d i* the nuik, I can’t tell how ; 
 
 ‘ Get up,’ says my fadder, ‘and sarra the sweyne V 
 ‘ I’s bravely, Bab !’ says I, ‘how’s tou?’ 
 
 Neist mworn to t’ cwoals 1 was fworc’d to gang, 
 But cowp’d the cars at Tindle Fell, 
 
 For I cruin’d aw the way, as I trotted alang, 
 
 ‘ O that I’d never kent Barbary Bell l* 
 
 That varra seame neet up to Barbary’ house. 
 When aw t’ auld fwok were liggin asleep, 3 
 I off wi* my clogs, and as whisht as a mouse, 
 Claver’d up to the window, and tuik a peep ; 
 There whee sud I see, but Watty the laird — 
 Od wheyte leet on him ! I munnet tell ! 
 
 But on Setterday neist, if I live and be spar’d. 
 I’ll wear a reed cwot for Barbary Bell. 
 
 April 14, 1802. 
 
 NICHOL THE NEWSMONGER. 
 
 Tune — “ The Night before Larry was stretch'd." 
 
 Come, Nichol, and gi’e us thy cracks, 
 
 I seed te gang down to the smiddy ; 
 
 I’ve fodder’d the naigs and the nowt, 
 
 And wanted to see thee ’at did e. 
 
C LJ M B 2 U LAND BALLADS. 21 
 
 Ay, Andrew lad ! draw in a stuil, 
 
 And gi’e us a shek o* thy daddle ; 
 
 I got aw the news, far and nar , 4 
 Sae set off as fast’s e could waddle. 
 
 In France they’ve but sworrofu’ times, 
 
 For Bonnyprat’s * nit as he sud be ; 
 
 America’s nobbet sae sae ; 
 
 And England nit quite as she mud be : 
 
 Sad wark there’s amang blacks and wheytes, f 
 Sec tellin plain teales to their feaces, 
 
 Wi’ murders, and wars, and aw that — 
 
 But, hod — I forgot where the pleace is. 
 
 Our parson he gat drunk as muck. 
 
 Then ledder’d aw t’ lads round about him ; 
 
 They said he was nobbet hawf reet, 
 
 And fwok mud as weel be widout him ; 
 
 The yell’s to be fourpence a whart — 
 
 Odswinge, lad, there will be rare drinking ! 
 
 Billy Pitt’s mad as onie March hare, 
 
 And niver was reet, fwok are thinking. 
 
 A weddin we’ll hev or it’s lang, 
 
 Wi* Bet Brag and lal Tommy Tagwally ; 
 
 Jack Bunton’s far off to the sea — 
 
 It’ll e’en be the deeth of our Sally ; 
 
 The dogger has bowt a new wig ; 
 
 Dalston singers come here agean Sunday ; 
 
 Lord Nelson’s ta’en three Spanish fleets, 
 
 And the Dancin Schuil opens on Monday. 
 
 * Bonaparte, f Alluding to the insurrection of the 
 Blacks. 
 
22 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Carel badgers are monstrous sad fwok, 
 
 The silly peer de’ils how they ring up ! 
 
 Lai bairns ha’e got pox frae the kye, * 
 
 And fact’ries, like mushrooms, they spring up; 
 
 If they sud keep their feet for awhile, 
 
 And government nobbet pruive civil. 
 
 They’ll build up as hee as the muin, 
 
 For Carel’s a match for the deevil. 
 
 The king’s meade a bit of a speech. 
 
 And gentlefwok say it’s a topper ; 
 
 An alderman deet tudder neet, 
 
 Efter eatin’ a turkey to supper ; 
 
 Our squire’s to be parliament man, 
 
 Mess, lad, but he’ll keep them aw busy ! 
 
 Whee thinks te’s come heame i’ the cwoach, 
 Frae Lunnon, but grater-feac’d Lizzy. 
 
 The cock-feghts are ninth o’ neist month, 
 
 I’ve twee, nit aw England can bang them ; 
 
 In Ireland they’re aw up in arms. 
 
 It’s whop’d there’s nee Frenchmen amang them; 
 
 A boggle’s been seen wi* twee heeds . 5 
 Lord help us ! ayont Wully’ Carras, 
 
 Wi’ girt saucer een, and a tail — 
 
 They dui say ’twas auld Jobby Barras. 
 
 The muin was at full this neet week ; 
 
 The weather is turn’d monstrous daggy ; 
 
 I’ th’ loft, just at seeben last neet, 
 
 Lai Stephen sweethearted lang A ggy : 
 
 There’ll be bonny wark bye and bye. 
 
 The truth ’ll be out, there’s nee fear on’t. 
 
 But I niver say nought, nay, nit I, 
 
 For fear hawf the parish sud hear on’t. 
 
 *Cow Pox. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 23 
 
 Our Tib at the cwose-house has been, 
 
 She tells us they’re aw monstrous murry ; 
 
 At Carel the brig’s tummel’d down, 
 
 And they tek the fwok ower in a whurry ; 
 
 I carried our whye to the bull ; 
 
 They’ve ta’en seeben spies up at Dover ; 
 
 My fadder compleens of his hip, 
 
 And the Grand Turk has enter’d Hanover. 
 Daft Peg’s got hersel, man, wi’ bairn, 
 
 And silly Pilgarlic’s the fadder ; 
 
 Lai Sim’s geane and swapp’d the black cowt, 
 And cwoley hes wurried the wedder ; 
 
 My mudder hes got frostet heels, 
 
 And peace is the talk o’ the nation, 
 
 For papers say, varra neist week 
 
 There’s to be a grand humiliation, f 
 Aunt Meable has lost her best sark. 
 
 And Cleutie is bleam’d varra mickle ; 
 Nought’s seafe out o’ duirs now-a-days, 
 
 Frae a millstone, e’en down to a sickle : 
 
 The clock it streykes eight, I mun heame, 
 
 Or I’s git a deuce of a fratchin ; 
 
 When neist we’ve a few hours to spare, 
 
 We’ll fin out what mischief’s a-hatchin. 
 
 July 5, 1802. 
 
 THE WORTON WEDDING. 
 
 Tune — “ Dainty Davie.” 
 
 O, sec a weddin I’ve been at ! 6 
 
 De’il bin, what cap’rin, feghtin, vap’rin ! 7 
 Priest and dark, and aw gat drunk — 
 
 Rare deins there were there : 
 
 f Illumination. 
 
2i CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 The Thuirsby lads they fit the best ; 
 
 The Worton Weavers drank the meast; 
 
 But Brough-seyde lairds bang’d aw the rest 
 For braggin o’ their gear, 
 
 And singin, — Whurry whum, whuddle whum, 
 Wliulty whalty, wha-wha-wha, 
 And derry dum, diddle dum, 
 Derry eyden dee. 
 
 Furst helter skelter frae the kurk ; 
 
 Some off like fire, through dub and mire ; 
 
 4 De’il tek the hindmost !’ Meer’ lad cries — 
 Suin head owre heels he flew : 
 
 4 God speed ye weel !’ the priest rwoar’d out, 
 
 4 Or neet we’s hae a hearty bout ’ — 
 
 Peer Meer’ lad gat a bleaken’d snout — 
 
 He’d mickle cause to rue — 
 
 It spoil’d his — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 When on the teable furst they set 
 The butter’d sops, sec greasy chops, 
 
 4 Tween lug and laggen ! oh what fun, 
 
 To see them girn and eat ! 
 
 Then lisping Isbel talk’d sae feyne, 
 
 ’Twas 4 vathly thockin* thuth to dine ; 
 
 4 Theck griveth f wark ! to eat like thweyne !’| 
 It meade her sick to se’et ; 
 
 Then we sung — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Neist stut’rin Cursty, up he ruse, 
 
 Wi’ a-a-a, and ba-ba-ba; 
 
 He’d kiss Jen Jakes, for aw lang seyne, 
 
 And fearfu’ wark meade he ; 
 
 Vastly shocking. f Such grievous. X Swine. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 25 
 
 But Cursty, souple gammerstang ! 
 
 Ned Wulson brong his lug a whang; 
 
 Then owre he flew, the peets amang. 
 
 And grean’d as he wad dee; 
 
 But some sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Aunt Ester spoil’d the gurdle ceakes, 
 
 The speyce left out, was wrang, nae doubt ; 
 Tim Trummel tuik nine cups o’ tea, 
 
 And fairly capp’d tem aw ; 
 
 The kiss went roun ; but Sally Slee, 
 
 When Trummel cleek’d her on his knee, 
 
 She dunch’d and punch’d, cried, ‘ fuil, let be !’ 
 Then strack him owre the jaw, 
 
 And we sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Far maist I leugh at Grizzy Brown, 
 
 Frae Lunnon town she’d just come down, 
 
 In furbelows, and feyne silk gown, 
 
 Oh, man, but she was crouse ! 
 
 Wi’ Dick the footman she wad dance, 
 
 And ‘wonder’d people could so prance;’ 
 
 Then curtchey’d as they dui in France, 
 
 And pautet like a geuse. 
 
 While aw sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Young sour-milk Sawney, on the stuil, 
 
 A whornpeype danc’d, and keav’d and pranc’d; 
 He slipp’d, and brak his left-leg-shin, 
 
 And hirpl’d sair about; 
 
 Then cocker Wully lap bawk heet. 
 
 And in his clogs top teyme did beat ; 
 
 But Tamer, in her stockin feet, 
 
 She bang’d him out and out. 
 
 And lilted — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
26 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Now aw began to talk at yence, 
 
 O* naigs and kye, and wots and rye, 
 
 And laugh’d and j wok’d, and cough’d and smuik’d, 
 A nd meade a fearfu’ reek ; 
 
 The furm it brak, and down they fell, 
 
 Lang Isaac leam’d auld granny Bell ; 
 
 They up, and drank het suggar’d yell, 
 
 Till monie cud’nt speak, 
 
 But some sang — whurry whum, &c. 
 
 The breyde she kest up her accounts 
 In Rachel’s lap, then poud her cap ; 
 
 The parson’s wig stuid aw ajy ; 
 
 The dark sang Andrew Car ; 
 
 Blin Staig, the fiddler, gat a whack. 
 
 The bacon fleek fell on his back, 
 
 And neist his fiddle-stick they brak, 
 
 ’Twas weel it was nee war, 
 
 For he sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Now on the midden some were laid, 
 
 Aw havey skavey, and kelavey ; 
 
 The dogger and the teaylear fit, 
 
 Peer Snip gat twee black een : 
 
 Dick Wawby he began the fray, 
 
 But Jemmy Moffat ran away, 
 
 And crap owre head amang the hay, 
 
 Fwok say nit varra clean ; 
 
 Then they sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Neist Windy Wull, o’ Wample seyde, 
 
 He bang’d them aw, beath girt and smaw j 
 He flang them east, he flang them west, 
 
 And bluidy pates they gat ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 27 
 
 To him they wer but caff and san ; 
 
 He split the teable wi* his han, 
 
 But in the dust wi* dancin Dan, 
 
 They brunt his Sunday hat ; 
 
 Then aw sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 The breyde now thowt it time for bed ; 
 
 Her stocking doff’d, and flang *t quite soft — 
 It hat Bess Bleane — Wull Webster blush’d, 
 And luik’d anudder way : 
 
 The lads down frae the loft did steal ; 
 
 The parish howdey, Greacey Peel, 
 
 She happ’d her up, aw wish’d her weel ; 
 
 Then whop’d to meet neist day, 
 
 And sing her — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 The best on’t was, the parson swore 
 His wig was lost, a crown it cost, 
 
 He belsh’d and heccupp’d, in and out, 
 
 And said it wasn’t fair : 
 
 Now day-leet it began to peep, 
 
 The breydegruim off to bed did creep, 
 
 I trow he waddn’t mickle sleep, 
 
 But — whisht ! I’ll say nee mair, 
 
 Nobbet sing — Whurry whum, whuddle whum, 
 Whulty, whalty, wha-wha-wha, 
 And derry dum, diddle dum, 
 Derry eyden dee. 
 
 July 10, 1802. 
 
28 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 SALLY GRAY. 
 
 Tune — “ The mucking o' Geordie's byre." 
 
 Come, Deavie, I’ll tell thee a secret, 
 
 But tou mun lock’t up i’ thee breast, 
 
 1 wadden’t far aw Dalston Parish 
 It com to the ears a’ the rest ; 
 
 Now I’ll hod te a bit of a weager, 
 
 A groat to thy tuppens I’ll lay, 
 
 Tou cannot guess whee I’s in luive wi*, 
 
 And nobbet keep off Sally Gray. 
 
 There’s Cumwhitton, Cumwhinton, Cumranton, 
 Cumrangen, Cumrew, and Cumcatch, 
 
 And mony mair cums i’ the county, 
 
 But nin wi* Cumdivock can match ; 
 
 It’s sae neyce to luik owre the black pasture, 
 Wi* the fells abuin aw, far away — 
 
 There is nee sec pleace, nit in England, 
 
 For there lives the sweet Sally Gray ! 
 
 I was sebenteen last Collop-Monday, 8 
 And she’s just the varra seame yage; 
 
 For ae kiss o’ the sweet lips o* Sally, 
 
 I’d freely give up a year’s wage ; 
 
 For in lang winter neets when she’s spinnin. 
 And singin about Jemmy Gay, 
 
 I keek by the hay-stack, and lissen, 
 
 For fain wad I see Sally Gray. 
 
 Had tou seen her at kurk, 9 man, last Sunday, 
 Tou couda’t ha’e thought o’ the text; 
 
 But she sat neist to Tom o’ the Lonnin, 
 
 Tou may think that meade me quite vext ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 29 
 
 Then I pass’d her gawn owre the lang meedow, 
 .Says I, c Here’s a canny wet day !’ 
 
 I wad ha’e said mair, but how cou’d e, 
 
 When luikin at sweet Sally Gray ! 
 
 I caw’d to sup cruds wi’ Dick Miller, 
 
 And hear aw his cracks and his jwokes ; 
 
 The dumb weyfe was tellin their fortunes, 10 
 What ! 1 mud be like other fwokes ! 
 
 Wi’ chawk, on a pair of auld bellows, 
 
 Twee letters she meade in her way — 
 
 S means Sally, the wide warl owre, 
 
 And G stands for nought else but Gray. 
 
 O was I but lword o’ the manor, 
 
 A nabob, or parliament man, 
 
 What thousands on thousands I’d gi’ her, 
 
 Wad she nobbet gi* me her han ! 
 
 A cwoach and six horses I’d buy her, 
 
 And gar fwok stan out o* the way, 
 
 Then I’d lowp up behint like a footman — 
 
 Oh ! the warl for my sweet Sally Gray ! 
 
 They may brag o* their feyne Carel lasses, 
 
 Their feathers, their durtment, and leace j 
 God help them ! peer deeth-luikin bodies, 
 Widout a bit reed i’ their feace ! 
 
 But Sally’s -just like ally blaster, 
 
 Her cheeks are twee rwose-buds in May — 
 
 O lad ! I cou’d sit here for ever. 
 
 And talk about sweet Sally Gray ! 
 
 July 24, ISO 2. 
 
30 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 WILL AND KATE. 
 
 Tune — “ John Anderson my jo .** 
 
 Now, Kate, full forty years ha’e flown, 1 1 
 Sin we met on the green ; 
 
 Frae that to this the saut, saut tear 
 Has oft stuid i’ my een : 
 
 For when the bairns were some peet-heet. 
 
 Tou kens I leam’d my knee — 
 
 Lai todlen things, in want o’ bread — 
 
 O that went hard wi’ me ! 
 
 Then tou wad cry, ‘ Come, Wully, lad, 
 
 ( Keep up thy heart — ne’er fear ! 
 
 * Our bits o’ bairns ’ll scraffle up, 
 
 ( Sae dry that sworry tear : 
 
 ‘ There’s Matthew’s be an alderman ; 
 
 6 A bishop we’ll mak Guy ; 
 
 ‘ Lai Ned sal be a dogger ; 
 
 ‘ Dick sal work for tee and I.* 
 
 Then when our crops were spoil’d wi* rain, 
 Sir Jwohn mud hev his rent ; 
 
 What cud we dee ? nee geer had we — 
 
 Sae I to jail was sent : 
 
 ’Twas hard to starve i’ sec a pleace, 
 
 Widout a frien to trust ; 
 
 But when I thought o’ thee and bairns, 
 My heart was like to brust. 
 
 Neist, Etty, God was pleas’d to tek. 
 
 What then, we’d seeben still ; 
 
 But whee kens what may happen — suin 
 The smaw-pox did for Bill : 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 31 
 
 I think I see his slee-black een, 
 
 Then he wad chirm and talk, 
 
 And say, Ded, ded ; Mam, mam, and aw, 
 Lang, lang ere he cud walk. 
 
 At Carel, when, for six pound ten, 
 
 I selt twee Scotty kye, 
 
 They pick’d my pocket i’ the thrang, 
 
 And de’il a plack had I ; 
 
 6 Ne’er ack !’ says tou, * we’ll work for mair,’ 
 
 < It’s time eneugh to fret ; 
 
 ‘ A pun o* sorrow wunnet pay 
 ‘ Ae single ounce o* debt.’ 
 
 Now, todlen down the hill o* leyfe, 
 
 Auld yage has brought content ; 
 
 And, God be thank’d, our bairns are up, 
 
 And pay Sir Jwohn his rent : 
 
 When, seyde by seyde aw day we sit, 
 
 I often think and grieve. 
 
 It’s hard that deeth sud part auld fwok, 
 
 When happy they can leve. 
 
 July 29, 1802. 
 
 THE IMPATIENT LASSIE. 1 ® 
 Tune — “Low down in the broom .” 
 
 Deuce tek the clock ! click-clackin sae. 
 Still in a body’s ear ; 
 
 It tells and tells the time is past, 
 
 When Jwohnie sud been here : 
 
 Deuce tek the wheel ! ’twill nit rin roun— 
 Nae mair to-neet I’ll spin, 
 
 But count each minute wi’ a seegh. 
 
 Till Jwohnie he steels in. 
 
82 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 How neyce the spunky fire it burns, 
 
 For twee to sit beside ! 
 
 And there’s the seat where Jwohnie sits, 
 
 And I forget to cheyde ! 
 
 My fadder, tui, how sweet he snwores ! 
 
 My mudder’s fast asleep : 
 
 He promis’d oft, but, oh ! I fear 
 His word he wunnet keep ! 
 
 What can it be keeps him frae me ? 
 
 The ways are nit sae lang, 
 
 And sleet and snaw are nought at aw, 
 
 If yen were fain to gang ! 
 
 Some ither lass, wi’ bonnier feace, 
 
 Has catch’d his wicked ee, 
 
 And I’ll be pointed at at kurk — 
 
 Nay ! suiner let me dee ! 
 
 O durst we lasses nobbet gang, 13 
 And sweetheart them we like, 
 
 I’d rin to thee, my Jwohnie lad, 
 
 Nor stop at bog or dyke ; 
 
 But custom’s sec a silly thing, 
 
 For men mun hae their way, 
 
 And mony a bonny lassie sit, 
 
 And wish frae day to day. 
 
 But, whisht ! I hear my Jwohnie’s fit— - 
 Aye ! that’s his varraclog ! 
 
 He steeks the faul yeat softly tui — 
 
 O hang that cwoley dog ! 
 
 Now, hey for seeghs and sugar words, 
 
 Wi’ kisses nit a few — 
 
 O but this warl’s a paradise, 
 
 When lovers they pruive true ! 
 
 July 31, 1802. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 33 
 
 THE BUNDLE OF ODDITIES. 
 
 Tune — “ Fie, let us a* to the bridal l ” 
 
 Sit down, and I’ll count owre my sweethearts , 14 
 For, faith, a brave number I’ve had, 
 
 Sin I furst went to schuil wi’ Dick Railton, 
 
 But Dick’s in his greave, honest lad ! 
 
 I mind, when he cross’d the deep watter, 
 
 To get me the shilapple’s est. 
 
 How he Ml owrehead, and I skirl’d sae, 
 
 Then off we ran heame, sair distrest. 
 
 Then there was a bit of a teaylear, 
 
 That work’d at our house a heale week, 
 
 He was sheap’d aw the warl like a trippet, 
 
 • But niver a word durst he speak ; 
 
 I just think I see how he squinted 
 At me, when we sat down to meat ; 
 
 Owre went his het keale on his blue breeks, 
 
 And de’il a bit Snippy cud eat. 
 
 At partin he poud up his spirits, 
 
 Says he, 4 Tou hes bodder’d my head, 
 
 4 And it sheks yen to rags and to tatters, 
 
 6 To sew wi’ a lang double thread : ’ 
 
 Then, in meakin a cwoat for my fadder, 
 
 (How luive dis the senses deceive !) 
 
 Forby usin marrowless buttons, 
 
 To th* pocket-whol he stitch’d a sleeve . 1 5 
 
 The neist was a Whaker, caw’d Jacob, 
 
 He turn’d up the wheyte o’ his een, 
 
 And talk’d about flesh and the spirit — 
 
 Thowt I, what can Gravity mean ? 
 
 C 
 
34 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 In dark winter neets, i’ the lonnins, 
 
 He’d weade thro’ the durt ’bum his knee, 
 
 It cnil’d his het heart, silly gander ! 
 
 And there let him stowter for me. 
 
 A lang blue-lipt chap, like a guidepwost, 
 
 (Lord help us and keep us frae harm!) 
 
 Neist talk’d about car-gear and middens, 
 
 And the reet way to manage a farm ; 
 
 ’Twas last Leady Fair 1 6 I leet on him, 
 
 He grummelPd and spent hawf-a-crown — 
 God bless him ! hed he gowd i* gowpens, 
 
 I wadn’t ha’e hed sec a clown. 
 
 But, stop ! there was lal wee deef Dicky, 
 
 Wad dance for a heale winter neet, 
 
 And at me aw the time wad keep glowrin — 
 Peer man, he was nobbet hawf reet ! — - 
 He grew jealous o’ reed-headed EJIek, 
 
 W’i a feace like a full harvest iriifin ; 
 
 Sae they fit till they just gat enough on’t, 
 
 And I laugh’d at beath when ’twas duin. 
 
 There’s anudder worth aw put together, 
 
 I cud, if I wad, tell his neame ; 
 
 He gangs past our house to the market, 
 
 And monie a time he’s set me heame : 
 
 O wad he but ax me this question, 
 
 4 Will tou be my partner for life V 
 I*d answer without ony blushes, 
 
 And aye try to mek a guid wife. 
 
 August 1, 1802. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS* 
 
 35 
 
 LUCKLESS JONATHAN. 
 
 Tune — “ Erin go bragk .” 
 
 O heale be thy heart ! my peer merry auld cronie, 
 And never may trouble draw tears frae thy e’e; 
 It’s reet, when he can, man sud rise abuin sorrow. 
 For pity’s nit common to peer fwok like me : 
 When I think how we lap about mountain an* 
 meedow, 
 
 Like larks in a mwornin, a young happy pair, 
 Then I luik at mysel, and I see but a shadow. 
 That’s suffered sae mickle, it cannot beyde mair. 
 
 Tou minds, when I buried my honest auld fadder, 
 O how cud I ever get owre that sad day ! — 
 His last words were, * Jonathan, luik to thy 
 mudder, 
 
 4 And God ’ll reward thee,* nae mair cud he say. 
 My mudder she stuid, and she fain wad ha’e spoken, 
 But tears wadn’t let her — O man, it was hard ! — 
 She tuik till her bed, and just thurteen weeks 
 efter, 
 
 Was laid down ayont him in Aikton kurk-yard. 
 
 My friend, Jemmy Gunston, went owre seas to 
 Inde, 
 
 For me, his auld comrade, a venture he’d tak ; 
 I*d screap’d up a lock money — he gat it — but 
 leately 
 
 Peer Jemmy was puzzen’d, they say, by a black : 
 *Twas nit for my money I fretted, but Jemmy, 
 I’ll ne’er forget him, as lang as I’ve breath ; 
 He said, ‘ Don’t cry, mudder ! I’ll mek you a 
 leady !’ 
 
 But sairy auld Tamer ! ’twill e’en be her death. 
 
36 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 To mek bad far war, then I courted lal Matty, 
 Her bonnie blue een, how they shot to my 
 heart ! 
 
 The neet niver com but I went owre to see her, 
 And when the clock struck we were sworry to 
 part : 
 
 An aunt ayont Banton a canny house left her, 
 (What but health and contentment can money 
 nit buy?) 
 
 Wi* laird Hodgson o* Burgh 1 7 off she canter’d to 
 Gretna, 
 
 The varra seame mworn we our fortune sud try. 
 
 ’Twas nobbet last Cursmas I fain wad be murry, 
 Sae caw’d in Dick Toppin, Tom Clarke, and 
 J wohn Howe ; 
 
 We sung, and we crack’d, but lal thowt ere neist 
 mwornin, 
 
 That aw our heale onset wad be in a lowe ; 
 
 They gat me poud out, and reet weel I remember, 
 I stamp’d, ay, like mad, when the sad seet I saw, 
 
 For that was the pleace my grandfadder was bworn 
 in, 1 8 
 
 Forbye my twee uncles, my fadder and aw. 
 
 Now, widout owther fadder, or mudder, or 
 sweetheart, 
 
 A friend, or a shelter to cover my head, 
 
 1 mazle and wander, nor ken what I’s dein, 
 
 And wad (if I nobbet durst) wish I were dead. 
 
 O heale be thy heart ! my peer merry auld cronie, 
 And niver may trouble draw tears frae thy e’e ; 
 
 It’s reet, when he can, man sud rise abuin sorrow; 
 For pity’s nit common to peer fwok like me. 
 
 August 1, 1802. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 37 
 
 DICK WATTERS. 
 
 Tune — “ Crowdy 
 
 O, Jenny ! Jenny ! where’s tou been? 
 
 Thy fadder is just mad at tee ; 
 
 He seed somebody i’ the croft, t 
 
 And gulders as he’d wurry me. 
 
 O monie are a muader’s whopes, 
 
 And monie are a mudder’s fears, 
 
 And monie a bitter, bitter pang, 
 
 Beath suin and leate her bosom tears ! 
 
 We brong thee up, pat thee to schuil. 
 
 And dead te weel as peer fwok can ; 
 
 We larn’d thee beath to dance and read, 
 
 But now tou's crazy for a man. 
 
 O monie are, &c. 
 
 When tou was young, and at my knee, 
 
 1 dwoated on thee, day and neet ; 
 
 But now tou’s rakin, rakin still, 
 
 And niver, niver i’ my seet. 
 
 O monie are, &c. 
 
 Tou’s proud, and past aw guid adveyce— 
 
 Yen mud as weel speak till a stean ; 
 
 Still, still thy awn way, reet or wrang — 
 
 Mess, but tou’ll rue’t when I am geane ! 
 
 O monie are, &c. 
 
 Dick Watters, I ha’e tel’t thee oft, 
 
 Ne’er means to be a son o’ mine ; 
 
 He seeks thy ruin, sure as deeth, 
 
 Then like Bet Baxter tou may whine. 
 
 O monie are, &c. 
 
 
38 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS 
 
 Thy fadder’s comin frae the croft, 
 
 A bonny hunsup, faith, he’ll mek ; 
 
 Put on thy clogs and auld blue brat — 
 
 Heaste, Jenny ! heaste ! he lifts the sneck ! 
 
 O, monie are a mudder’s whopes, 
 
 And monie are a mudder’s fears, 
 
 And monie a bitter, bitter pang, 
 
 Beath suin and leate, her bosom bears ! 
 
 August 2, 1802. 
 
 THE LASS ABUIN THIRTY. 
 
 Tune — “Jockey's Grey Breeks" 
 
 I’ve wonder’d sin I kent mysel, 
 
 What keeps the men-fwok aw frae me; 
 
 I’s as guid-like as cousin Tib, 
 
 And she can ha’e her choice o’ three: 
 
 For me, still moilin by mysel, 
 
 Life’s just a bitter widout sweets; 
 
 The simmer brings nae pleasant days, 
 
 And winter tires wi’ lang, lang neets. 
 
 I had some whopes o* Wully yence, 
 
 And Wully was the only yen ; 
 
 I dreamt and dreamt about him lang. 
 
 But whopes and Wully aw are geane: 
 
 A kiss he’d hev, I gev him twee, 
 
 Reet weel I mind, amang the hay ; 
 
 Neist time we met, he glump’d and gloom’d, 
 And turn’d his head anither way. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 39 
 
 A feyne pink sash my uncle sent 
 
 Frae Lunnon yence ; about my waist 
 I wore’t and wore’t, but de’il a lad 
 At me or sash a luik e’er cast : 
 
 My yellow gown I thought was sure 
 To catch some yen at Carel Fair, 
 
 But, oh ! fareweel to gown and sash, 
 
 I’ll niver, niver wear them mair ! 
 
 The throssle, when cauld winter’s geane, 
 
 Aye in our worchet welcomes spring, — 
 
 It mun be luive, did we but ken, 
 
 Gars him aroun his partner sing ; — 
 
 The cock and hen, the duck and drake, 
 
 Nay e’en the smawest birds that flee. 
 
 Ilk thing that lives, can get a mate, 
 
 Except sec sworry things as me, 
 
 I often think how married fwok 
 Mun lead a sweet and happy life ; 
 
 The prattlin bairns rin toddlin roun, 
 
 And tie the husband to the wife : 
 
 Then, oh ! what joy when neet draws on ! 
 
 She meets him gangen frae his wark ; 
 
 But nin can tell what cheerfu’ cracks 
 The tweesome ha’e lang efter dark. 
 
 The wise man lives nit far frae this, 
 
 I’ll hunt him out suin as I can ; 
 
 He telt Nan Dobson whee she’d wed. 
 
 And I’m as likely, sure, as Nan ; 
 
 But still, still moilin by mysel, 
 
 Life’s just a bitter widout sweets : 
 
 The summer brings nee pleasant days, 
 
 And winter tires wi’ lang, lang neets ! 
 
 August 3, 1802. 
 
40 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 TOM LINTON. 1 9 
 
 Tune — “ Come under my Plaidie .” 
 
 Tom Linton was bworn till a brave canny fortune, 
 His auld fadder screap’d aw the gear up he cud ; 
 
 But Tom, country booby, luik’d owre hee abuin 
 him, 
 
 And mix’d wi’ the bad, nor e’er heeded the 
 good; 
 
 At the town he’d whore, gammle, play hell, and 
 the deevil, 
 
 He wad hev his caper, nor car’d how it com ; 
 
 Then he mud hev his greyhounds, guns, setter, 
 and hunter, 
 
 And king o’ the cockers they aw cursen’d Tom. 
 
 I think I just see how the lads wad flock roun 
 him, 
 
 And, oh ! they were fain to shek Tom by the 
 hand ! 
 
 Then he’d tell how he fit wi’ the barbers and bullies, 
 And drank wi’ the waiter till nowther cud stan : 
 
 His watch he wad show, and his lists o’ the horses, 
 And pou out a guinea, and offer to lay, 
 
 Till our peer country lads grew uneasy and lazy, 
 And Tom cud hae coax’d hawf the parish away. 
 
 Then he drank wi’ the ’squire, and laugh’d wid 
 his worship, 
 
 And talk’d of the duke, and the deevil kens 
 whee ; 
 
 He gat aw the new-fangled oaths i’ the nation, 
 And mock’d a peer beggar man wanting an e’e : 
 

 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 41 
 
 His fields they were mortgag’d ; about it was 
 whisper’d ; 
 
 A farmer was robb’d nit owre far frae his house; 
 At last aw was selt his auld fadder had toil’d for, 
 And silly Tom Linton left nit worth a sous. 
 
 His fortune aw spent, what ! he’d ha’e the laird’s 
 dowter, 
 
 But she pack’d him off wid a flee in his ear ; 
 Neist thing, an auld comrade, for money Toro 
 borrow’d, 
 
 E’en pat him in prison, and bad him lig there; 
 At last he gat out, efter lang he had suffer’d, 
 
 And sair had repented the sad life he’d led : 
 Widout shoon till his feet, in a soldier’s auld jacket. 
 He works on the turnpike reet hard for his 
 bread. 
 
 Now folly seen into, ragged, peer, and down- 
 hearted, 
 
 He toils and he frets, and keen wants daily press ; 
 If cronies ride by, wey, alas ! they’ve forgot him, 
 For whee can remember auld friends in distress ? 
 O pity, what pity, that, in ev’ry county, 
 
 See monie Tom Lintons may always be found ! 
 Deuce tek aw girt nwotions, and whurligig fashions, 
 Contentment’s a kingdom, aye aw the warl round ! 
 
 August 4, 1802. 
 
42 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 THE HAPPY FAMILY . 20 
 
 Tune — “ O'er Bogie," 
 
 The hollow blast blows owre the hill, 
 
 And corain down’s the sleet; 
 
 God help them, widout house or hauld, 
 This dark and stormy neet ! 
 
 Come, Jobby, gi’e the fire a prod, 
 
 Then steek the entry duir ; 
 
 It’s wise to keep cauld winter out, 
 
 When we ha’e ’t in our pow’r. 
 
 Heaste, Jenny ! put the bairns to bed, 
 
 And mind they say their pray’rs ; 
 
 Sweet innocents ! their heads yence down, 
 They sleep away their cares ! 
 
 But gi’ them furst a butter-shag, 
 
 When young they munnet want, 
 
 Nor ever sal a bairn o’ mine, 
 
 While I’ve a bite to grant. 
 
 0 wife ! that weary rheumatism, 
 
 E’en gars thee luik but thin ; 
 
 1 mind when tou was fresh and fair, 
 
 And fattest o’ thy kin ; 
 
 But yage comes on, dui what we can — 
 
 We munnet think it hard ; — 
 
 A week at Gilsland tou salt try, 
 
 Neist summer, if we’re spar’d. 
 
 Now, seated at my awn fire-nuik, 
 
 Content as onie king, 
 
 For hawf an hour afwore we sleep, 
 
 Bess, quit thy wark and sing : 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 43 
 
 Try that about the beggar lass, 
 
 ’Twill please thy mudder best, 
 
 For she, tou kens, can always feel 
 For peer fwok when distress 
 
 Nay ! what it’s owre ! tou cannot sing, 
 
 But weel I guess the cause ; 
 
 Young Wulliam sud ha’e come to neet — 
 Consider, lass ! it snaws ! 
 
 Another neet ’ll suin be here, 
 
 Sae divvent freet and whine : 
 
 Come when he will, he’s welcome still 
 To onie bairn o’ mine. 
 
 I’ll ne’er forget, when we were young, 
 
 (Thy mudder kens as weel,) 
 
 We met but yence a month, and then 
 Out she was fworc’d to steal : 
 
 The happiest day we e’er had known, 
 
 Was when I caw’d her mine, 
 
 But monie a thousand happier days 
 We beath ha’e kent sin-seyne. 
 
 August 5, 1802. 
 
 THE AUTHOR ON HIMSELF. 
 
 Tune — “ The Campbell's are coming” 
 
 O, Eden ! whenever I range thy green banks. 
 And view aw the scenes o* my infantine pranks. 
 Where wi’ pleasure I spworted, ere sorrow began, 
 I sigh to trace onward frae boy to the man : 
 
44 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 To memory dear are the days o’ yen’s youth, 
 When, enraptur’d, we luik’d at each object wi’ truth, 
 And, like fairies, a thousand wild frolics we play’d ; 
 But manhood has chang’d what youth fondly 
 pourtray’d. 
 
 I think o’ my playmates, 21 dear imps, I lov’d best ! 
 Now divided, like larks efter leaving the nest ! 
 How we trembl’d to schuil, and wi’ copy and 
 buik, 
 
 Oft read our hard fate in the maister’s stern luik ; 
 In summer, let lowse, how we brush’d thro’ the 
 wood. 
 
 And meade seevy caps on the brink o’ the flood; 
 
 Or watch’d the seap-bubbles, or ran wi* the kite, 
 Or launch’d paper navies, how dear the delight ! 
 
 There was Jock Smith, the boggle, — I mind him 
 reet weel, 
 
 We twee to Blain’s hay-loft together wad steal; 
 And of giants, ghosts, witches, and fairies oft 
 read, 
 
 Till sae freeten’d, we hardly durst creep off to bed : 
 Then, in winter, we’d caw out the lasses to play, 
 And tell them the muin shone as breet as the day ; 
 Or scamper, like wild things, at hunting the hare, 
 Tig-touch-wood, four corners, or twenty gams mair. 
 
 Then my fadder, God bless him ! at thurteen oft 
 said, 
 
 * My lad, I mun get thee a bit of a trade ; 
 c O, cud I afford it, mair larnin thou’d get !’ 
 
 But peer was my fadder, and I’s unlarned yet : 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 45 
 
 And then my furst sweetheart, an angel was she! 
 But T only meade luive thro* the tail o’ my e’e : 
 
 I mind when I met her I panted to speak, 
 
 But §tood silent, and blushes spread aw owre my 
 cheek. 
 
 At last, aw the play-things o* youth laid aside, 
 Now luive, whope, and fear did my moments divide, 
 And wi’ restless ambition deep sorrow began, 
 
 But I sigh to trace onward frae boy to the man : 
 To memory dear are the days o’ yen’s youth, 
 When, enraptur’d, we luik’d at ilk object wi’ truth, 
 And, like fairies, a thousand wild frolics we play’d ; 
 But manhood has chang’d what youth fondly 
 pourtray’d. 
 
 August 5, 1802. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 Tune — “ There's nae luck about the house." 
 
 Now, God be prais’d ! we’ve peace at last, 
 For Nichol he’s been down, 
 
 And sec a durdem, Nichol says, 
 
 They’ve hed in Lunnon town ; 
 
 The king thowt war wad ruin aw, 
 
 And Bonnyprat the seame, 
 
 And some say teane, and some say beath, 
 Ha’e lang been much to bleame. 
 
 Now monie a weyfe will weep for joy, 22 
 And monie a bairn be fain, 
 
 To see the fadders they’d forgot, 
 
 Come seafe and sound agean ; 
 
46 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 And monie a yen will watch in vain, 
 Wi* painfu’ whopes and fears, 
 
 And oft the guilty wretches bleame, 
 That set fwok by the ears. 
 
 My Cousin Tommy went to sea, 
 
 And lost his left-hand Thum ; 
 
 He tells sec teales about the feight, 
 They mek us aw sit dum ; 
 
 He says it is reet fearfu’ wark, 
 
 For them that’s fworc’d to see’t — 
 
 The bullets whuzzing past yen’s lugs, 
 And droppen down like sleet. 
 
 But Peter, our peer sarvant man, 
 
 Was far owre proud to work, — 
 
 They said a Captain he sud be, 
 
 Alang wi’t Duke o’ York : 
 
 Wi’ powder’d heed away he marched, 
 And gat a wooden leg ; 
 
 But monie a time he’s rued sin seyne, 
 For now he’s fworc’d to beg. 
 
 Ay, but our Sally wull be fain, 
 
 Sud Lanty but cum back ! 
 
 Then owre the fire, i’ winter neets, 
 
 We wull ha’e monie a crack ; — 
 
 He’ll tell us aw the ins and outs, 
 
 For he can write and read ; 
 
 But Sally’s heart for sure ’ll brek, 
 
 If he’s amang the dead. 
 
 O ! but I us’d to wonder much, 
 
 And think what thousands fell ; 
 
 Now what they’ve aw been feightin for, 
 The deil a yen can tell ; — 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 47 
 
 But, God be prais’d ! we’ve peace at last. 
 
 The news hes spread afar ; 
 
 O may our bairns and bairns* bairns hear 
 Nae mair o’ murderous war. 
 
 August 6, 1802. 
 
 THE CUMBERLAND FARMER. 
 
 I’ve thought and I’ve thought, agean and agean, 
 Sin I was peat-heet, now I see it quite plain, 
 
 That farmers 4 3 are happier far, tlio* we’re peer, 
 Than thur they caw gentlefwok, wi’ aw their gear ; 
 Then why about riches aye mek sec a fuss, 
 
 Gi’e us meat, drink, and cleading, it’s plenty for us : 
 Frae the prince to the ploughman, ilk hes but his 
 day, 
 
 And when Deeth gi’es a beckon, we aw mun obey. 
 
 There’s our ’squire, wi’ his thousands, jant jantin 
 about, 
 
 What ! he’d gi’e aw his gear to get shot o’ the gout : 
 Nowther heart-ach nor gout e’er wi’ rakin had I, 
 
 For labour brings that aw his gold cannot buy: 
 Then he’ll say to me, ‘Jacob, tou whussels and 
 sings, 
 
 ‘ Mess, lad, but you’ve ten times mair pleasure than 
 kings; 
 
 * I mean honest simplicity, freedom, and health ; 
 
 * These are dearer to man, than the trappings o’ 
 
 wealth. 
 
48 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Can ought be mair sweet than, like larks in a 
 mworn, 
 
 To rise wi’ the sunshine, and luik at the cworn ? 
 
 Tho’ in winter, it’s true, dull and lang are the neets, 
 
 But thro* life fwok mun aye tek the bitters wi’ 
 sweets. 
 
 When God grants us plenty, and hous’d are the 
 crops, 
 
 How we feast on cruds, collops, and guid butter- 
 sops, 
 
 Let your feyne fwok in town brag o’ dainties whee 
 will, 
 
 Content and the country for my money still. 
 
 They may tell o’ their gardens as lang as they like, 
 
 Don’t the flow’rs bluim as fair under ony thworn 
 dike? 
 
 The deil a guid bite they wad e’er get, I trow, 
 
 Wer’t not for the peer man that follows the plough. 
 
 If we nobbet get plenty to pay the laird’s rent, 
 
 And keep the bairns teydey, we aye sleep content ; 
 
 Then, ye girt little fwok, niver happy in town, 
 
 Blush, blush, when ye laugh at a peer country 
 clown. 
 
 August 25, 1802. 
 
 THE DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 ^ Tune — “ Ettnck Banks.” 
 
 The muin shone breet at nine last neet, 
 When Jemmy Sharp com owre the muir ; 
 Weel did I ken a lover’s fit, 
 
 And heard him softly tap the duir: 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 49 
 
 My fadder started i’ the nuik, 
 
 ‘ Rin, Jenny ! see what’s that,’ he said : 
 
 I whisper’d, ‘ Jemmy, come to-mworn,’ 
 
 And then a leame excuse suin meade. 
 
 I went to bed, but cudn’t sleep, 
 
 This luive sae breks a body’s rest ; 
 
 The mwornin dawn’d, then up I gat, 
 
 And seegh’d and aye luik’d tow’rds the west; 
 
 But when far off I saw the wood, 
 
 Where he unlock’d his heart to me, 
 
 I thought o’ monie a happy hour, 
 
 And then a tear gush’d frae my e’e. 
 
 To-neet my fadder’s far frae heame, 
 
 And wunnet come these three hours yet ; 
 
 But, O ! it pours, and I’d be leath 
 That Jemmy sud for me get wet ! 
 
 Yet, if he dis, guid heame-brew’d yell 
 Will warm his cheerfu’ honest heart ; 
 
 Wi’ him, my varra life o’ life ! 
 
 I’s fain to meet, but leath to part. 
 
 August 28, 1802. 
 
 AULD MARGET. 
 
 Auld Marget in the fauld she sits, 
 
 And spins, and sings, and smuiks by fits, 
 
 And cries as she had lost her wits — 
 
 ‘ O this weary, weary warl !’ 24 
 
 Yence Marget was as lish a lass 
 As e’er in summer trod the grass ; 
 
 But fearfu’ changes come to pass 
 
 In this weary, weary warl ! 
 
50 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS 
 
 Then, at a murry-neet or fair, 
 
 Her beauty meade the young fwok stare ; 
 
 Now wrinkled is that feace wi’ care — 
 
 O this weary, weary warl ! 
 Yence Marget she hed dowters twee, 
 
 And bonnier lasses cudna be; 
 
 But nowther kith nor kin has she — 
 
 O this weary, weary warl ! 
 The eldest, wi’ a soldier gay, 
 
 Ran frae her liearae, ae luckless day, 
 
 And e’en lies buried far away — 
 
 O this weary, weary warl ! 
 The youngest she did nought but whine, 
 
 And for the lads wad fret and pine, 
 
 Till hurried off by a decline — 
 
 O this weary, weary warl ! 
 Auld Andrew toil’d reet sair for bread — > 
 
 Ae neet they fan him cauld, cauld dead, 
 
 Nae wonder that turn’d Marget’s head — 
 
 O this weary, weary warl ! 
 Peer Marget ! oft I pity thee, 
 
 Wi* care-worn cheek and hollow e’e, 
 
 Bowed down by yage and poverty — 
 
 O this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 August 28, 1802. 
 
 FIRST LUIVE. 
 
 Tune — “ Cold and raw .” 
 
 It’s just three weeks sin’ Carel fair, 
 
 This sixteenth o’ September ; 
 
 There the furst loff of a sweetheart I gat, 
 
 Sae that day I’ll remember. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 51 
 
 This luive meks yen stupid— ever sin seyne 
 I*s thinkin and tliinkin o’ Wully ; 
 
 I dung owre the knop, and scawder’d my fit, 
 And cut aw my thoum wi* the gully. 
 
 O, how he danc’d ! and, O how he talk’d 1 
 For my life I cannot forget him ; 
 
 He wad hev a kiss — I gev him a slap — 
 
 But if he were here I’d let him. 
 
 Says he, ‘ Mally Maudlin, my heart is thine !* 
 And he brong sec a seegh, I believ’d him : 
 
 Thought I, Wully Wintrep, thou’s welcome to 
 mine, 
 
 But my head I hung down to deceive him. 
 
 Twee yards o* reed ribbon to wear for his seake, 
 Forby ledder mittens, he bought me ; 
 
 But when we were thinkin o’ nought but luive, 
 My titty, de’il bin ! com and sought me : 
 
 The deuce tek aw clashes ! off she ran heame„ 
 And e’en telt my tarn’d auld mudder ; 
 
 There’s sec a te-dui — but let them fratch on — 
 Miss him. I’ll ne’er get sec anudder ! 
 
 Neist Sunday, God wullin ! we promised to meet, 
 I’ll get frae our tweesome a baitin ; 
 
 But a lee mun patch up, be’t rang or be’t reet, 
 For Wully he sha’not stan waitin : 
 
 The days they seem lang, and lang are the neets, 
 And, waes me ! this is but Monday ! 
 
 I seegh, and I think, and I say to mysel, 
 
 O that to-morrow were Sunday ! 
 
 September 16, 1802* 
 
52 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 LAL STEPHEN. 
 
 Tune — " Hallow Fair.” 
 
 Lal Stephen 25 was bworn at Kurkbanton, 
 Just five feet three inches was he ; 
 
 But at ploughing, or mowing, or shearing, 
 His match you but seldom cud see; 
 
 Then at dancin, O he was a capper ! 
 
 He’d shuffle and lowp till he sweat; 
 
 And for singin he ne’er hed a marrow, 
 
 I just think I hear his voice yet. 
 
 And then wid a sleate and a pencil, 
 
 He capp’d aw our larned young lairds ; 
 
 And played on twee jew-trumps together. 
 And aye come off winner at cards : 
 
 At huntin a brock or an otter, 
 
 At trackin a foumert or hare, 
 
 At pittin a cock or at shootin, 
 
 Nae lad cud wi’ Stephen compare. 
 
 And then he wad feight like a fury, 
 
 And count fast as hops aw the stars, 
 
 And read aw the news i’ the paper, 
 
 And talk about weddins and wars ; 
 
 And then he wad drink like a Briton, 
 
 And spend the last penny he had, 
 
 And aw the peer lasses about him, 
 
 For Stephen were runnin stark mad. 
 
 Our Jenny she writ him a letter, 
 
 And monie a feyne thing she said — 
 
 But my fadder he just gat a gliff on’t, 
 
 And faith a rare durdem he meade; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 
 
 53 
 
 Then Debby, that leev’d at Drumleenin, 
 
 She wad hev him aw till hersel, 
 
 For ae neet when he stuil owre to see her, 
 
 Wi’ sugger she sweetened his keale. 
 
 Then Judy she darned aw his stockins, 
 
 And Sally she meade him a sark, 
 
 And Lizzy, the laird’s youngest dowter, 
 
 Kens weel whe she met efter dark ; 
 
 Aunt Ann, o’ the wrang seyde o’ fifty, 
 
 E’en thowt him the flower o’ the flock — 
 Nay, to count yen by yen aw his sweethearts, 
 Wad tek a full hour by the clock. 
 
 O ! but I was vext to hear tell on’t, 
 
 When Nichol the teydins he brought. 
 
 That Stephen was geane for a soldier — 
 
 Our Jenny she gowled, ay, like ought : 
 
 Sin’ that we’ve nae spwort efter supper, 
 
 We nowther get sang or a crack ; 
 
 Our lasses sit beytin their fingers, 
 
 Aw wishin for Stephen seafe back. 
 
 November 15, 1802. 
 
 THE BASHFUL WOOER. 
 
 Tune — “ T)ainty Davie . 
 
 Whene’er ye come to woo me, Tom, 
 
 Dunnet at the window tap, 
 
 Or cough, or hem, or gi’e a clap, 
 
 To let my fadder hear, man ; 
 
 He’s auld and fealed, and wants his sleep, 
 
 Sae by the hallan softly creep, 
 
 Ye need nae watch, and glower, and peep, 
 
 I’ll meet ye, niver fear, man : 
 
54 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 If a lassie ye wad win, 
 
 Be cheerfu’ iver, bashfu’ niver • 
 Ilka Jock may get a Jen, 
 
 If he hes sense to try, man. 
 
 Whene’er we at the market meet, 
 
 Dunnet luik like yen hawf daft, 
 
 Or talk about the cauld and heat, 
 
 As ye were weather-wise, man ; 
 
 Haud up yer head, and bauldly speak. 
 
 And keep the blushes frae yer cheek, 
 
 For he whee hes his teale to seek, 
 
 We lasses aw despise, man : 
 
 If a lassie, &c. 
 
 I met ye leately, aw yer leane, 
 
 Ye seemed like yen stown frae the dead, 
 Yer teeth e’en chattered i’ yer head, 
 
 But ne’er a word o’ luive, man ; 
 
 I spak, ye luik’d anudder way, 
 
 Then trimmel’d as ye’d got a flay, 
 
 And owre yer shou’der cried * guid day,* 
 Nor yence to win me strujve, man : 
 
 If a lassie, &c. 
 
 My aunty left me threescwore pun, 
 
 But De’il a yen of aw the men. 
 
 Till then, did bare-legg’d Elcy ken, 
 
 Or care a strae for me, man ; 
 
 Now, tiggin at me suin and late, 
 
 They’re cleekin but the yellow bait ; 
 
 Yet, mind me, Tom, I needn’t wait, 
 
 When I ha’e choice o* three, man : 
 
 If a lassie, &c. 
 
 There lives a lad owre yonder muir, 
 
 He hes nae fau’t but yen — he’s puir ; 
 
 » 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 55 
 
 Whene’er we meet, wi’ kisses sweet. 
 
 He’s like to be my deeth, man 5 
 And there’s a lad ahint yon trees. 
 
 Wad weade for me abuin the knees ; 
 
 Sae tell yer mind, or, if ye please, 
 
 Nae langer fash us baith, man. 
 
 If a lassie, &c. 
 January 5, 1803. 
 
 THE AUNTY. 
 
 We’ve roughness amang hands, we’ve kye i* the 
 byre, 
 
 Come live wi’ us, lassie, it’s aw I desire ; 
 
 I’ll lig i’ the loft, and gi’e my bed to thee, 
 
 Nor sal ought else be wantin that guidness can gi’e : 
 Sin’ the last o’ thy kin, thy peer aunty, we’ve lost, 
 Thou frets aw the day, and e’en luiks like a ghost. 
 I mind, when she sat i’ the nuik at her wheel, 
 How she’d tweyne the slow thread, and aye coun- 
 sel us weel, 
 
 Then oft whisper me, * Thou wad mek a top wife ;’ 
 
 ‘ And pray God to see thee weel sattl’d in life ; ’ 
 Then what brave funny teales she cud tell the neet 
 through, 
 
 And bless the peer fwok, if the stormy win blew. 
 That time when we saunter’d owre leate at the town, 
 ’Twas the day, I weel mind, when tou gat thy 
 chintz gown, 
 
 For the watters were up, and pick dark was the neet, 
 And she lissen’d and cry’d, and thought aw wasn't 
 reet ; 
 
 But, oh ! when you met, what a luik did she give !— • 
 I can niver forget her as lang as I live. 
 
56 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 How I Like thee, dear lassie ! thou’s oft heard me tell ; 
 Nay, I like tliee far better than I like mysel ; 
 
 And when sorrow forsakes thee, to kurk we’ll e’en 
 gang, 
 
 But tou munnet sit pinin thy leane aw day lang ; 
 Come owre the geate, lassie, my titty sal be 
 A companion to her that’s aye dearest to me. 
 
 January 6 , 1803. 
 
 THE RURAL VISIT. 
 
 Tune — “ The sutor's dowter.” 
 
 k went to see young Susy, 
 
 Bonny, teydey, blithe was she ; 
 
 I slyly kiss’d her cherry lips, 
 
 And mark’d the magic o’ her e’e, 
 
 That in my fancy rais’d desire ; 
 
 But purer passion never burn’d 
 In onie lover’s bosom ; 
 
 And aye may sorrow wet his cheek, 
 
 Who’d crush sae rare a blossom ! 
 
 And now the rwosie lassie 
 
 The death she laid, and teable spread 
 
 Wi’ monie a dainty quickly, 
 
 And monie a welcome thing she said; 
 But nit sae sweet the honey-cwom, 
 
 As Susy’s temptin cherry lips, 
 
 That fir’d at once my bosom : 
 
 O may no rude destroyer dare 
 To crop sae fair a blossom ! 
 
 And now, to greet the stranger, 
 
 The wearied auld fwok dander’d heame, 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 57 
 
 And village news recounted : 
 
 The guid man bade his sonsy deame 
 Trim up the fire and mek the tea ; 
 
 The gurdle-cakes as Susy turn’d, 
 
 I watch’d her heaving bosom, 
 
 And pleasure beam’d in ilka feace, 
 
 To see sae sweet a blossom. 
 
 And now, to please the auld fwok, 
 
 The sang and teale went gaily round, 
 
 Till neet had drawn her curtain 
 
 Some full five hours ; I ruse, and fan 
 Young Susy half consenting 
 To set me out a mile o’ geate ; a 6 
 
 I held her to my bosom, 
 
 And, parting, kiss’d, and pray’d kind Heav’n 
 To guard this beauteous blossom. 
 
 January 8, 1803. 
 
 WATTY. 
 
 Tune — “ The lads o' Dunse.” 
 
 Ip ye ax where I come frae, I say the Fell-seyde, 
 Where fadder arid m udder, and honest fwok beyde ; 
 And my sweetheart, O bless her ! she thowt nin 
 like me, 
 
 For when we shuik hans, the tears gush’d frae her 
 e’e : 
 
 Says I, ( I mun e’en git a spot if I can, 
 
 6 But, whatever betyde me, I’ll think o' thee, Nan !’ 
 
 Nan was a parfet beauty, wi’ twee cheeks like 
 codlin blossoms; the varra seet on her meade my 
 mouth aw waiter. ‘ Fares-te-weel, Watty !* says 
 
58 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 she ; ‘ tou’s a wag amang t’ lasses, and I’ll see thee 
 nae mair !’ — ‘ Nay, dunnet gowl, Nan !’ says I, 
 
 * For, mappen, ere lang, I’s be maister mysel ;* 
 
 Sae we buss’d, and I tuik a last luik at the fell. 
 
 On I whussel’d and wonder’d ; my bundle I flung 
 Owre my shou’der, when Cwoley he efter me 
 sprung, 
 
 And howled, silly fellow ! and fawned at my fit. 
 As if to say — Watty, we munnet part yet ! 
 
 At Carel I stuid wi’ a strea i* my mouth , 27 
 And they tuik me, nae doubt, for a promisin youth. 
 
 The weyves com roun me in clusters : ‘ What 
 weage dus te ax, canny lad?’ says yen. — ‘ Wey, three 
 pun and a crown ; wunnet beate a hair o’ my beard.’ 
 4 What can te dui ?’ says anudder. — c Dui ! wey 
 I can plow, sow, mow, sheer, thresh, deyke, milk, 
 kurn, muck a byre, sing a psalm, mend car-gear, 
 dance a whornpeype, nick a naig’s tail, hunt a brock, 
 or feight iver a yen o’ my weight in aw Croglin 
 parish.’ 
 
 An auld bearded hussey suin caw’d me her man — 
 But that day, I may say’t, aw my sorrows began. 
 Furst Cwoley, peer fellow ! they hang’d i’ the street, 
 And skinn’d, God forgie them ! for shoon to their 
 feet ! 
 
 I cry’d, and they caw’d me peer hawf-witted clown, 
 And banter’d and follow’d me aw up and down : 
 Neist my deame she e’en starv’d me, that niver 
 leev’d weel, — 
 
 Her hard words and luiks wad ha’e freeten’d the 
 de’il : 
 
 She hed a lang beard, for aw t’ warl leyke a billy 
 gwoat, wi’ a kill-dried frosty feace ; and then the 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 59 
 
 smawest leg o’ mutton in aw Carel market sarrat 
 the cat, me, and her, for a week. The bairns meade 
 sec gam on us, and thunder’d at the rapper, as if 
 to waken a corp ; when I open’d the duir, they 
 threw stour i’ my een, and caw’d me daft Watty ; 
 Sae I pack’d up my duds when my quarter was out, 
 And, wi’ weage i’ my pocket, I saunter’d about. 
 
 Suin my reet-hand breek pocket they pick’d in a 
 fray, 
 
 And wi’ fifteen wheyte shillings they slipp’d clean 
 away, 
 
 Forby my twee letters frae mudder and Nan, 
 Where they said Carel lasses wad Watty trepan : 
 But ’twad tek a lang day just to tell what I saw — 
 How I skeap’d frae the gallows, the sowdjers and aw. 
 
 Ay ! there were some fworgery chaps bad me 
 just sign my neame. 4 Nay,’ says I, 4 you’ve gotten 
 a wrang pig by the lug, for I canno write !’ Then 
 a fellow like a lobster, aw leac’d and feather’d, ax’d 
 me, 4 Watty, wull te list? thou’s owther be a general 
 or a gomoral.’ — 4 Nay, I wunnet — that’s plain: I’s 
 content wi’ a cwoat o’ mudder’s spinnin.’ 
 
 Now, wi’ twee groats and tuppence, I’ll e’en toddle 
 heame, 
 
 But ne’er be a sowdger wheyle Watty’s my neame. 
 
 How my mudder ’ll gowl, and my fadder ’ll stare. 
 When I tell them peer Cwoley they’ll never see 
 mair, 
 
 Then they’ll bring me a stuil ; — as for Nan, she’ll 
 be fain, 
 
 When I kiss her, God bless her, agean and agean! 
 The barn and the byre, and the auld hollow tree, 
 Will just seem like cronies yen’s fidgin to see. 
 
60 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 The sheep *11 nit ken Watty’s voice now ! The 
 peat-stack we us’d to lake roun ’ll be brunt ere this ! 
 As for Nan, she’ll be owther married or broken- 
 hearted ; but sud aw be weel at Croglin, we’ll ha’e 
 feastin, fiddlin, dancin, drinkin, singin, and smuik- 
 in, aye, till aw’s blue about us : 
 
 Ainang aw our neybors sec wonders I’ll tell, 
 
 But niver mair leave my auld friends or the fell. 
 
 January 10, 1803. 
 
 JENNY’S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Tune — “ Nancy's to the greenwood gane 
 
 O, lass ! I’ve fearfu* news to tell ! 
 
 What thinks te’s come owre Jemmy? 
 
 The sowdgers hev e’en pick’d him up, 
 
 And sent him far, far frae me : 
 
 To Carel he set off wi’ wheat ; 
 
 Them ill reed-cwoated fellows 2 8 
 Suin wil’d him in — then meade him drunk : 
 He’d better geane to th’ gallows. 
 
 The varra seet o’ his cockade 
 It set us aw a-crying ; 
 
 For me, I fairly fainted tweyce, 
 
 Tou may think that was tryin : 
 
 My fadder wad ha’e paid the smart, 
 
 And show’d a gowden guinea, 
 
 But, lack-a-day ! he’d kiss’d the buik. 
 
 And that ’ll e’en kill Jenny. 
 
 When Nichol tells .about the wars, 
 
 It’s war than deeth to hear him ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 61 
 
 I oft steal out, to hide my tears, 
 
 And cannot, cannot bear him ; 
 
 For aye he jeybes, and cracks his jwokes, 
 
 And bids me nit forseake him ; 
 
 A brigadier, or grandidier, 
 
 He says, they’re sure to meake him. 
 
 If owre the stibble fields I gang, 
 
 I think I see him ploughin, 
 
 And ev’ry bit o’ bread I eat, 
 
 It seems o’ Jemmy’s sowing : 
 
 He led the varra cwoals we burn. 
 
 And when the fire I’s leetin, 
 
 To think the peats were in his hands, 
 
 It sets my heart a beatin. 
 
 What can I de? I nought can de, 
 
 But whinge and think about him : 
 
 For three lang years he follow’d me, 
 
 Now I mun live widout him ? 
 
 Brek heart, at yence, and then it’s owre ; 
 
 Life’s nought widout yen’s dearie. 
 
 I’ll suin lig in my cauld, cauld grave. 
 
 For, oh ! of life I’m weary ! 
 
 April 19, 1803. 
 
 MATTHEW MACREE .29 
 
 Tune — “ The wee pickle tow” 
 
 Sin I furst work’d a sampleth at Biddy Forsyth s, 
 I ne’er saw the marrow o’ Matthew Macree ; 
 For down his braid back hing his lang yallow locks. 
 And he hes a cast wi’ his bonny grey e’ej 
 
62 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Then he meks us aw laugh, on the stuil when he 
 stands, 
 
 And acts like the players, and gangs wi’ his hands, 
 And talks sec hard words as nit yen understands — 
 O, what a top scholar is Matthew Macree ! 
 ’Twas nobbet last Easter his cock wan the main, 
 
 I stuid i’ the ring rejoicin to see ; 
 
 The bairns they aw shouted, the lasses were fain, 
 And the lads o’ their shoulders bore Matthew 
 Macree : 
 
 Then at lowpin he’ll gang a full yard owre them aw, 
 And at rustlin, whilk o’ them dare try him a faw? 
 And whee is’t that aye carries off the fit-baw ? 
 
 But the King of aw Cumberland, MatthewMacree. 
 That time when he fit full two hours at the fair. 
 And lang Jemmy Smith gat a famish black e’e; 
 Peer Jemmy I yence thought wad niver paw mair, 
 And I was reet sworry for Matthew Macree : 
 Then he wad shek the bull-ring, and brag the 
 heale town, 
 
 And to feight, rin, or russle, he put down a crown; 
 Saint Gworge, the girt champion, o’ fame and 
 renown, 
 
 Was nobbet a waffler to Matthew Macree. 
 
 On Sundays, in bonny wheyte weastcwoat when 
 dress’d, 
 
 He sings i’ the kurk, what a topper is he ! 
 
 I hear his strang voice far abuin aw the rest, 
 
 And my heart still beats time to Matthew Macree. 
 Then his feyne eight-page ditties, and garlands sae 
 sweet, 
 
 They mek us aw merry the lang winter neet. 
 
 But, when he’s nit amang us, we niver seem reet, 
 Sae fond are the lasses o’ Matthew Macree* 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 63 
 
 My fadder he left me a house on the hill, 
 
 And I’s get a bit lan sud my aunty dee, 
 
 Then I’ll wed bonny Matthew whenever he will, 
 For gear is but trash widout Matthew Macree : 
 We’ll try to shew girt fwok content in a cot, 
 
 And when in our last heame together we’ve got, 
 May our bairns and their neybors oft point to the 
 spot 
 
 Where lig honest Matthew and Jenny Macree. 
 
 June 12, 1803. 
 
 CALEP CROSBY. 
 
 Tune — “ Auld Rob Morris” 
 
 0 wife ! I wad fain see our Sukey dui reet, 
 
 But she’s out wi’ the fellows, aye neet efter neet; 
 Them that’s fash’d wi’ nae bairns iver happy mun 
 
 be, 
 
 For we’ve yen, and she’s maister o’ baith thee and me. 
 
 1 can’t for the life o’ me get her to wark, 3 0 
 Nor aw the lang Sunday to ga near a kurk, 
 
 Nor frae week en to week en a chapter to read. 
 For the Bible ligs stoury abuin the duir head. 
 
 She yence cud ha’e scrammel’d and writ her awn 
 neame, 
 
 And, Sunday and warday, was teydey at heame; 
 Now, to see her whol’d stockins, her brat and her 
 gown, 
 
 She’s a shem and a byzen to aw the heale town. 
 
 O wad she be guided, and stick till her wheel, 
 There’s nin kens how fain I wad see her dui weel ; 
 
64 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 For she’s thy varra picture, and aw that we have, 
 But thur neets’ warks ’ll bring my grey hairs to 
 the grave. 
 
 ’Twas nobbet last week, in a passion I flew, 
 
 And gave her a trouncin — but sair I did rue ; 
 Then I bad her e’en pack up her duds, and we’d 
 part, 
 
 For to streyke my ain bairn it just breks my auld 
 heart. 
 
 There’s that ill Calep Crosby, he’s never away, 
 He’s gleymin and watchin her beath neet and day; 
 Sud he come in my clutches a ken-guid he’s get, 
 For, tho’ auld, leame, and feeble, I’ll maister him yet. 
 
 I’ll away owre to Whitten* a press-gang to seek. 
 And they’s lig him in irons, ay this varra week ; 
 On his back he may tie her, a donnet is she, 
 
 And sha’not be maister o’ beath thee and me ! 
 
 July 2, 1803. 
 
 FECKLESS WULLY. 
 
 Wee Wully wuns on yonder brow, 
 
 And Wully he hes dowters twee ; 
 
 But nought cud feckless Wully dui, 
 
 To get them sweethearts weel to see. 
 
 For Meg she luik’d baith reet and left, 
 Her een they bwor’d a body thro’ ; 
 And Jen was deef, and dun, and daft, 
 And de’il a yen com there to woo. 
 
 The neybors wink’d, the neybors jeer’d, 
 The neybors flyr’d at them in scworn, 
 
 i: ^Whitehaven. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 65 
 
 And monie a wicked trick they play’d 
 
 Peer Meg and Jen, heath neet and mworn. 
 
 As Wully went ae day to wark, 
 
 He kick’d a summet wid his shoe ; 
 
 And Wully glowr’d, and Wully girn’d, 
 
 ‘ Guide us !’ quoth he, ‘ what ha’e we now ?’ 
 
 And Wully cunn’d owre six scwore pun, 
 
 And back he ran wi’ nimmle heel, 
 
 And aye he owre his shou’der glym’d, 
 
 And thought he’d dealins wi’ the de’il. 
 
 And Wully ’s bought a reet snug house, 
 
 And Wully’s bought a bit o’ lan ; 
 
 And Meg and Jen are trig and crouse, 
 
 Sin’ he the yellow pwokie fan. 
 
 Nae mair the neybors wink and jeer, 
 
 But aw shek hans wi’ them, I trow; 
 
 And ilk yen talks o’ William’s gear, 
 
 For Wully’s chang’d to William now. 
 
 And some come east, and some come west, 
 
 And some come monie a mile to woo ; 
 
 And Meg luiks straight, and Jen has sense, 
 
 And we aw see what gear ’ll dui. 
 
 Ye rich fwok aw, ye’ll aye dui reet ; 
 
 Ye peer fwok aw, ye’ll aye dui wrang ; 
 
 Let wise men aw say what they will, 
 
 It’s money meks the meer to gang. 
 
 July 3, 1803. 
 
 THE BLECKELL MURRY-NEET. 
 
 ir, lad! sec a murry-neet we’ve hed at Bleckell,®* 
 The sound o’ the fiddle yet rings in my ear ; 
 
66 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Aw rset dipt and heeled were the lads and the 
 
 lasses, 
 
 And monie a diver lish hizzy was there: 
 
 The better mer swort sat snug i’ the parlour, 
 
 1’ the pantry the sweethearters cutter’d sae soft ; 
 The dancers they kick’d up a stour in the kitchen; 
 
 At lanter the caird-lakers sat in the loft. 
 
 The dogger o’ Dawston’s a famish top hero, 
 
 And bangs aw the player-fwok twenty to yen ; 
 He stampt wid his fit, and he shouted and roystered, 
 Till the sweat it ran off at his varra chin en ; 
 Then he held up ae han like the spout of a tea-pot, 
 And danc’d cross the buckle and leather-te-patch ; 
 When they cry’d ( bonny Bell I’ he lap up to the 
 ceilin, 
 
 And aye cracked his thoums for a bit of a fratcli. 
 The Hiverby lads at fair drinkin are seypers ; 
 
 At cockin the Dawstoners niver were bet ; 
 
 The Buckabank chaps are reet famish sweethearters, 
 Their kisses just sound like the sneck of a yeat; 
 The lasses o’ Bieckell are sae monie angels ; 
 
 The Cummersdale beauties aye glory in fun— 
 God help the peer fellow that gleymes at them 
 dancin, 
 
 He’ll steal away heartless as sure as a gun. 
 
 The ’bacco was strang, and the yell it was lythey, 
 And monie a yen bottomed a whart leyke a kurn ; 
 Daft Fred, i’ the nuik, leyke a hawf-rwosted deevil, 
 Telt sly smutty stwories, and meade them aw gurn ; 
 Then yen sung Tom Linton, anudder Dick Watters, 
 The auld farmers bragg’d o’ their fillies and 
 fwoals, 
 
 Wi’ jeybin and jwokin, and hotchin and laughin, 
 Till some thowt it time to set off to the cwoals. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 67 
 
 But, hod ! I forgat — when the clock strack eleeben, 
 
 The dubbler was brong in, wi’ wheyte breed and 
 brown ; 
 
 The gully was sharp, the girt cheese was a topper, 
 
 And lumps big as lapsteans our lads gobbled 
 down : 
 
 Aye the douse dapper lanleddy cried, 4 Eat and 
 welcome, 
 
 4 1’ God’s neame step forret; nay, dunnet be 
 bleate !’ 
 
 Our guts aw weel pang’d, we buck’d up for blin 
 Jenny, 
 
 And neist paid the shot on a girt pewder plate. 
 
 Now full to the thropple, wi’ head-warks and heart- 
 aches, 
 
 Some crap to the clock-kease instead o’ the duir ; 
 
 Then sleepin and snworin tuik pleace o* their 
 rwoarin 5 
 
 And teane abuin tudder they laid on the fluir. 
 
 The last o’ December, lang lang we’ll remember, 
 
 At five i’ the mworn, eighteen hundred and twee : 
 
 Here’s health and success to the brave Jwohney 
 Dawston, 
 
 And monie sec meetings may we leeve to see ! 
 
 July 4>, 1803. 
 
 THE DELIGHTS OF LOVE. 
 
 Tune — 44 Farewell to JBamf,” 
 
 The summer sun was out o’ seet, 
 
 His partin beams danc’d on the fluid : 
 
 The fisher watch’d the silver fry, 
 
 As i’ the stream he bending stuid ; 
 
68 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 The blackburd mourn’d the clowsin day, 
 
 And caw’d his partner to his nest ; 
 
 When I up Caldew tuik my way, 
 
 And met the lass I aye like best. 
 
 I gaz’d upon her matchless feace, 
 
 That fairer than a lily seem’d ; 
 
 I mark’d the magic o’ her e’e, 
 
 That wi’ luive’s powerfu* leetnin beam’d ; 
 
 I saw her cheek of breetest red, 
 
 That, blushing, telt a lover’s pain, 
 
 And seiz’d a kiss, if ’twas a crime, 
 
 Ye Gods ! oft may I sin again ! 
 
 Fast flew the hours — now ruse the muin, 
 
 And telt us it was time to part ; 
 
 I set her to her mudder’s duir, 
 
 She whisper’d low, c Thou’s stown my heart !* 
 I thro’ the lattice stule a glance, 
 
 And heard her angry mudder chide : 
 
 Then thought of aw a parent’s cares, 
 
 As frae her cottage heame I hied. 
 
 I’ve teasted pleasures dearly bought. 
 
 And read mankind in monie a page : 
 
 But woman, woman, sweetens life, 
 
 Frae giddy youth to feeble age. 
 
 Ye fuils, aye court coy Fortune’s smile ; 
 
 Ye rakes, in quest of pleasure rove : 
 
 Ye drunkards, drown each sense in wine ; 
 
 Be mine the dear delights of love ! 
 
 July 8, 1803. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Tune — 44 My auld guidman .” 
 
 The crackets were chirping on the hearth ; 
 
 Our wife reel’d gairn, and sat i* th’ nuik ; 
 I tuik a whiff o’ my cutty black peype ; 
 
 Lai Dick by fire-leet plied his buik ; 
 
 The youngermer bairns, at heeds and cross, 
 Sat laikin merrily in a row ; 
 
 The wind clash’d tui the entry duir, 
 
 And down the chimney fell the snow. 
 
 4 O !’ says our weyfe, then fetch’d a seegh, 
 
 * Guidman, we sud reet thankfu’ be ! . 
 
 * How monie a scwore this angry neet , 3 2 
 
 4 Wad like to sit wi’ tee and me ; 
 
 * Sae wad our dowter Ruth, I trow, 
 
 * A silly peer luckless bairn she’s been ; 
 
 4 For her, nae day gangs owre my head, 
 
 4 But painfu* tears gush frae my een. 
 
 4 She aye was honest and weel to see, 
 
 * I say’t — she hed nae faut but yen— 
 
 * She off wid a taistrel sowdger lad, 
 
 * And niver yence sent the scribe of a pen 
 
 * O man ! we sud forget and forgive ; 
 
 * The brute beast for its awn ’ll feel ; 
 
 4 Were mine awt’ warl, ay ten times mair, 
 
 4 I’d gi’e *t to see her alive and weel. 
 
 4 Whea kens, peer thing ! what she’s endur’d 
 4 Sin’ that sad hour she left her heame ; 
 
 4 Thou turn’d her out ; it hurt me sair, 
 
 4 And aw our neibors cried out shem.* 
 Here stopped our weyfe, and shuik her head 
 While tears ran tricklin down her cheek ; 
 
70 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 I fan the truth o' what she said, 
 
 But de’il a word cud owther speak. 
 
 Just then the latch was lifted up ; 
 
 * Ay, that’s a boggle !’ cried out lal Ann ; 
 
 In bounc’d my bairn, and, at my feet, 
 
 Cried, ‘ O, forgi’e me ! — here’s my guidman !’ 
 Our dame she shriek’d, and dropp’d her wark ; 
 
 I bless’d them beath — the bairns were fain ; 
 We talk’d the stormy neet away, 
 
 And, God be prais’d, we’ve met again ! 
 
 July 24*, 1803. 
 
 THE PECK O’ PUNCH. 
 
 ’Twas Rob and Jock, and Hal and Jack, 8 * 
 
 And Tom and Ned forby, 
 
 Wi’ Archy drank a Peck o’ Punch, 
 
 Ae neet when they were dry ; 
 
 And aye they jwok’d, and laugh’d, and smuik'd. 
 And sang wi' heartfelt glee, 
 
 “ To-night were yen, to-morrow geane, 
 u Syne let us merry be !" 
 
 Saint Mary’s muckle clock bumm’d eight. 
 
 When each popp’d in his head ; 
 
 But ere they rose, they’d fairly drank 
 The sheame-feac’d muin to bed ; 
 
 And aye they jwok’d, &c. 
 
 To monie a bonnie Carel lass. 
 
 The fairest o' the town, 
 
 And monie a manly British chiel, 
 
 The noggin glass went roun ; 
 
 And aye they jwok’d, &c. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 71 
 
 A neybor’s fau’ts they ne’er turn’d owre, 
 
 Nor yence conceal’d their ain — 
 
 Had Care keek’d in, wi’ wae-worn feace, 
 Thev’d kick’d him out again ; 
 
 For aye they jvvok’d, &c. 
 The daily toil, the hunter’s spoil, 
 
 The faithless foreign pow’rs, 
 
 The Consul’s fate, his o’ergrown state, 
 
 By turns beguil’d the hours ; 
 
 And aye they laugh’d, &c. 
 Let others cringe, and bow the head, 
 
 A purse-proud sumph to please ; 
 
 Fate, grant to me aye liberty 
 To mix with souls like these ; 
 
 Then oft we’ll jwoke, and laugh, and smuik, 
 And sing wi’ heartfelt glee, 
 
 (i To-night we’re yen, to-morrow geane, 
 
 “ Syne let us merry be 1” 
 
 November 3, 1803. 
 
 THE THUIBSBY WITCH. 
 
 Tune — “ O'er Bogie” 
 
 There’s Harraby and Tarraby, 
 
 And Wigganby beseyde ; 
 
 There’s Oughterby and Souterby,* 
 
 And bys beath far and weyde ; — 
 
 Of strappin, sonsy, rwosy queens. 
 
 They aw may brag a few ; 
 
 But Thuirsby for a bonny lass 
 Can cap them aw I trow. 
 
 Her mudder sells a swope o’ drink, 
 
 It is beath stout and brown, 
 
 * Names of Cumberland Villages. 
 
 
72 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 And Etty is the hinny fowt 
 Of aw the country roun ; 
 
 Frae east and west, heath rich and peer, 
 A-horse, a-fit, caw in — 
 
 For whee can pass sae rare a lass, 
 
 He’s owther daft or blin. 
 
 Her een are leyke twee Cursmass sleas, 
 But tweyce as breet and clear ; 
 
 Nae rwose cud iver match her feace, 
 
 That yet grew on a breer ; 
 
 At toun, kurk, market, dance or fair , 3 4 
 She meks their hearts aw stoun, 
 
 And conquers mair than Bonyprat, 
 Whene’er she keeks aroun. 
 
 Oft graith’d in aw their kurk-gawn gear, 
 Leyke nwoble lwords at cwort, 
 
 Our lads slink in, and gaze and grin. 
 
 Nor heed their Sunday spwort ; 
 
 If stranger leets, her een he meets, 
 
 And fins he can’t tell how ; 
 
 To touch the glass her hand has touch’d, 
 It sets him in a lowe. 
 
 Yence Thuirsby lads were — whea but we, 
 And cud ha’e bang’d the lave, 
 
 But now they hing their lugs, and luik 
 Leyke fwok stown frae the grave ; 
 
 And what they ail in head or heart 
 Nae potticary knows — 
 
 The little glancin Thuirsby Witch, 
 
 She is the varra cause. 
 
 Of Black-eyed Susan, Mary Scott, 
 
 The lass o’ Patie’s Mill, 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 73 
 
 Of Barbara Allan, Sally Gray, 
 
 The Lass o’ Rich mond-h ill, 
 
 Of Nancy Dawson, Molly Mog, 
 
 Though thousands sing wi* glee, 
 
 This village beauty, out and out, 
 
 She bangs them aw to see. 
 
 November 10, 1803. 
 
 THE VILLAGE GANG. 
 
 Tune — “ Jenny dang the weaver .” 
 
 There’s sec a gang in our town, 
 
 The deevil cannot wrang them, 
 
 And cud yen get tern put i’ prent, 
 
 Aw England cuddent bang them ; 
 
 Our dogs e’en bite aw decent fwok, 
 
 Our varra naigs they kick them, 
 
 And if they nobbet ax their way, 
 
 Our lads set on and lick them. 
 
 Furst wi’ Dick Wiggem we’ll begin, 
 
 The teyney, greasy wobster ; 
 
 He’s got a gob frae lug to lug, 
 
 And neb like onie lobster : 
 
 Dick’ Weyfe, they say, was Branton bred, 
 Her mudder was a howdy, 
 
 And when peer Dick’s thrang on the luim, 
 She’s off to Jwohnie Gowdy. 
 
 But as for Jwohnie, silly man, 34 
 He threeps about the nation, 
 
 And talks o’ stocks and Charley Fox, 
 
 And meakes a blusteration ; 
 
74 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 He reads the paper yence a week, 
 
 The auld fwok geape and wonder — 
 Were Jwohnie king, we’d aw be rich, 
 
 And France mud e’en knock under. 
 
 Lang Peel the laird’s a dispert chap, 
 
 His weyfe’s a famous fratcher, 
 
 She brays the lasses, starves the lads, 
 
 Nae bandy lan can match her : 
 
 We aw ken how they gat their gear, 
 
 But that’s a fearfu’ stwory, 
 
 And sud he hing on Carel Sands, 
 
 Nit yen wad e’er be sworry. 
 
 Beane-breaker Jwohn we weel may neame, 
 He’s tir’d o’ wark, confound him ! 
 
 By manglin limbs, and streenin joints, 
 
 He’s meade aw cripples round him : 
 
 Mair hurt he’s duin than onie yen 
 That iver sceap’d a helter ; 
 
 When sec-like guffs leame decent fwok, 
 
 It’s time some laws sud alter. 
 
 The schuilmaister’s a conjurer , 36 
 For when our lads are drinkin, 
 
 Aw maks o’ tricks he’ll dui wi’ cairds, 
 
 And tell fwok what they’re thinkin ; 
 He’ll glowre at maps, and spell hard words, 
 For hours and hours together, 
 
 And in the muin he kens what’s duin — 
 Nay he can coin the weather ! 
 
 Then there’s the blacksmith wi’ ae e’e, 
 
 And his hawf-witted mudder, 
 
 ’Twad mek a deed man laugh to see 
 Them glyme at yen anudder ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 
 
 75 
 
 A three-quart piggen full o’ keale, 
 
 He’ll sup, the greedy sinner, 
 
 Then eat a cow’d-lword like his head, 
 
 Ay, onie day at dinner. 
 
 Jack Mar, the hirplin piper’s son, 
 
 Can bang them aw at leein ; 
 
 He’ll brek a lock, or steal a cock, 
 
 Wi’ onie yen in bein : 
 
 He eats guid meat, and drinks strang drink, 
 And gangs weel-graith’d o’ Sunday, 
 
 And weel he may, a bonnie fray 
 Com out last Whissen- Monday. 
 
 The doctor he’s a parfet pleague, 
 
 And hawf the parish puzzens ; 
 
 The lawyer sets fwok by the lugs, 
 
 And cheats them neist by duzzens ; 
 
 The parson swears a bonnie stick 
 Amang our sackless asses ; 
 
 The ’Squire’s ruin’d scwores and sc wo res 
 O’ canny country lasses. 
 
 There’s twenty mair, coarse as neck beef, 
 
 If yen lied time to neame them ; 
 
 Left-handed Sim, slape-finger’d Sam, 
 
 Nae law cou’d iver teame them ; 
 
 There’s blue-nebb’d Watt and ewe-chinn’d Dick, 
 Weel wordy o’ the gallows — 
 
 O happy is the country seyde 
 That’s free frae sec-like fellows ! 
 
 November 27, 1803. 
 
 
76 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 DICKY GLENDININ, 
 
 Tune — “ As Patie cam up frae the glen," 
 
 My fadder was down at the mill, 
 
 My mudder was out wid her spinnin, 
 
 When, whea sud slip whietly in, 
 
 But canny lal Dicky Glendinin ; 
 
 He poud off his muckle top cwoat, 
 
 And drew in a stuil by the hallen. 
 
 Then fworc’d me to sit on his knee, 
 
 And suin a sad teale began tellin. 
 
 “ O Jenny ! O Jenny !’* says he, 
 
 “ My leykin for tee I can’t smudder ; 
 
 It .meade me as sick as a peat, 
 
 To think tou’d teane up wid anudder ; 
 
 What ! there’s been a bonny te-dui 
 About a lang hulk of a miller ! 
 
 He’s weyde-gobb’d and ill-natur’d tui, 
 
 But ae word says aw — he hes siller. 
 
 “ The lasses aye flyre and mak gam, 
 
 And ax me, what’s got Jenny Forster ? 
 
 The lads, when we meet i’ the lwones, 
 
 Cry out, ‘ Sairy Dick ! what, tou’s lost her !* 
 
 When Rowley, the miller, last neet 
 I met, as we com in frae shearin, 
 
 Had the sickle but been our lang gun, 
 
 I’d shot him, ay, dead as a herrin. 
 
 “ O ! hes te forgotten the teyme, 
 
 Tou said tou leyk’d me best of onie? 
 
 And hes te forgotten the teyme, 
 
 Tou said luive was better than money ? 
 
 And hes te forgotten the teyme, 
 
 I mark’d our twea neames on a shillin ? 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 77 
 
 Tou promised to wear’t neist thy heart, 
 
 And then to wed me tou was willin. 
 
 “ The furst teyme you’re cried i’ the kurk, 
 
 I’ll step my ways up and forbid it ; 
 
 When cauld i’ my coffin, they’ll say, 
 
 *Twas e’en Jenny Forster that did it ! 
 
 My ghost, the lang neet, aw in wheyte. 
 
 Will shek thee, and gar thee aw shiver — 
 
 O the tears how they hop owre my cheeks, 
 
 To think I sud lwose thee for ever !” 
 
 “ O Dicky ! O Dicky !” says I, 
 
 “ I nowther heed house, land, or siller ; 
 
 Tou’s twenty teymes dearer to me, 
 
 Than onie lang hulk of a miller !” 
 
 A match we struck up in a crack, 
 
 And Dicky’s got sticks and got beddin ; 
 
 My fadder and mudder are fain — 
 
 Then hey for a guid merry weddin ! 
 
 December 10, 1803. 
 
 THE INVASION. 
 
 Tune — “ Lingo's Wedding .” 
 
 How fens te, Dick ? There’s fearfu’ news — 
 Udsbreed ! the French are comin ! 
 There’s nought at Carel but parades, 
 
 And sec a drum, drum, drummin : 
 
 The volunteers and brigadiers 
 Are aw just mad to meet them ; 
 
 And England e’en mun hing her head. 
 
 If Britons dunnet beat them. 
 
78 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Then there’s the Rangers aw in green, 
 Commanded by brave Howard — 
 
 Of aw his noble kin, nit yen 
 Was iver caw’d a coward ; — 
 
 They’ll pop the Frenchmen ofFleyke steyfe, 
 
 Tf e’er they meet, I’ll bail them : 
 
 Wi’ sec true Britons at their heads, 
 
 True courage cannot fail them. 
 
 Thur French are dispert wicked chiels, 
 
 If it be true they tell us, 
 
 For where they’ve been, fwok curse the day 
 They e’er saw sec sad fellows ; 
 
 They plant the tree o’ liberty, 
 
 And hirelings dance around it ; 
 
 But millions water’t wi’ their tears, 
 
 And bid the de’il confound it. 
 
 Our parson says, 37 “ We bang’d them still, 
 And bang them still we mun, man ; 
 
 For he desarves a coward’s deeth, 
 
 That frae them e’er wad run, man : 
 
 What feckless courts and worn-out states, 
 They’ve conquered just by knavery; 
 
 But every volunteer will pruive, 
 
 A Briton kens nae slavery.” 
 
 I’ve thowt and thowt, sin I kent ought, 
 Content’s the greatest blissin, — 
 
 And he that seizes my bit lan 
 Desarves a guid soun drissin. 
 
 Auld England, though we count thy fau’ts, 
 For iver we’ll defend thee ! 
 
 To foreign tyrants sud we bow, — 
 
 They’ll mar, but niver mend thee ! 
 
 December 20, 1803. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 79 
 
 GRIZZY. 
 
 Tune — “ My auld guidmcin 
 
 ’ The witch weyfe begg’d in our backseyde , 3 8 
 But went unsarra’d away i’ th’ pet ; 
 
 Our Ester kurn’d at e’er she kurn’d, 
 
 But butter the deuce a crum cou’d get. 
 
 The pez-stack fell, and crush’d my fadder ; 
 
 My mudder cowp’d owre, and leam’d hersel ; 
 
 Neist, war and war, what dud we see, 
 
 But Jenny’ pet lam drown’d i’ the well. 
 
 Auld Grizzy the witch, as some fwok say , 39 
 Meks paddock-rud ointment for sair een, 
 
 And cures the tuith-wark wi’ a charm, 
 
 Of hard words neane ken what they mean. 
 
 She milks the kye, the urchin’s bleam’d ; 
 
 She bleets the cworn wi’ her bad e’e ; 
 
 When cross’d by lasses, they pruive wi’ bairn, 
 And if she grummel, they’re seafe o’ twee. 
 
 I yence sweethearted Madge o* th* Mill, 
 
 And whea sae thick as she and I ; 
 
 Auld Whang he promis’d tweescore pun, 
 
 A weel-theek’d house, and bit of a stye ; 
 
 Ae neet we met at our croft head, 
 
 But Grizzy was daund’ring aw her leane, 
 
 And scarce a week o’ days were owre, 
 
 Till Madge to kurk Wull Weer had teane. 
 
 When deef Dick Maudlin lost his weyfe, 
 
 And said ’twas weel it was nae war ; 
 
 When Jerry’ black filly pick’d the fwoal, 
 
 And hawf-blin Calep fell owre the scar ; 
 
 When mantin Marget brunt her rock ; 
 
 When smuggler Mat was lost i* the snaw ; 
 
80 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 When wheezlin Wully was set i’ the stocks ; 
 Auld Grizzy aye gat the weyte of aw. 
 
 Her feace is like the stump of a yek ; 
 
 She stoops and stowters, sheks and walks ; 
 Bleer-e’ed and tuithless, wi’ a beard ; 
 
 She coughs and granes, and mumps and talks; 
 She lives in a shill-house, burns dried sticks, 
 And there hes dealins wi’ the de’il. 
 
 O war she whietly in her grave, 
 
 For where she bides few can dui weel. 
 
 February 3, 1804*. 
 
 GWORDIE GILL. 
 
 Tune — “ Andrew wi ’ his cutty gun” 
 
 Of aw the lads I see or ken, 
 
 There’s yen I like abuin the rest ; 
 
 He’s neycer in his war-day duds, — 
 
 Than others donn’d in aw their best. 
 
 A body’s heart’s a body’s awn, 
 
 And they may gi’e’t to whea they will ; 
 
 Had I got ten where 1 ha’e neane, 
 
 I’d gi’e them aw to Gwordie Gill. 
 
 Whea was’t that brak our lanlword’ garth, 40 
 For me, when bairns we went to schuil ? 
 
 Whea was’t durst venture mid-thie deep, 
 
 To get my clog out o’ the puil ? 
 
 And when the filly flang me off, 
 
 And Iang and lang I laid sae ill, 
 
 Whea was’t gowl’d owre me day and neet, 
 
 And wish’d me weel? ’Twas Gwordie Gill. 
 
 Oft mounted on his lang-tail’d naig, 
 
 Wi’ feyne new buits up till his knee, 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 81 
 
 The laird’s daft son leets i’ the faul, 
 
 And keaves as he wad wurry me ; 
 
 Tho’ fadder, mudder, uncle tui. 
 
 To wed this maz’lin teaze me still, 
 
 I hear of aw his lan and brass, 
 
 But oft steal out to Gwordie Gill. 
 
 Frae Carel cousin Fanny com, 
 
 And brong her whey-feac’d sweetheart down, 
 Wi’ sark-neck stuck abuin his lugs, 
 
 A peer dipt dinment frae the town : 
 
 He minc’d and talk’d, and skipp’d and walk’d, 
 But tir’d a~gangin up the hill, 
 
 And luik’d as pale as onie corp, 
 
 Compar’d to rwosie Gwordie Gill. 
 
 My Gwordie’s whussle weel I ken , 4 1 
 Lang ere we meet, the darkest neet ; 
 
 And when he lilts and sings skewball, 
 
 Nit playhouse music’s hawf sae sweet. 
 
 A body’s heart’s a body’s awn, 
 
 And they may gi’e’t to whea they will ; 
 
 I yence had yen, now I lia’e neane, 
 
 For it belangs to Gwordie Gill. 
 
 February 10, 1804s 
 
 A WEYFE FOR WULLY MILLER. 
 
 Tune — “ Maggy Lawder .” 
 
 Hout, Wully, lad ! cock up thy head, 
 
 Nor fash thysel about her ; 
 
 Nought comes o’ nought, sae tek nae thought, 
 Tou’s better far widout her. 
 
 F 
 
82 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Peer man ! her fadder weel we ken, 
 
 He’s but an ass-buird meaker ; 
 
 But she’s town-bred, and, silly gowk ! 
 Thou’d gi’e thy teeth to teake her. 
 
 I’ve seen thee flyre and jwoke like mad. 
 
 At aw our country fellows ; 
 
 But now thou seeghs and luiks like death, 
 Or yen gawn to the gallows ; 
 
 Thou’s sous’d owre head and ears i’ luive — * 
 Nay, nobbet luik at Cwoley ! 
 
 He wags his tail, as if to say, 
 
 4 Wey, what’s the matter, Wully?* 
 
 There’s lads but few in our town, ; 
 
 And lasses wanters plenty, 
 
 And he that fain wad wed a weyfe 
 May weale yen out o’ twenty : — 
 
 There’s Tamer Toppin, Aggy Sharp, 
 
 And dogger Wilkin’ Tibby ; 
 
 There’s Greacy Gurvin, Matty Meer, 
 
 And Thingumbob’ lal Debby *. 
 
 Then there’s Wully Gutfy’ dowter Nan 
 At thee aye keeks and glances, 
 
 For tou’s the apple o’ their een 
 At cairdin neets and dances ; 
 
 * My titty, tui, ae neet asleep, 
 
 Cried, 4 Canny Wully Miller !’ 
 
 I poud her hair, she blush’d rwose reed, 
 
 Sae gang thy ways e’en till her. 
 
 Tell mudder aw the news tou kens ; 
 
 To fadder talk o* th’ weather ; 
 
 Then lilt tern up a sang or twea, 
 
 To please tern aw together ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 83 
 
 She'll set thee out, then speak thy mind — 
 
 She’ll suit thee till a shevin ; 
 
 But town-bred deames, to sec as we, 
 
 Are seldom worth the hevin. 
 
 February 28, 1804. 
 
 THE TWEE AULD MEN. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 What, Gabriel ! come swat thy ways down on the 
 sattle, 
 
 I lang for a bit of a crack ; 
 
 Thy granson I sent owre the geate for some ’bacco — 
 
 The varment ’ll niver come back ! — 
 
 Nay, keep on thy hat: we heed nought about 
 manners : 
 
 What news about your en’ o’ the town ? 
 
 They say the king’s badly ; thur times gang but 
 oddly ; 
 
 The war! just seems turn’d upseyde down; 
 
 Ay, what alterations, and out-o’-way fashions, 
 
 Sin lal todlin callans were we ! 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 O, Matthew ! they’ve cutten the yeks and the eshes, 
 
 That grew owre anent the kurk waw ! 
 
 How oft dud we lake just like wild things amang 
 them ; 
 
 But suin we, like them, mun lig low ! 
 
 The schuil-house is fawn, where we beath lam’d 
 our letters, 
 
 For tee, tou cud figure and write ; 
 
 I mind 45 what a monstrous hard task and a lickin 
 Tou gat when tou fit wi’ Tom Wheyte ; 
 
84 j CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Wherever yen ranges, the chops and the change* I 
 Oft mek a tear gush frae my e’e. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 Then, Gabey, thou minds when we brak Dinah* 
 worchet — 
 
 Stown apples bairns aw think are sweet— 
 Deuce tek this bad ’bacco ! de’il bin, it *11 draw nin,!. i 
 Yen mud as weel smuik a wet peat ! — 
 
 What, yonder’s Rob Donaldson got a lang letter, 
 And some say it talks of a peace ; 
 
 But that ’ll nit happen i’ thy time or my time, 
 
 Widout we can get a new lease. 
 
 Here, lass ! bring some yell in, drinkin’s nae failing 
 Let’s moisten our clay ere we dee. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 Ay, Matt ! what they buried auld Glaister last 
 Monday — 
 
 Peer Jwosep ! we went to ae schuil ! — 
 
 He married deef Marget, the Gammelsby beauty, 
 
 A silly proud cat-witted fuil : 
 
 Ae son pruiv’d a taistrel, and brak up at Lunnon, 
 But Jwosep he gat aw to pay ; 
 
 Anudder, they said, turn’d out nit quite owre honesty 
 
 Sae gat off to Botany Bay 
 
 O, man ! this frost pinches, and kills fwok by 
 inches, 
 
 It’s e’en meade a cripple o’ me ! 
 
 MATTHEW. % 
 
 Ay, Gabey ! it’s lang sin’ thou married Ann Lawson ; 
 Tou minds when we off like the win’ 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 85 
 
 Frae kurk to the yell-house ? — What, I was weel 
 mounted, 
 
 And left them aw twea mile behin. 
 
 Then there was Young Gabey, our weyfe was his 
 goddy, 
 
 A brave murry cursnin we had ; 
 
 ! We kent nought o’ tea, or sec puzzen i’ thar days. 
 But drank tweyce-brew’d yell till hawf mad : 
 [There was Kitt and Ned Neilson, and Dan and 
 Wat Wilson, 
 
 They’ve aw geane and left thee and me. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 There*s ae thing, guid Matthew, I’ve lang thought 
 of axin, 
 
 And that tou mun grant if tou can ; 
 
 When I’s stiff and cauld, see me decently coffin’d, 
 And laid down aseyde my weyfe Ann. 
 
 My peer granson Jwosep, he thrives and he grows 
 up, 
 
 O luik till him when I’s low laid ! 
 
 Mind he gaes to the kurk, and sticks weel till his 
 larnin, 
 
 And get him a bit of a trade ; 
 
 The neybors will bless thee, it wunnet distress thee, 
 And happy auld Gabriel can dee. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 Keep up thy heart, Gabey ! nae guid comes o’ 
 grievin ; 
 
 Aye laugh at the warl, if thou’d thrive ; 
 
 I’ve buried three wey ves, and mun e’en hev anudder, 
 I’s quite young and rash — eighty-five ; 
 
 Then sec a hard drinker, a wustler, a feghter, 
 
 A cocker I’ve been i’ my time ; 
 
86 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 And as for a darrak, in barn or in meadow, 
 
 Whea match’d me, when just i’ my prime? 
 
 I ne’er thought o’ whinin, or gowlin or pinin— 
 We’re wise when we chearfu’ can be. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 Nay but, neighbour Matthew, when ninety lang 
 winters 
 
 Ha’e bent you, and powder’d the pow, 
 
 We grane i’ th’ nuik, wi’ few friens or acquaintance, 
 And just fin’ we cannot tell how : 
 
 For me, I’s sair fash’d wi’ a cough and the gravel, 
 And ae single tuith i’ my head ; 
 
 Then, sin’ my peer bairn they tuik off for a sowdger, 
 I’ve wish’d I were nobbet weel dead - 
 The house uncle ga’e me, the squire’s e’en ta’en 
 frae me ; 
 
 There’s nought but the warkhouse for me ! 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 My fadder, God rust him ! wi’ pinchin and pleenin, 
 Screap’d up aw the gear he cud get ; 
 
 I’ve been a sad deevil, and spent gowd i’ gowpens, 
 But still ha’e a hantel left yet : 
 
 Come gi’es thy hand, Gabey ! 4 3 tou’s welcome as 
 may be, 
 
 My purse and my ambrie to share ; 
 
 We’ll talk of auld times, — eat, drink, and be merry : 
 Thy granson sail get what we spare : — 
 
 Then leet thy pipe, Gabey ! tou’s welcome as may 
 be, 
 
 They’s ne’er mek a beggar o’ thee ! 
 
 March 14, 1804. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 87 
 
 UNCLE WULLY. 
 
 Tune — “ Woo'd and married an * a*.” 
 
 1 It’s a comical warl this we live in,* 
 
 Says Calep, and Calep says reet ; 
 
 For Matty, that’s got aw the money, 
 
 Has e’en geane and wedded deyl’d Peat. 
 
 He’s nobbet a heather-feac’d maz’lin, 
 
 And disn’t ken whisky frae yell ; 
 
 But her, weel brong up and a scholar, 
 
 Has just meade a fuil o’ hersel ! 
 
 De’il bin but she’d little to de, 
 
 To tek sec a hawflin as he, 
 
 That nowther kens A, B, nor C ! — 
 
 Nay, what sec a pair can ne’er ’gree l 
 
 He ne’er hes a teale widout laitin, 
 
 And hardleys can grease his awn clogs ; 
 
 He marry a decent man’s dowter ! 
 
 He’s fitter to lig amang hogs ! 
 
 At the clock for an hour he’ll keep glymin, 
 But de’il e’er the time he can tell ; 
 
 And my niece, for that ae word husband, 
 
 Has e’en geane and ruin’d hersel. 
 
 De’il bin, &c. 
 
 Her fadder, God keep him ! my billy, 
 
 Aye thought her the flow’r o’ them aw ; 
 
 And said on his deeth-bed, * O, Wully! 
 
 4 Luik till her, man ! when I lig low !* 
 
 I meade her beath reader and writer — 
 
 Nin bang’d her, the maister can tell ; — 
 
 But, speyte o’ beath larnin and manners, 
 
 She’s e’en meade a guff of hersel. 
 
 De’il bin, &c. 
 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 When lasses get past aw advisin, 
 
 Oar’s then turns a piteous case ; 
 
 A cwoat or sark yen may shep them, 
 
 But aw cannot gi’e them God’s grace . 
 
 For me, I’ll e’en deet my hands on her, 
 
 And this aw our neybors I’ll tell ; 
 
 She’s meade a bad bed, let her lig on’t, 
 
 And think how she’s ruin’d hersel. 
 
 De’il bin but she’d little to de, 
 
 To tek sec a mazlin as he, 
 
 That nowther kens A, B, nor C !— 
 
 Nay, what sec a pair can ne'er ’gree ! 
 
 April 10, 1804 
 
 GUID STRANG YELL. 
 
 Our Ellek likes fat bacon weel, 44 
 And haver-bannock pleases Dick ; 
 
 A cowd-lword meks lal Wully fain. 
 
 And cabbish aye turns Phillip sick ; 
 
 Our deame’s for gurdle-keake and tea, 
 And Betty’s aw for thick pez-keale ; 
 
 Let ilk yen fancy what they wull, 
 
 Still my delight is guid Strang yell. 
 
 I ne’er had muckle, ne’er kent want, 
 
 Ne’er wrang’d a neybor, frien, or kin ; 
 
 My wife and bairns ’buin aw I prize— 
 There’s music i’ their varra din : 
 
 I labour suin, I labour leate, 
 
 And chearfu’ eat my humble meal ; 
 
 My weage can feed and dead us aw, 
 
 And whiles affords me guid Strang yell. 
 
 What’s aw the warl widout content? 
 
 Wi* that and health man can’t be peer ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 89 
 
 We suin slip off frae friens and foes, 
 
 Then whea but fuils wad feight for gear : 
 ’Bout kings and consuls gowks may fratch ; 
 
 For me I scworn to vex mysel, 
 
 But laugh at courts and owre-grown knaves, 
 When I’ve a hush o’ guid strang yell. 
 
 April 22, 1 804, 
 
 BURGH RACES. 
 
 OWijlly! had tou nobbet been at Burgh Races ! 4 5 
 
 It seem’d, lad, as if aw the warl were met ; 
 
 Some went to be seen, others off for divarsion, 
 
 And monie went there a lock money to bet ; 
 
 The cup was aw siller, and letter’d reet neycely. 
 
 A feyne naig they’ve put on’t, forby my lword’s 
 neame ; 
 
 It hods nar a quart, for monie drank out on’t, 
 
 And open’d their gills till they cu’dn’t creep 
 heame. 
 
 There was, * How fens te, Tommy ?* — ‘ What, 
 J wosep ! I’s gaily : 4 6 
 
 ‘ Wey, is there ought unket i’ your country 
 seyde? 
 
 * Here, landlword ! a noggin !* — * Whea rides the 
 Collector ?’ 
 
 * What Meason’ auld meer can bang aw far and 
 weyde !’ 
 
 There wur snaps, yell, nuts, gingerbread, shwort- 
 keakes, and brandy, 
 
 And tents full o’ ham, beef, and nowble veaJ 
 T>ye; 
 
90 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 There was Greenup wi’ a reet and true list o' tfa 
 horses, 
 
 The nearnes o* the awners and reyders forby. 
 
 Ere they saddl’d, the gamlers peep’d sair at then 
 horses ; i f) 
 
 Sec scrudgin, the fwok were just ready to brust j. | 
 Wi* swearin and bettin they meade a sad hay-bay d 
 ‘ I’ll lig six to four !* — 4 Done ! cum down wi’ thf ^ 
 dust !’ 
 
 4 What think ye o’ Lawson ?’ — ( The field for &i 
 guinea !’ : | j] 
 
 * I’ll mention the winner ! dare onie yen lay ?’ 
 Jwohn Blaylock* reed handkitcher wav’d at the] 
 dissnens ; j 
 
 At startin, he cried , 1 Yen, twee, three, put away! 1 A 
 
 They went off leyke leetnin- — the auld meer’s a 
 topper — 
 
 She flew like an arrow, and shew’d tem her tailjlj 
 
 They hugg’d, whupp’d, and spurr’d, but cud niverj 
 yence touch her — 
 
 The winners they rear’d, and the lwosers turn’d! 
 pale ; 
 
 Peer Lawson gat dissen’d, and sae sud the tudders, , 
 Furst heat was a chase, and the neist a tek-in ; 1 
 
 Then some drank their winnins ; — but, wofu’ disaster, \ 
 It rain’d, and the lasses gat wet to the skin. ] 
 
 Leyke pez in a pot, neist at Sandsfield they caper’d,:, | 
 The lads did the lasses sae kittle and hug ; 
 
 Young Crosset, i’ fettle, had got bran new pumps 1 
 And brong fisher Jemmy a clink i’ the lug ; 
 
 Thelasses they belder’d out, ‘ Man thysel, Jemmy !’ 4 7 
 His comrades they pond off his cwoat and his 
 sark ; 
 

 CUMBERLAND BAE 
 
 They fit, lugg’d, and lurry’d, aw owre 
 batter, 
 
 The landlword com in, and cried, * Shem o’ 
 wark !’ 
 
 There wur smugglers, excisemen, horse-cowpers, 
 and parsons, 
 
 Sat higglety-pigglety, aw fare a-leyke ; 
 
 |Lnd mowdy-warp Jacky — ay, man, it was funny ! — 
 
 He meade them aw laugh when he stuck in a 
 creyke. 
 
 There' were lasses frae Wigton, and Worton, and 
 Banton — 
 
 Some o’ them gat sweethearts, while others gat 
 neane ; 
 
 Ind bairns yet unbworn ’ll oft hear o* Burgh 
 Races, 
 
 For ne’er mun we see sec a meetin agean. 
 
 May 4?, 1804. 
 
 BIDDY. 
 
 Tune — “ Since love is the plan .” 
 
 Twas frost and thro* leet, wid a grey min o* snaw, 
 Vken I went to see Biddy, the flow’r o* them aw ; 
 o meet was agreed on at Seymy’ deyke nuik, 
 Vhere I saunter’d wi’ monie a seegh and lang luik, 
 lut poud up my spirits and off till her heame, 
 
 ^or when fwok mean reet, wey, what need they 
 think sheame ! 
 
 peep’d through the window to see what was 
 duin ; 48 
 
 ler fadder sat whusslin, and greasin his slioon ; 
 
LAND BALLADS. 
 
 dy was spinnin, the neet to beguile ; 
 Ihread it aye brak, she seem’d sad as cud be, 
 hd yen sat aside her, a stranger to me. 
 
 She turn’d her head frae him, and niver yence spak j 
 He struive for a kiss, then she up in a crack, 
 
 And suin i’ the faul, wi’ great pleasure we met, 
 But that happy moment we ne’er can forget : 
 
 To be mine she promis’d agean and agean, 
 
 And the priest, if God spares us, will suin mek us 
 
 Tune — 44 Good night , and joy he wV you a\” 
 
 Peer Dinah Dufton’s e’en wi’ bairn, 49 
 Oh, but I’s unco sworry for’t ! 
 
 A bonnier or a teydier lass, 
 
 No niver yet fell i’ the durt : 
 
 Auld Tim, her fadder, turn’d her out 
 At mid neet, tho* ’twas frost and snaw ; 
 
 She owre the geate, — what cud she de ? — 
 And sobb’d and gowl’d, and telt us aw. 
 
 My fadder shuik his head at furst, 
 
 But spak and acted leyke a man ; 
 
 4 Dinah [* says he, 4 tou sannot want, 
 
 Sae keep thy heart up, if tou can ; 
 
 I’ve lads and lasses o* my awn, 
 
 And nin can tell what they may de : 
 
 To turn thee out ! peer luckless bairn ! 
 Thy fadder e’en mun hardened be ! 
 
 yen. 
 
 May 15, 1804. 
 
 DINAH DUFTON. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 93 
 
 God niver meade a heartier lass, 
 
 For she wad sing for iver mair ; 
 
 Yet, when peer fwok were in distress, 
 
 To hear on’t, Oh ! it hurt her sair ! 
 
 This luive, they say, hides monie fau’ts ; 
 
 Peer thing ! the warl she little knew ! 
 
 But if she’d been by me advis’d, 
 
 She wadden’t hed sec cause to rue. 
 
 At Rosley Fair she chanc’d to leet 
 O* mangrel Wull, that wicked tuil; 
 
 He’d larn’d to hannel weel his feet, 
 
 And kept a bit o’ dancin schuil : 
 
 A fortune-teller neist he brib’d, 
 
 To say the match was meade abuin ; 
 
 But when he’d brong his ends about, 
 
 He nobbet laugh’d and left her suin. 
 
 Now Dinah’s apron’s grown quite shwort ; 
 Dull, downcast, outcry o’ the lave I 
 
 Aw day she whinges in our loft, 
 
 And wishes she were in her grave : 
 
 But mangrel Wull, that wicked tuil, 
 
 My fadder says sail lig in jail ; 
 
 And he that ruins onie lass, 
 
 De’il tek the man that wad him bail. 
 
 July 16, 1804. 
 
 NED CARNAUGHAN. 
 Tune — “ The Miller of Dee .” 
 
 My mudder was teakin her nuin’s rest, 
 My fadder was out at the hay, 
 
 When Ned Carnaughan com bouncin in, 
 And luik’d as he’d gotten a flay : 
 

 * o, Sib !* says he, 4 I's duin wi’ te ; 
 
 ‘ Nay, what, tou blushes and stares !— 
 
 * I seed thee last neet wi’ bow-hough’d Peat, 
 
 * And de’il tek them that cares !’ 
 
 Says I to Ned, to Ned says I, 
 
 * What’s aw this fuss about ? 
 
 < I’s seer he’s a reet lish country lad, 
 
 * And tou’s just a parfet lout : 
 
 4 But whea were liggen i* Barney’s croft, 
 
 4 And lakin like twea hares ? 
 
 4 And whea kiss’d Suke frae lug to lug ? 
 
 4 Wey, de’il tek them that cares!’ 
 
 Says Ned, says he, 4 the thimmel gi’e me 5 0 
 4 1 brong thee frae Bran ton fair, 
 
 4 And gi’e back the broach and true-love knot 
 4 And lock o’ my awn reed hair ; 
 
 4 And pay me the tuppence I wan frae thee 
 4 Ae neet at pops and pairs ; 
 
 4 Then e’en tek on wi’ whea thou leykes 
 
 The de’il tek them that cares !’ 
 
 The broach and thimmel I flang at his feace, 
 The true-love knot i’ the fire ; 
 
 Says I, 4 tou’s nobbet a hawflin bworn — 
 
 4 Fash me nae mair, I desire ; — 
 
 4 Here, tek thy tuppence, a reape to buy, 
 
 4 And gi’e thysel nae mair airs ; 
 
 4 But hing as hee as Gilderoy — 
 
 4 The de’il tek them that cares i* 
 
 July 27, 1804. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 95 
 
 THE COCKER O’ CODBECK. 
 
 Tune — “ Patrick's day V th % morning .** 
 
 There was ill gusty J emmy, the cocker o’ Codbeck, a 1 
 He follow’d blin Leethet’ lass years twee or three; 
 She laid in o’ twins, and was e’en broken-hearted, 
 For Jemmy had left her — and, neist, what did he, 
 But ran owre to Hesket, and wedded anudder ; 
 i Suin peer Greacy Leethet was laid in her grave ; 
 The last words she spak were, * O God, forgi’e 
 Jemmy ! 
 
 I may rue the day when he stuil my heart frae me ! 
 * Tho’ I’s gawn to leave you, my innocents save ! 
 Her twea bairns she kiss’d, 
 
 And then sunk into rest. 
 
 O but sec-like fellows sud suffer ! 
 
 [ ne’er can forget when the corpse cross’d the lonnin, 
 Amang auld and young there was nit a dry e’e ; 
 \w whop’d she was happy— but, O man ! her fadder, 
 When they cover’d the coffin, we thought he wad 
 dee ! 
 
 He cried, 4 I’ve nae comfort sin’ I’ve lost my 
 Greacy ! 
 
 O that down aseyde her my head I could lay !’ 
 For Jemmy, de’il bin him ! he’s kent nought but 
 crosses, 
 
 He’s shunn’d by the lads, and he’? hiss’d by the 
 lasses, 
 
 And Greacy’s ghost haunts him by neet and by 
 day ; 
 
 Nae neybor luiks near him, 
 
 The bairns they aw fear him ; 
 
 And may sec-like fellows still suffer ! 
 
 July 28, ISO k 
 
96 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 CANNY CUMMEELAN. 
 
 Tune — “ The humours of Glen” 1 
 
 ’TwAsae neet last week, wid our wark efter suppei 
 We went owre the geate cousin Isbel to see; j ( 
 There were Sibby frae Curthet, and lal Betty Byer;r 
 Deef Debby, forby Bella Bunton and me ; | 
 
 We’d scarce begun spinnin, when Sib a sang liltec 
 She’d brong her frae Carel by their sarvant man a i 
 ’Twas aw about Cummerlan fwok and feyne pleace&s 
 And, if I can think on’t, ye’s hear how it ran. ; 
 
 ■ i 
 
 Yer buik-larn’d wise gentry, that’s seen monk 
 counties, 
 
 May preach and palaver, and brag as they will i 
 O’ mountains, lakes, valleys, woods, watters, antu 
 meadows, 
 
 But canny auld Cummerlan caps them aw still : 5 ? 1 
 It’s true we’ve nae palaces sheynin amang us, 
 
 Nor marble tall towers to catch the weak eye ; ; 1 
 But we’ve monie feyne castles, where fit our bravw 
 fadders, 
 
 When Cummerlan cud onie county defy. 
 
 Furst Gray stock we’ll nwotish, the seat o’ girf j 
 Norfolk, j , 
 
 A neame still to freemen and Englishmen dear r 
 Ye Cummerlan fwok, may your sons and youfi 
 gransons j 
 
 Sec rare honest statesmen for iver revere ; 
 Corruption’s a sink that ’ll puzzen the country, 
 
 And lead us to slav’ry, to me it seems plain ; 
 
 But he that has courage to stem the black torrent 
 True Britons sud pray for, agean and agean. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 97 
 
 Whea that hes climb’d Skiddaw, hes seen sec a 
 prospec, 
 
 Where fells frown owre foils, and in majesty vie ? 
 
 Whea that has seen Keswick, can count hawf its 
 beauties, 
 
 ; May e’en try to count hawf the stars i’ the sky : 
 
 There’s Ullswater, Bassenth waite, West water, 
 Derwent, 
 
 Tbot thousands on thousands ha’e travell’d to 
 view, 
 
 The langer they gaze, still the mair they may wonder, 
 And aye, as they wonder, may fin* summet new. 
 
 We’ve Corby, 35 for rocks, caves, and walks, sae 
 delightfu’, 
 
 That Eden a paradise loudly proclaims ; 
 
 D that sec-like pleaces hed aye sec-like awners, 
 Then mud monie girt fwok be proud o’ their 
 neames !’ 
 
 We’ve Netherby tui, the grand pride o’ the border, 
 And haws out o’ number nae county can bang ; 
 
 Wi’ rivers romantic as Tay, Tweed, or Yarrow, 
 And green woodbine bowers weel wordy a sang. 
 
 We help yen anudder; we welcome the stranger; 
 
 | Oursels and our country we’ll iver defend ; 
 
 We pay bits o’ taxes as weel as we’re yable, 
 
 And pray like true Britons, the war hed an end ; 
 
 Then, Cummerlan lads, and ye lish rwosy lasses, 
 
 If some caw ye clownish, ye needn’t think 
 sheame ; 
 
 Be merry and wise, enjoy innocent pleasures, 
 
 And aye seek for health and contentment at 
 heame. 
 
 August 12, 1804. 
 
 G 
 
98 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 JEFF AND JOB. 
 
 Tune — “ Fye , gae rub her owre wV strae /” 
 
 JEFF. 
 
 Come, Job, let’s talk o’ weel-kent pleaces, 
 When young tearin chaps were we : 
 
 Now nin nar us but fremm’d feaces — 
 
 Few to seyde wi’ thee and me ! — 
 
 Years are geane by twee and twonty, * 
 Sin’ I kent thy curly pow — 
 
 Aye the furst at wark and spwortin, 
 
 Were Jeff Heyne and Jwosep Howe. 
 
 JOB. 
 
 Ay, Jeff! we’ve lang kent yen anudder; 
 
 Monie a time when chaps were crouse, 
 And meade a brulliment and bodder, 
 
 Jeff and Job ha’e clear’d the house; 
 
 Nin leyke thee cud fling the geavelick ; 64 
 
 Nin leyke me lak’d at fit-baw ; 
 
 Wi’ pennysteans tou was a darter — 
 
 I at trippet bang’d tern aw. 
 
 JEFF. 
 
 Then, Job, I mind at your kurn-supper , 55 
 When I furst saw Elcy Greame, 
 
 I cuddent eat — my heart it flutter’d — 
 
 Lang Tom Leytle watch’d us heame : 
 
 We were young, and beath i’ fettle — . 
 
 He wad feight — we e’en set tui ; 
 
 In the clarty seugh I sent him — 
 
 Elcy skirl’d — what cud she dui? 
 
 JOB. 
 
 And, Jeff, when met at Cursmas cairdins , 36 
 Few durst lake wi’ thee and me ; 
 
99 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 When wd’d hack’d the lads aw roun us, 
 
 Off to the lasses’ bed went we ; 
 
 The ass-buird sarrat as a teable, 
 
 Legs anunder t’ claes were laid ; 
 
 Forby laughin, kissin, jwokin, 
 
 Monie a harmless prank we play’d. 
 
 JEFF. 
 
 Now, Job, we pay for youthfu* follies— 
 
 Aw our happy days are geane ; 
 
 Tou’s turn’d grousome, bare, and dozen’d, 
 
 I’s just worn to skin and beane. 
 
 But maister’s comin in a flurry — 
 
 Sarvants aye sud meynd their work ; 
 
 I mun off to deetin havver — 
 
 Fares-te-weel till efter dark ! 
 
 October 12, 1804. 
 
 TIB AND HER MAISTER. 
 
 I’s tir’d wi’ liggin aye my leane ; 
 
 This day seems fair and clear ; 
 
 Seek th’ auld grey yad, clap on the pad, 
 
 She’s duin nae wark te year : 
 
 Furst, Tib, get me my best lin sark, 
 
 My wig, and new-greas’d shoon ; 
 
 My three-nuik’d hat, and mittens white — • 
 
 I’ll hev a young weyfe suin ! 5 7 
 A young weyfe for me, Tib, 
 
 A young weyfe for me ; 
 
 She’ll scart my back whene’er it yuks, 
 
 Sae married I mun be ! 
 
 ‘ Wey, maister ! you’re hawf blin’ and deef— 
 
 * The rain comes pouring down 
 
100 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 * Your best iin sark wants beath the laps, 
 
 4 Your tliree-nuik’d hat the crown ; 
 
 4 The rattens eat your clouted shoon ; 
 
 * The yad’s unshod and leame ; 
 
 * You’re bent wi’ yeage leyke onie bow, 
 
 4 Sae sit content at heame. 
 
 4 A young weyfe for ye, man ! 
 
 4 A young weyfe for ye ! 
 
 4 They’ll rank ye wi* the horned nowt 
 4 Until the day ye dee !’ 
 
 O, Tib, thou aye talks leyke a fuil l 
 I’s fail’d, but nit sae auld ; 
 
 A young weyfe keeps yen warm i’ bed, 
 When neets are lang and cauld : 
 
 I’ve brass far mair than I can count, 
 
 And sheep, and naigs, and kye ; 
 
 A house luiks howe widout a weyfe — 
 
 My luck I’ll e’en gae try. 
 
 A young weyfe for me, Tib, 
 
 A young weyfe for me ; 
 
 I yet can lift twee pecks o* wots, 
 
 Tho* turn’d o* eighty-three. 
 
 4 Weel, maister, ye maun ha’e your way, 
 
 4 And sin* ye’ll wedded be, 
 
 4 I’s lish and young, and stout and strang, 
 
 4 Sae what think ye o’ me ? 
 
 4 I’ll keep ye teydey, warm, and clean, 
 
 4 To wrang ye I wad scworn.’ 
 
 Tib ! gi’es thy hand ! — a bargain be’t — 
 We’ll off to kurk to-mworn ! 
 
 A young weyfe for me, Tib, 
 
 Tou was meade for me ; 
 
 We’ll kiss and coddle aw the neet, 
 
 And aye we’ll happy be ! 
 
 November 11, 180 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 101 
 JWOHNY AND MARY. 
 
 Tune — “ Come under my plaidie .” 
 
 SToung Mary was canny and bonny as onie lass, 
 Jwohny was lusty and weel to be seen ; 
 
 foung Mary was aye the best dancer at murry 
 neets, 
 
 Jwohny had won monie a belt on the green : 
 
 bang, lang they were sweethearts, and nwotish’d 
 by neybors ; 
 
 ; Th’ auld fwok they talk’d, and oft bragg’d o’ the 
 twee, 
 
 For Jwohny thought nin i’ th* warl like young 
 Mary, 
 
 i And Mary thought Jwohny aw she wish’d to see. 
 
 A wee swope guid yell is a peer body’s comfort , 38 
 But wo be to him that oft drinks till blin* fou ! 
 
 ifoung Jwohny ae day off wi’ bigg to the market, 
 And drank wi’ some neybors, he little thought 
 how. 
 
 Elis auld fadder watch’d till the black hour o' 
 midneet ; 
 
 Widoiit his dear Jwohny, the naig gallop’d 
 heame ; 
 
 They sought, and they fan him that mwornin 
 i’ Eden, 
 
 Amang the green busses that nod owre the stream. 
 
 Auld Gibby he gowls, and aye talks of his Jwohny, 
 And sits by his greave and oft meks a sad meane ; 
 
 Peer Mary, the flow’r of aw flow’rs i’ the parish, 
 Ne’er hods up her head, now her Jwohny is 
 geane. 
 
 The dangerous yell-house kills monie brave 
 fellows , 3 & 
 
 
102 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 To get heame quite swober can ne’er be thoug ft 
 v wrang ; 
 
 Nae guid comes o’ drinkin. — Ye lads aw arouii ft 
 me, 
 
 At fair, or at market, aye think o’ my sang ! Ci 
 November 11 , 1804 
 
 * ’ R 
 
 THE CLAY DAUBIN. .! i 
 
 Tune — “ Andrew Carr” p 
 
 We went owre to Deavie* Clay Daubin , 80 
 And faith a rare caper we had, 
 
 Wi’ eatin, and drinkin, and dancin, 
 
 And rwoarin, and singin leyke mad ; \ 
 
 Wi * crackin, and jwokin, and braggin, 
 
 And fratchin, and feightin and aw 
 Sec glorious fun and divarsion 
 Was ne’er seen in castle or haw. 
 
 Sing hey for a snug clay biggin, 
 
 And lasses that leyke a bit spwort ; 
 
 Wi’ friens and plenty to gi’e them, 
 
 We’ll laugh at King Gworge and his cwor r 
 
 The waws were aw finish’d er darknin ; 
 
 Now, greypes, shouls, and barrows thrown by, 
 Auld Deavie spak up wid a hursle — 
 
 * Od rabbit it ! lads, ye’ll be dry ; 
 
 * See, deame, if we’ve got a swope whusky — 61 
 
 ‘ I’s sworry the rum bottle’s duin — 
 
 * We’ll starken our keytes, I’ll uphod us — 
 
 * Come, Adams, rasp up a lal tune !* 
 
 When Bill kittl’d up “ Chips and Shavins 
 Auld Philip poud out Matty Meer, 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 103 
 
 Then nattFd his heels like a youngen, 
 
 And caper’d about the clay fleer ; 
 
 Ele deeted his gob, and he buss’d her, 
 
 As lish as a lad o’ sixteen ; 
 
 >ies Wull, 4 Od dy ! fadder’s i’ fettle ! 
 
 I 4 His marrow ’ll niver be seen !’ 
 
 Eteet sair did we miss Jemmy Coupland— 
 
 : Bad crops, silly man, meade him feale ; 
 
 Last Sunday fwornuin, efter sarvice, 
 
 I> th* kurk-garth, the dark caw’d his seale. 6 * 
 peer Jemmy ! of aw his bit oddments 
 A shettle the bealies ha’e ta’en, 
 
 And now he’s reet fain of a darrak, 
 
 For pan, dish, or spuiri, he hes neane. 
 
 Wi’ scons, leather-hungry and whusky, 
 
 Auld Aggy cried, 4 Meake way for me ! 
 
 1 Ye men fwok, eat, drink, and be murry, 
 
 4 Wheyle we i’ the bower get tea.’ 
 
 The whillymer eat teugh and teasty. 
 
 Aw cramm’d fou o’ grey pez and seeds ; 
 
 They row’d it up teane agean tudder — 
 
 Nae dainties the hungry man needs. 
 
 Now in com the women fwok buncing — 
 
 Widout tern there’s niver nee fun ; 
 
 Wi’ whusky aw weeted their wizzens, 
 
 But suin a sad hay-bay begun ; 
 
 For Jock, the young laird, was new wedded, 
 
 His auld sweetheart Jenny luik’d wae ; 
 
 While some were aw titterin and flyrin, 
 
 The lads rubb’d her down 63 wi pez strae. 
 
 * This is’a ludicrous name given to a poor sort of cheese 
 made of skimmed milk, and made use of by some ot 
 the peasants of Cumberland as a part of their meals. 
 It is also sometimes called Whillymer, and sometimes 
 Rosley Cheshire. 
 
 
104 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Rob Lowson tuik part wi’ peer Jenny, 
 
 And bron^tenift’ring Gwordie a clufF ; 
 
 I* th’ scufflelBRr leam’d Lowson’ mudder, 
 
 And fain thlp’jl ha’e stripp’d into buff: 
 
 Neist Peter caw’d Gibby a rebel, 
 
 And aw rwoar’d out, that was wheyte wrang ; 
 Cried Deavie, ‘ Shek hans, and nae mair on’t — ! 
 
 ‘ I’s sing ye a bit of a sang.* 
 
 He lilted “ The King and the Tinker,” 
 
 And Wully strack up “ Robin Hood 
 Dick Mingins tried “ Hooly and Fairly,” 
 
 And Martha “ The Babs o’ the Wood 
 They push’d round a glass leyke a noggin, 
 
 And bottom’d the greybeard complete ; 
 
 Then crack’d till the muin glowr’d amang them. 
 And wish’d yen anudder guid neet. 
 
 December 21, 1804. 
 
 THE FELLOWS ROUND TORKIN.* 
 
 Tune — “ The Yorkshire Concert 
 
 We’re aw feyne fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We’re aw guid fellows weel met ; 
 
 We’re aw wet fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat : 
 
 Let’s drink to the lasses about us, 
 
 Till day’s braid glare bids us start ; 
 
 We’ll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 
 Come, Dicky, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 * A wood-covered hill, near Crofton Hall, in 
 Cumberland. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 105 
 
 I’ll gi’e ye, says Dick, Durty Dinah, 
 
 That’s aye big wi’ bairn fwok suppose ; 
 She sticks out her lip leyke a pentes, 
 
 To kep what may drop frae her nwose : 
 Leyke a hay-stack she hoists up ae shou’der* 
 And scarts, for she’s nit varra soun : 
 
 Wi’ legs thick as mill-posts, and greasy, 
 
 The deevil cud nit ding her down ! 
 
 We’re aw odd fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We’re aw larn’d fellows weel met ; 
 
 We’re aw rich fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat : 
 
 Let’s drink to the lasses about us, 
 
 Till day’s braid glare bids us part : 
 
 We’ll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 
 Come, Matthew, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 I’ll gi’e ye, says Matt, midden Marget, 
 
 That squints wi’ the left-handed e’e ; 
 When at other fellows she’s gleymin, 
 
 I’s freeten’d she’s luikin at me : 
 
 She smells far stranger than carrion, 
 
 Her cheeks are as dark as hung beef, 
 
 Her breasts are as flat as a back-buird ; 
 ’Mang sluts she’s aye counted the chief! 
 
 We’re aw wise fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We’re aw neyce fellows weel met ; 
 
 We’re aw sad fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat : 
 
 Let’s drink to the lasses about us, 
 
 Till day’s braid glare bids us part ; 
 
 We’ll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 
 Come, Gwordy, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
106 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 I’ll gi’e ye, says Gworge, geapin Grizzy, 
 
 Wi’ girt feet and marrowless legs ; 
 
 Her reed neb wad set fire to brumstone ; 
 
 Her een are as big as duck eggs : 
 
 She’s shep’d leyke a sweyne i* the middle, 
 
 Her skin’s freckl’d aw leyke a gleid ; 
 
 Her mouth’s weyde as onie town yubben, 
 We’re freeten’d she’ll swally her head ! 
 
 We’re aw strang fellows round Tor kin ; 
 
 We’re aw lish fellows weel met ; 
 
 We’re aw top fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat : 
 
 Let’s drink to the lasses about us, 
 
 Till day’s braid glare bids us start ; 
 
 We’ll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 
 Come, Wully, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 I’ll gi’e ye, says Wull, winkin Winny, 
 
 That measures exact three feet eight, 
 
 But wi* roun-shou’der’d Ruth, or tall Tibby, 
 She’ll scart, and she’ll girn, and she’ll feight 
 
 She’s cruik’d as an S — wid a hip out, 
 
 Her feet flat and braid, as big fluiks ; 
 
 Her feace is as lang as a fiddle, 
 
 And aw spatter’d owre wi’ reed plouks ! 
 
 We’re aw young fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We’re aw teeght fellows weel met ; 
 
 We’re aw brave fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat : 
 
 Let’s drink to the lasses about us, 
 
 Till day’s braid glare bids us part ; 
 
 We’ll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 
 Come, Mwosey, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 107 
 
 I’ll gi’e ye, says Mwose, mantln Matty, 
 
 That lisps through her black rotten teeth ; 
 You can’t catch five words in ten minutes: 
 
 If gowlin, she’d flay yen to deeth : 
 
 Her feace like auld Nick’s nutmeg grater. 
 
 And yallow neck bitten wi’ fleas ; 
 
 She’s troubl’d wi’ win’ aye at meale teymes, 
 
 And belshes to give hersel ease. 
 
 We’re aw ’cute fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 , We’re aw sharp fellows weel met ; 
 
 We’re aw rare fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat : 
 
 Let’s drink to the lasses about us, 
 
 Till day’s braid glare bids us part : 
 
 We’ll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 
 Come, Nathan, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 I’ll gi’e ye, says Natt, noisy Nanny, 
 
 That chows shag ’bacco for fun ; 
 
 She cocks her belly when walkin, 
 
 And aye luiks down to the grun : 
 
 She talks beath sleepin and wakin, 
 
 And crowks leyke a tead when she speaks ; 
 On her nwose en’ the hair grows leyke stibble, 
 And gravy drops run owre her cheeks ! 
 
 We’re aw teugh fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We’re aw rash fellows weel met ; 
 
 We’re aw queer fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat: 
 
 Let’s drink to the lang, leame, and lazy, 
 
 Deef, dum, black, brown, bleer-e’ed, and blin, 
 May they suin get weel weddet, and beddet. 
 
 If lads they can onie where fin ! 
 
108 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 THE DAWSTON PLAYER-FWOK. 
 
 Tune — “ Derry Down.” 
 
 Come, stur the fire, Shadrich ! and hearken to me; 
 
 I went up to Dawston their play-fwok to see, 
 
 And paid my cruik’d tizzy, and gat a front seat ; 
 
 Thrang as three in a bed, they were wedg’d in 
 
 that neet. -r» o 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Furst the ban on their hoyboys and peypes did sae 
 cruin, 
 
 Tho’ they blew oft and sair, it aye seem’d the seame 
 tune : 
 
 Aw was famish confusion — but when they began, 
 
 Lack-a-day ! the fair penitent pruiv’d but a man ! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 When they chink’d a lal bell, there was yen summet 
 spak, 
 
 But he hung down his head, and he held up his 
 back; 
 
 The picture caw’d Garrick abuin the stage stood, 
 
 I thought it yence laugh’d, and i’ faith weel it mud! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Like a hawf white-wash’d sweep, yen Orashi* 
 bunc’d in, 
 
 And he tweyn’d leyke an edder, and cock’d up 
 his chin; 
 
 In his yallow plush breeks, and lang black rusty 
 sword, 
 
 Wid his square gob weyde open— thought I, what 
 a Lword ! Derry Down, &c. 
 
 • The manner in which they pronounced the different 
 names. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 109 
 
 He was drucken, (that’s sarten ;) he cudn’t get on ; 
 
 * Loavins !’ cried an auld woman ; ‘ what, that’s 
 
 Rutson’ Jwohn !’ 
 
 * Mess, but he’s a darter !’ ‘a topper !’ says I, 
 
 Was he but in a meedow, he’d freeten the kye. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 In bonnie flower’d weastcwoat, and full-bottom'd 
 wig, 
 
 Auld Siholto he squeak’d leyke a stuck guinea pig ; 
 
 Then his dowter he fratch’d, and her sweetheart 
 forby, 
 
 O man ! it was movin, and meade the bairns cry ! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Yen whisper’d me softly — ‘that’s Clogger Jwohn 
 Bell.’ 
 
 Says I, ‘leyke eneugh, of that man I’ve heard tell.* 
 
 Now a tweesome talk’d loud, but nit varra discreet. 
 
 For they promis’d twea whores f afore nuin they 
 wad meet. Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Frae tae fit to tudder, Lothari he hopp’d, 
 
 Aw leyke clock- wark ; his words tui how neycely 
 he chopp’d ! 
 
 Peer body ! he waddent lig whiet, when dead, 
 
 Sae they e’en lugg’d him out by the heels and the 
 head. Derry Down, &c. 
 
 There was yen wid a weast thick as onie barrel 
 kurn, 
 
 He poud up his pettikits, then gev a gum ; 
 
 And he luik’d as to say, ‘ Now what think ye o* me?* 
 
 A lal lass spak the truth — it was shockin to see ! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 t Two hours. 
 
110 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Neist a diver lish chap, wid his feyne reed Ieed 
 cheeks, 
 
 Blew his nwose wi’ his fingers, and hotch’d up 
 his breeks ; 
 
 Then he tuik a fresh chow, and the auld’n threw 
 out, 
 
 And said, ‘ Dui be whiet — what’s aw this about ?’ 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 The sehuilmaister, gager, and twee or three mair, 
 
 Hed seen Mister Punch play his pranks at a fair; 
 
 Efter far-larned threepin, at last, at the Bell, 
 
 *Twas agreed, nit ev’n Punch cud thur hferoes ; 
 excel. Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Sec struttin and wheynin may please dwoatin fuils, 
 
 Or rough-headed callans, just sent off to schuils : 
 
 But hedst tou e’er dreamt o’ sec actin, dear Rowe! 
 
 For sarten, thou ne’er wad ha’e written at aw. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Ye wise men o’ Dawston, stick clwose to your wark. 
 
 Sit at heame wi’ your weyves and your bairns 
 efter dark ; 
 
 To be caw’d kings and heroes is pleasin indeed, — 
 
 But before you turn player-fwok, furst lam to 
 read ! Derry Down, &c. 
 
 OUR JWOHNY. 
 
 Tune — “ Lillibulero .” 
 
 Our Jwohny’s just turn’d till a parfet atomy, 
 Nowther works, eats, drinks, or sleeps as he sud ; 
 He seeghs in a nuik, and fins fau’t wid his poddish. 
 And luiks like a deyl’d body, spoil’d for aw gud. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. Ill 
 
 d He reaves in his sleep, and reads buiks o* luive 
 letters, 
 
 p Ae turn efler dark, nae, he’ll nit dui at aw ! 
 
 But ae neet, last week, I determin’d to watch him, 
 » And suin, wi’ his sweetheart our Jwohny I saw. 
 
 C cowr’d my ways down, ahint our young eshes, 
 
 I And by went the tweesome, — he seem’d nit the 
 seame ; 
 
 [They laugh’d, kiss’d and cutter’d — nought bad 
 past atween them ; 
 
 I gat what I wanted, and sae crap off heame ; 
 s Our landlword’ lass, Letty, his heart hes in keepin, 
 To be seer she’s a sarvant, but weel to be seen ; 
 She’s lish, young and bonnie, and honest as onie, 
 
 1 In hard workin poverty I see nought that’s mean ! 
 
 !The fadder o’ Jwohny was my fellow-sarvant ; 
 
 God rust him ! his marrow I’s ne’er to see mair ! 
 Auld Matthew hed gear, and follow’d me weekly, 
 And cut me a lock of his gray grizzled hair. 
 
 1 Hed I wedded Matthew, I’d now been a leady, 
 
 1 But fourscwore and twonty can niver agree : 
 
 Our Jwohny may e’en try his luck, and git 
 wedded, 
 
 And they sal ha’e baith stock and crop when I dee. 
 
 KING ROGER. 
 
 Tune — “ Hallow Fair 
 
 ’Twas but tudder neet, efter darknin, 
 We sat owre a bleezin turf fire; 
 
 Our deame she was sturrin a cow-drink, 
 Our Betty milk’d kye in the byre: 
 
112 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 4 Ay, fadder !’ cried out our lal Roger, 
 
 4 I wish I wer nobbet a king I* 
 
 * Wey, what wad te dui ? (says I,) Roger, 
 
 * Suppwose tou cud tek thy full swing ?’ 
 
 4 Furst, you sud be Iword judge, and bishop ; 
 4 My mudder sud hev a gold crutch ; 
 
 * I*d build for the peer fwok feyne houses, 
 
 4 And gi’e them — aye, ever sae much ! 
 
 * Our Betty sud wed Charley Miggens, 
 
 * And wear her stamp’d gown ev’ry day ; 
 
 * Sec dancin we’d hev in the cock-loft 
 
 * Bill Adams the fiddle sud play. 
 
 4 A posset I’d hev to my breakfast, 
 
 * And sup wid a breet siller spuin ; 
 
 * For dinner I’d hev a fat crowdy, 
 
 4 And strang tea at mid efternuin : 
 
 4 I’d wear neyce wheyte cottinet stockins, 
 
 4 And new gambaleery clean shoes, 
 
 * Wi’ jimp lively black fustin briches, 
 
 4 And ev’ry feyne thing I cud choose. 
 
 4 I’d hev monie thousands o* shippen, 
 
 4 To sail the weyde warl aw about ; 
 
 4 I’d say to my soldiers, gang owre seas, 
 
 4 And kill the French dogs, out and out ! 
 
 4 On our lang-tail’d naig I’d be mounted, 
 
 4 My footmen in silver and green ; 
 
 4 And when I’d seen aw foreign countries, 
 
 4 I’d mek Aggy Glaister my queen. 
 
 4 Our meedow sud be a girt worchet, 
 
 4 And grow nought at aw but big plums ; 
 
 4 A schuil-house we’d build — As for maister, 
 4 We’d e’en hing him up by the thums. 
 
 I 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 
 
 113 
 
 4 Joss Feddon sud be my head huntsman, 
 
 * 4 We’d keep seeben couple o’ dogs, 
 
 4 And kill aw the hares i’ the kingdom ; 
 
 4 My mudder sud wear weel-greas’d clogs. 
 
 4 Then Cursmas sud last, ay for iver ! 
 
 4 And Sundays we’d ha’e tweyce a-week ; 
 
 4 The muin sud show leet aw the winter ; 
 
 4 Our cat and our cwoley sud speak : 
 
 4 The peer fwok sud leeve widout workin, 
 
 4 And feed on plum-puddin and beef ; 
 
 4 Then aw wad be happy, for sarten, 
 
 4 There nowther cud be rwogue or thief.* 
 
 Now thus ran on ley tie king Roger, 
 
 But suin aw his happiness fled ; 
 
 A spark frae the fire brunt his knockle, 
 
 And off he crap whingin to bed : 
 
 Thus fares it wi’ beath young and auld fwok, 
 Frae king to the beggar we see ; 
 
 Just cross us i’ th’ midst o’ our greatness, 
 And peer wretched creatures are we ! 
 
 KITT CRAFFET. 
 
 Tune — 44 Come under my ylaidie 
 
 saau Crosset, o’ Chawk,* a feyne heed-sten hes 
 cutten. 
 
 And just setten’t up owre anent the kurk en ; 
 
 \ chubby-feac’d angel o’ top on’t they’ve putten, 
 And varses, as guid as e’er coin frae a pen : 
 
 [t’s for auld Kit Craffet, our wordy wise neybor, 
 God rust him ! a better man ne’er wore a head ; 
 * Shawk. 
 
 H 
 
114 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 He’s nit left his fellow thro’ aw the heale county 
 And monie peer fwok are in want, now he’s de* 
 I mind when at schuil, a reet top scholar was he j 
 Of lakin or rampin nae nwotion hed he, 
 
 But nar the auld thworn he wad sit and keep mwos 
 And caw’d it a sin just to kill a peer flee : 
 
 A penny he niver let rust in his pocket, 
 
 But gev’t to the furst beggar body he met ; 
 Then at kurk he cud follow the priest thro* tl 
 sarvice, 
 
 And as for a trible he niver was bet. 
 
 Tho’ he wan seeben belts lang afwore he w 
 twonty, 
 
 And in Scealeby meedow oft tuik off the baw, ' 
 Yet he kent aw the beyble, algebra, Josephus, 
 And capp’d the priest, maister, exciseman ax 
 aw. 
 
 He cud talk about battles, balloons, burnhij 
 mountains, 
 
 And wars, till baith young and auld trimmee 
 for fear, 
 
 Then he’d tell how they us’d the “peer West In© 
 neegers,” 
 
 And stamp wid his fit, aye, and drop monie a ted 
 When he red about parliments, pleaces, ar: 
 changes, 
 
 He flang by the paper, and cried, ( Silly stuff [Pj 
 * The Outs wad be in , and the Ins rob their countit 
 ‘ They’re nit aw together worth ae pinch o’ snuff; 
 His creed was — Be statesmen but just, Britc 
 loyal, 
 
 And lang as our shippin reyde maisters at sea, ; 
 We’ll laugh at the puffin o’ vain Bonnyparty, 
 
 As suin may he conquer the deevil as we. 
 
*r 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 115 
 
 »en when onie neybor was fash’d by the turnies, 
 Oh ! it meade him happy if he cud be bail ! 
 vea-thurds of his income he gev away yearly, 
 And actually tuik peer Tom Linton frae jail. 
 
 ; was yence cross’d in luive by a gud-for-nought 
 hussy,. 
 
 But if onie lass by her sweetheart was wrang’d, 
 s wad give her gud counsel, and lecture the 
 fellow, 
 
 And oft did he wish aw sec skeybels were hang’d. 
 
 b cud mek pills and plaisters as weel as our doctor, 
 And cure colic, aga, and jaunice forby ; 
 
 ; for grease, or the glanders, reed watter, or fellen, 
 Nin o’ them was leyke him, amang naigs or kye ; 
 hat, he talk’d to the bishop about agriculture, 
 And yence went to Plymouth to see the grand 
 fleet ; 
 
 ; for the brave sailors trail’d off by the press-gangs, 
 
 I Od die them !’ he said, ‘ that can niver be reet !’ 
 
 ; ne’er was a drinker, a swearer, a feighter, 
 
 A cocker, a gamier, a fop, or a fuil ; 
 it left this sad warl just at three scwore and 
 seeben, 
 
 I* the clay house his granfader built wi’ the 
 schuil. 
 
 1 ! monie a saut tear will be shed ev’ry Sunday, 
 In reading the varses they’ve stuck on his steane ; 
 
 II watters run up bank, and trees they grow 
 
 down bank, 
 
 We niver can luik on his marrow agean ! 
 
 January 2, 1807. 
 
116 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 ELIZABETH* BURTH-DAY. . 
 Tunb — “ Lillibulero .** 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 « Ay, Wulliam ! neist Monday’s Elizabeth* buv 
 day ! 
 
 She is a neyce lass, tho’ she were nin o* mine! 
 We mun ax the Miss Dowsons, and auld Bret 
 young fwok : 
 
 I wish I’d but seav’d a swope geuseberry wir 
 She’ll be sebenteen ; what, she’s got thro* 
 larnin; 
 
 She dances as I did, when first 1 kent thee. 
 As for Tom, her cruik’d billy, he stumps leyli 
 cwoach-horse ; 
 
 We’ll ne’er mek a man on him, aw we can dd 
 wulliam. 
 
 « Hut, Jenny ! hod tongue o* thee ! praise 
 sec varment, j 
 
 She won’t men’ a sark, but reads novels, p» 
 brat ! 
 
 She dance ! What she turns in her taes, thou 
 
 g° nn y> t 
 
 Caw her Bet, ’twas the neame her auld grst 
 aye gat. 
 
 No, Tommy for my money ! he reads his beybi 
 And hes sec a lovinly squint wid his een ; 
 
 He sheps as leyke me, as ae bean’s leyke anudi 
 She snurls up her neb, just a shem to be seek 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 “Shaf, Wully! that’s fashion— tou kens 
 about it; 
 
 She’s streyt as a resh, and as reed as a rwose 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 117 
 
 e’s sharp as a needle, and luiks leyke a leady ; 
 Thou talks, man — a lass cannot meake her awn 
 nwose ! 
 
 e’s dilicate meade, and nit fit for the country ; 
 For Tom, he’s knock-knee’d, wi’ twea girt ass- 
 buird feet ; 
 
 ^d help them he sheps leyke! they’ve little to 
 | brag on ; 
 
 Tho* ours, I’ve oft thought, he was nit varra reet.” 
 
 WULLIAM. 
 
 Jen! thou’s run mad wi’ thy gossips and 
 trumpery : 
 
 Our lal bit o* lan we maun sell, I declare ; 
 rence thought thee an angel, — thou’s turn’d just 
 a deevil, 
 
 Has fash’d me reet lang, and oft vexes me sair : 
 lis fashion and feasting brings monie to ruin, 
 
 A duir o’ my house they shall nit come within ; 
 for Bet, if she dunnet gang off till a sarvice, 
 When X’s dead and geane she shall nit hev a pin.” 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 >top, Wull ! whee was’t brong thee that fortune ? 
 peer gomas ! 
 
 Just thurteen gud yacres as lig to the sun ; 
 hen I tuik up wi’ thee, I’d lost peer Gwordy 
 Glossip, 
 
 I’ve rued sin’ that hour to the kurk when we run : 
 ere thou cauld and coffin’d, I’d suin get a better ; 
 Sae creep off to bed, nit a word let us hear ! 
 ley shall come, if God spare us, far mair than I 
 mention’d — 
 
 Elizabeth’ burth-day but comes yence a-year ! 
 
 January 2, 1807. 
 
118 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 BORROWDALE JWOHNY. 
 
 Tune — “ I am a young fellow." 
 
 I’s Borrowdale Jwohny just cumt up to Lunnon, ! 
 
 Nay, girn nit at me, for fear I laugh at you ; 
 I’ve seen knaves donn’d i’ silks, and guid men gar i 
 in tatters, 
 
 The truith we sud tell, and gi’e auld Nick his diiiu 
 Nan Watt pruiv’d wi’ bairn — what, they caw’d xm 
 the fadder ; 
 
 Thinks I, shekum filthy ! be off in a treyce ! 
 Nine Carel bank nwotes mudder slipt i’ my pockee 
 And fadder neist ga’e me reet holesome adveyc<ei 
 Says he, ‘ keep frae t’ lasses ! and ne’er luik ahiiii 
 thee ;* 
 
 We’re deep as the best o* them, fadder, says I. 
 They pack’d up ae sark, Sunday weastcwoaa 
 twee neckcloths, . 
 
 Wot bannock, cauld dumplin, and top stannin piti 
 I mounted black filly, bade God bless th* auld fwob 
 Cries fadder, e Tou’s lam’d, Jwohn, and hti 
 nought to fear ; 
 
 Caw and see cousin Jacep ! he’s got aw the money j 
 He’ll git thee sum guverment pleace, to be seesei 
 I stopp’d on the fell, tuik a lang luik at Skiddaw 
 And neist at the schuil-house amang the efc 
 trees ; 
 
 Last thing, saw the smuik rising up frae our chimle ; 
 
 And fun aw quite queer, wid a heart ill at east t 
 But summet within me, cried, Pou up thy spirit^ 
 There’s luck, says auld Lizzy, in feacin the sun 
 Tou’s young, lish, and diver, may wed a feyi 
 leady, 
 
 A nd come heame a Nabab — aye, sure as a gun 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 119 
 
 nowing manners, what, I doff’d my hat to aw 
 strangers, 
 
 Wid a spur on my heel, a yek siplin in han, 
 tuik me nine days and six hours comin up-bank, 
 At the Whoms — aye, ’twas Highget , a chap bad 
 me stan : 
 
 ys he, ‘ How’s all friends in the North, honest 
 Johny ?’ 
 
 Odswunters ! I says, what, ye divvent ken me ! 
 paid twee wheyte shillins, and fain was to see him, 
 Nit thinkin on’t rwoad onie ’quaintance to see. 
 eist thing, what big kurks, gilded cwoaches, hee 
 houses, 
 
 And fwok runnin thro* other, leyke Carel Fair ; 
 ax’d a smart chap where to fin cousin Jacep, 
 
 Says he, ‘ Clown, go look !’ Friend, says I, tell 
 me where ? 
 
 adder’ letter to Jacep hed got nae subscription, 
 Sae, when I was glowrin and siz’lin about, 
 wheyte-feac’d young lass, aw dress’d out leyke a 
 leady, 
 
 Cried, “Pray, Sir, step in!” but I wish I : d 
 kept out. 
 
 tie pou’d at a bell, leyke our kurk-bell it sounded, 
 In com sarvant lass, and she worder’d some weyne ; 
 ays I, I’s nit dry, sae pray, Madam, excuse me ; 
 Nay, what she insisted I sud stop and deyne. 
 he meade varra free — ’twas a shem and a byzen! 
 
 I thowt her in luive wi’ my parson, for sure ; 
 md promis’d to caw agean : — as for black filly, 
 (Wad onie believ’t) she was stown frae the duir ! 
 >d dang't! war than that — when I greap’d my 
 breek pocket, 
 
 I fan fadder’ watch, and the nwotes were aw gaen ; 
 

 120 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 It was neet, and I luik’d lang and sair for kent 
 feaces, 
 
 But Borrowdale fwok I cud niver see neane. 
 
 I slept on the flags, just ahint the kurk-corner, 
 
 A chap wid a girt stick and lantern com by, 
 
 He caw’d me peace-breaker — says I, thou’s a lear— - 
 In a pleace leyke a sailer they fworc’d me to lie. 
 Nae calf bed or blankets for silly pilgarlic ; 
 
 De’il a wink cud 1 sleep, nay, nor yet see a 
 steyme ; 
 
 Neist day I was ta’en to the Narration Offish, 
 When a man in a wig said, I’d duin a sad creyme. 
 Then ane ax’d my neame, and he pat on his speckets,. 
 Says I, Jwohny Cruckdeyke — I’s Borrowdale 
 bworn ; 
 
 Whea think ye it pruiv’d but my awn cousin Jacep,; 
 
 He seav’d me frae t’ gallows, ay that varra mworn. 
 He spak to my Lword, some hard words, quite, 
 outlandish, 
 
 Then caw’d for his cwoach, and away we ruid 
 heame ; 
 
 He ax’d varra kind efter fadder and mudder, 
 
 I said they were bravely, and neist saw his deame ; 
 She’s aw puff and pouder ; as for cousin Jacep, 
 
 He’s got owre much gear to teake nwotish o’ me ; 
 But if onie amang ye sud want a lish sarvant, 
 
 Just bid me a weage — I’ll uphod ye, we’s ’gree 
 January 4 , 1807 . 
 
 LANG SEYNE. 
 
 Tune — “ Tak your auld cloak about ye.” 
 The last new shoon our Betty gat, 
 
 They pinch her feet, the de’il may care ! 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 121 
 
 What, she mud ha’e them leady leyke, 
 
 Tho’ she hes cworns for evermair : 
 
 Nae black gairn stockins will she wear, 
 
 They mun be wheyte, and cotton feyne ! 
 
 This meks me think o’ other teymes, 
 
 The happy days o’ auld lang seyne ! 
 
 Our dowter, tui, a palace* bought, 
 
 A guid reed clwoak she cannot wear ; 
 
 And stays, she says, spoil leady’s sheps— • 
 
 Oh ! it wad mek a parson swear. 
 
 Nit ae han’s turn o’ wark she’ll dui, 
 
 She’ll nowther milk or sarra t’ sweyne— 
 
 The country’s puzzen’d round wi’ preyde. 
 
 For lasses work’d reet hard lang seyne. 
 
 We’ve three guid rooms in our clay house, 
 Just big eneugh for sec as we ; 
 
 They’d hev a parlour built wi* bricks, 
 
 I mud submit — what cud I dee? 
 
 The sattle neist was thrown aseyde. 
 
 It meeght ha’e sarra’d me and mine ; 
 
 My mudder thought it mens’d a house — 
 
 But we think shem o’ auld lang seyne ! 
 
 We us’d to ga* to bed at dark, 
 
 And ruse agean at four or five ; 
 
 The mworn’s the only teyme for wark, 
 
 If fwok are hilthy, and wad thrive : 
 
 Now we get up, — nay, God kens when ! 
 
 And nuin’s owre suin for us to deyne ; 
 
 I s hungry or the pot’s hawf boil’d, 
 
 And wish for teymes leyke auld lang seyne. 
 
 Deuce tek the fuil-invented tea ! 
 
 For tweyce a-day we that mun hev : 
 
 * Pelisse. 
 
122 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Then taxes get sae monstrous hee, 
 
 The de’il a plack yen now can seave ! 
 
 There’s been nae luck throughout the lan, 
 
 Sin’ fwoak mud leyke their betters sheyne ; 
 
 French fashions mek us parfet fuils ; 
 
 We’re caff and san to auld lang seyne ! 
 
 January 5 , 1807. 
 
 THE AULD BEGGAR. 
 
 I met the auld man, wid his starv’d grey cur near 
 him, 
 
 The blast owre the mountain blew cauld i’ the 
 vale ; 
 
 Nae heame to receive him, few strange fwok to 
 hear him, 
 
 And thin wer his patch’d duds, he mickle did ail : 
 
 A tear dimm’d his e’e* his feace furrow’d by sorrow, 
 
 Seem’d to say, he frae whope nit ae comfort cud 
 borrow. 
 
 And sad was the beggarman’s teale. 
 
 4 Behold,’ he cried seeghing, 4 the spwort of false 
 fortune ! 
 
 4 The peer wretched outcast, the beggar you see, 
 
 4 Yence boasted o’ wealth, but the warl is uncertain, 
 
 4 And friens o’ my youth smeyle nae langer on 
 me : 
 
 4 1’s the last o* the flock, my weyfe Ann for Heaven 
 left me, 
 
 4 Of my only lad, Tim, accurst war neist bereft me ; 
 
 4 My yage’s suppwort lang was he ! 
 
 4 Yence in the proud city, I smeyl’d amang plenty, 
 
 4 Frae east and frae west, monie a vessel then bore 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 1^ 
 
 To me the rich cargo, to me the feyne dainty, 
 
 < And the peer hungry bodies still shar d of my 
 store ; 
 
 A storm sunk my shippin, by false fnens sur- 
 rounded, 
 
 The laugh o’ the girt fwok, this meade me con- 
 founded, 
 
 ‘ Ilk prospec for iver was o’er ! 
 
 I creep owre the mountains, but meast in the 
 
 valleys, , „ 
 
 4 And wi’ my fond dog share a crust at the duir F 
 I shun the girt fwek, and ilk house leyke a palace, 
 4 For sweetest to me is the meyte frae the puir : 
 4 At neet, when on strae wi’ my faithfu* dog lyxn, 
 
 4 1 thank him that meade me, for what I’s enjoying ; 
 4 His promise I whope to secure.” 
 
 THE BUCK O’ KINGWATTER.* 
 Xune “ The Breckans of Brampton.” 
 
 When I was single, I rid a feyne naig, 
 
 And was caw’d the Buck o’ Kingwatter ; 
 
 Now the cwoat o’ my back hes got but ae sleeve, 
 And my breeks are aw in a tatter. 
 
 Sing, Oh 1 the lasses! the lazy lasses ! 
 
 Keep frae the lasses o’ Branton ! 
 
 I ne’er wad ha’e married, that day I married, 
 But I was young, feulish, and wanton. 
 
 I courted a lass — an angel I thought 
 She’s turn’d out the picture of evil ; 
 
 * The river King, near Gilsland. 
 
124 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 She geapes, yen may count ev’ry tuith in her head, 
 And shouts, fit to freeten the deevil. 
 
 Sing, Oh, the lasses, &c. 
 
 To-day she slipt out, some ’bacco to buy, 
 
 And bade me mind rock the cradle ; 
 
 I cowp’d owre asleep, but suin she com in, 
 
 And brak aw my head wi’ the ladle. 
 
 Sing, Oh ! the lasses, &c. 
 
 I ne’er hed a heart to hannel a gun. 
 
 Or I’d run away, and leave her. 
 
 She pretends to win purns, but that’s aw fun, 
 They say she’s owre kind wi’ the weaver. 
 
 Sing, Oh ! the lasses, &c. 
 
 I dinnerless gang ae hawf o’ the week ; 
 
 If we get a bit meat on a Sunday, 
 
 She cuts me nae mair than wad physic a sneype ; 
 Then we’ve tatey and point ev’ry Monday. 
 
 Sing, Oh ! the lasses, &c. 
 
 Tho* weary o* leyfe, wi’ this gud-for-nought weyfe, 
 I wish I cud get sec anudder ; 
 
 And then I cud gi’e the deevil the teane, 
 
 For teakin away the tudder ! 
 
 Sing, Oh ! the lasses ! the lazy lasses ! 
 
 Beware o’ the lasses o* Branton ! 
 
 I ne’er wad lia’e married, that day I married. 
 But I was young, feulish, and wanton. 
 
 January 6, 1807. 
 
 MARGET O’ THE MILL. 
 
 Tune — “ Tom Starboard," 
 
 Her fadder’s whope, her mudder’s preyde, 
 
 Was black-ey’d Marget o’ the Mill, 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 125 
 
 And summer day, or winter neet, 
 
 Was happy, cheerfu’, busy still; 
 
 And Ralph, her fadder, oft declar’d. 
 
 His darlin forty punds shou’d have 
 
 The day a husband tuik her han, 
 
 And mair, if lang he skeap’d the greave. 
 
 The lily and the deyke-rwose beatli, 
 
 Were mix’d in Marget’s bonny feace ; 
 
 Her form mud win the cauldest heart, 
 
 And her’s was nature’s modest greace — 
 
 Her luik drew monie a neybor laird, 
 
 Her een luive’s piercin arrows fir’d 
 
 But nae rich laird cud gain the han 
 Of this fair flow’r, by aw admir’d. 
 
 Oh, luckless hour ! at town ae day, 
 
 Yen in a sowdger’s dress she saw ; 
 
 He stule her heart — and frae that hour, 
 May Marget date a leyfe of woe ; — 
 
 For now she shuns aw roun the mill, 
 
 Nae 1 anger to her bosom dear ; 
 
 And faded is her bonny feace, 
 
 And dim her e’e wi’ monie a tear. 
 
 Peer Marget ! yence a fadder’s preyde, 
 
 Is now widout a fadder left ; 
 
 Deserted, aw day lang she moans, 
 
 Luive’s victim, of ilk whope bereft ! 
 
 Ye lasses, aw seducers shun, 
 
 And think o’ Marget o’ the Mill ; 
 
 She, crazy, daunders wid her bairn, 
 
 A prey to luive and sorrow still. 
 
126 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 MADAM JANE. 
 
 Tune — “ I will hate a weyfe .” 
 
 Money meks us bonny, 
 
 Money meks us glad ; 
 
 Be she auld or ugly, 
 
 Money brings a lad. 
 
 When I’d ne’er a penny, 
 
 De’il a lad hed I — 
 
 Pointin ay at Jenny, 
 
 Laughin they flew by. 
 
 Money causes flatt’ry, 
 
 Money meks us vain ; 
 
 Money changes aw things — 
 Now I’m Madam Jane. 
 
 Sen auld Robby left me 
 Houses, fields, nit few, 
 
 Lads thrang round i’ clusters, 
 I’m a beauty now ! 
 
 Money meks us merry, 
 
 Money meks us bra’ ; 
 
 Money gets us sweethearts — 
 That’s the best of a’ ! 
 
 I ha’e fat and slender, 
 
 I ha’e shwort and taw ; 
 
 I ha’e rake and miser — 
 
 I despise them aw ! 
 
 Money they’re aw seeking, 
 Money they’s git neane ; 
 
 Money sends them sneaking 
 Efter Madam Jane ! 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 127 
 
 There’s ane puir and bashfu*, 
 
 I ha’e i’ my e’e ; 
 
 He’s git han and siller, 
 
 Gin he fancies me. 
 
 Money meks us bonny, &c» 
 
 January 6, 1807. 
 
 YOUNG SUSY. 
 
 Tune — “ Dainty Davie,” 
 
 Young Susy is a bonny lass, 
 
 A canny lass, a teydey lass, 
 
 A mettled lass, a hearty lass. 
 
 As onie yen can see ; 
 
 A clean-heel’d lass, a weel-spok lass, 
 
 A buik-larn’d lass, a kurk-gawn lass, 
 
 I watena how it com to pass, 
 
 She’s meade a fuil o’ me. 
 
 I’s tir’d o’ workin, plowin, sowin, 
 
 Deeting, deykin, threshin, mowin ; 
 
 Seeghin, greanin, never knowin 
 What I’s gawn to de. 
 
 I met her — aye, ’twas this day week ! 
 
 Od die ! thought I, I’ll try to speak ; 
 
 But tried in vain the teale to seek, 
 
 For sec a lass is she ! 
 
 Her jet black hair hawf heydes her brow. 
 
 Her een just thirl yen thro’ and thro’ — 
 
 But, Oh ! her cheeks and churry mou 
 Are far owre sweet to see ! 
 
 I’s tir’d o’ workin, &c. 
 
 Oh, cud I put her in a sang ! 
 
 To hear her praise the heale day lang, 
 
128 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 She mud consent to kurk to gang ; 
 
 There’s puirer fwok than me ! 
 
 But I can nowther rhyme nor rave, 
 
 Luive meks yen sec a coward slave ; 
 
 I’d better far sleep i* my grave — 
 
 But, Oh ! that munnet be ! 
 
 I’s tir’d o’ workin, plowin, sowin, 
 
 Deetin, deykin, th reshin, mowin, 
 
 Seeghin, greanin, never knowin 
 What I’s gawn to de. 
 
 January 6, 1807. 
 
 THE REEDBREEST. 
 Tune — “ Hallow Fair .” 
 
 Come into my cabin, reed Robin ! 
 
 Threyce welcome, lal warbler, to me ! 
 Now Skiddaw hes got his wheyte cap on, 
 Agean I’ll gi’e shelter to thee. 
 
 Just hop thy ways into my pantry, 
 
 And feast on my peer humble fare ; 
 
 I never was fash’d wid a dainty, 
 
 But meyne, man or burd sal ay share. 
 Now four years are by-geane, reed Robin, 
 Sen furst thou com singin to me ; 
 
 But, Oh, how I’s chang’d, little Robin, 
 Sen furst I bade welcome to thee ! 
 
 I then hed a bonny bit lassie, 
 
 Away wid anudder she’s geane ; 
 
 My friens wad oft caw at my cabin, 
 
 Now dowie I seegh aw my leane. 
 
 Oh, where is thy sweetheart, reed Robin ? 
 Ga* bring her frae house-top or tree$ 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 129 
 
 I'll bid her be true to sweet Robin, 
 
 For false was a lassie to me. 
 
 You’ll share ev’ry crum i’ my cabin, 
 
 We’ll sing the cauld winter away ; 
 
 I wunnet deceive ye, peer burdies ! 
 
 Let mortals use me as they may, 
 
 November , 1800. 
 
 THREESCWORE AND NINETEEN. 
 
 Tune by the Author . 
 
 Aye, Aye, I’s feeble grown, 
 
 And feckless — weel I may ! 
 
 I’s threescwore and nineteen, 
 
 Ay, just this varra day ! 
 
 I ha’e nae teeth, my meat to chew, 
 
 But little sarras me ! 
 
 The best thing I eat or drink, 
 
 Is just a cup o’ tea ! 
 
 Aye, aye, the bairns mak gam, 
 
 And pleague me suin and late ; 
 
 Men fwok I leyke i’ my heart, 
 
 But bairns and lasses hate ! 
 
 This gown o’ meyne’s lang i’ the weast, 
 Aul-fashion’d i’ the sleeve ; 
 
 It meks me luik leyke fourscwore, 
 
 I varily believe ! 
 
 Aye, aye, what I’s deef, 
 
 My hearin’s quite geane ; 
 
 I’s fash’d wi’ that sad cough aw neet, 
 
 But little I complain. 
 
 I 
 
130 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 I smuik a bit, and cough a bit, 
 
 And then I try to spin ; 
 
 And then I daddle to the duir, 
 
 And then I daddle in! 
 
 Aye, aye, I wonder much, 
 
 How women can get men ; 
 
 I’ve tried for threescwore years and mair, 
 But never cud get yen. 
 
 De’il tek the cat — what is she at ? 
 
 Lie quiet on the chair : 
 
 I thowt it e’en was Daniel Strang, 
 
 Comin up the stair ! 
 
 Aye, Aye, I’ve bed and box, 
 
 And kist, and clock, and wheel, 
 
 And tub, and rock, and stuil, and pan, 
 
 And chair, and dish, and reel ; 
 
 And luiking-glass, and chammer-pot, 
 
 And bottles for smaw beer ; 
 
 Mouse-trap, sawt-box, kettle, and — 
 
 That’s Danny sure I hear 1 
 
 Aye, aye, he’s young enough, 
 
 But, oh ! a reet neyce man ; 
 
 And I wad ne’er be cauld in bed, 
 
 Cud I but marry Dan. 
 
 Deuce tek that cough ! that weary cough— 
 It never let’s me be ; 
 
 I’s kilt wi’ that and gravel beath— 
 
 Oh, Daniel, come to me ! 
 
 January 8, 180T 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 
 
 131 
 
 m 
 
 SILLY ANDREW. 
 
 Tune — “ Wandering Willie 
 
 O how can I get a bit weyfe? says lang Andrew, 
 Shadric, come tell me, lad, what I mun dee ; 
 Tou kens I’s just twenty, 
 
 Ha’e houses, Ians plenty, 
 
 A partner I want — ay — > 
 
 ( But nin ’ll ha’e me ! 
 
 ’Twas furst blue-e’ed Betty that meade my mouth 
 waiter, 
 
 She darn’d my auld stockins, my crivet and aw; 
 Last harvest, when sheerin, 
 
 Wi’ jeybin and jeerin, 
 
 She fworc’d me to swearin — 
 
 Bett ne’er mair I saw ! 
 
 Neist reed-headed Hannah -to me seem’d an angel, 
 And com to our house monie a neet wid her wark ; 
 I yence ax’d to set her, 
 
 She said she kent better : 
 
 Whea thinks te can get her ? 
 
 E’en daft Symie Clark ! 
 
 Then smaw-weasted Winny meade gowns for our 
 Jenny ; 
 
 Andrew, man, stick tull her ! mudder oft said ; 
 She hes feyne sense, and money, 
 
 Young, lish, smart and bonny, 
 
 Is a match, aye for onie.— - 
 But she’s for Black Ned ! 
 
 Then how can I get a bit weyfe ? tell me, Shadric ! 
 | Tou mun be reet happy, they’re aw fond o* thee! 
 
132 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 I’ve followed Nan, Tibby, 
 Sail, Mall, Fan, and Sibby, 
 Ett, Luke, Doll, and Debby ; 
 But nin *11 ha’e me ! 
 
 AULD ROBBY MILLER. 
 
 Tune — “ Gin I had a wee House” 
 
 Oh, cud I but see the blithe days I ha’e seen, 
 When I was a lish laughin lass o’ sixteen ! 
 
 Then lads lap around, and said nin was leyke me, 
 Now they’re aw fled away, and I’s turn’d thurtyf 
 three. 
 
 A single leyfe’s but a comfortless leyfe, 
 
 It sounds unco sweet to be caw’d a weyfe ; 
 
 To get a bit body I’ve tried aw I can— 
 
 Waes me for the lassie that can’t get a man. 
 
 When day-leet’s aw geane, and I sit down to spin;, 
 I wish some young fellow wad only step in ; 
 
 At the market I saunter, and dress at the fair, 
 
 But nae lad at peer Keaty a luik will e’er spare. 
 
 A single leyfe’s but a weary dull leyfe, 
 
 It sounds unco sweet to be caw’d a weyfe; 
 
 In vain a peer lassie may try ilka plan, 
 
 Caw her rich, and I’ll venture she’ll suin get a man 
 
 There’s auld Robby Miller, wi’ his siller pow, 
 
 Bent double, and canna creep up the hill now ; 
 Tho’ steane-deaf and tuithless, and bleer-e’ed and aw , 
 He hes gear, and I’s thinking to gi’e him a caw. 
 
 A single leyfe’s a heart-breakin leyfe, 
 
 It sounds unco sweet to be caw’d a weyfe ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 133 
 
 I’ll keame his lank locks, and dui what I can— 
 There’s monie a young lassie wad tek an auld man . 
 
 He lives aw his leane ; but he’s surely to bleame, 
 When a wanter like me may be had sae near heame: 
 Wer we weddet to-morrow, he’d nit be lang here, 
 Then I’d buy a man to my mind wid his gear. 
 
 A single leyfe’s a sorrowfu* leyfe, 
 
 lit sounds unco sweet to be caw d a weyfe ; 
 
 I’ll off to auld Robby,— ay, that’s the best plan, 
 And cwoax him, and wed him, the canny auld man. 
 
 NANNY PEAL. 
 
 Eves there are that never weep ; 
 
 Hearts there are that never feel ; 
 
 God keep them that can dui baith, 
 
 And sec was yence sweet Nanny Peal. 
 Tom Feddon was a sailor lad, 
 
 A better never sail’d saut sea ; 
 
 The dang’rous rocks reet weel he knew, 
 The captain’s favourite was he. 
 
 When out, and cronies drank or sang, 
 
 Or danc’d the jig, or leetsome reel, 
 Peer Tom wad sit him on the yard, 
 
 And fondly think o’ Nanny Peal. 
 
 For, Oh she was a hearty lass, 
 
 A sweeter feace nin e’er did see ; 
 
 And luive lurk’d in her twea breet een, 
 And innocence itsel was she. 
 
 Oft, i’ the kurk, the neybor lads . 
 
 At her a bashfu’ luik wad steal ; 
 
! 
 
 134 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Oft, at the markets, stare and point, j 
 
 And whisper — “ See ! that’s Nanny Peal.” 
 
 But Tom was aw her heart’s deleyte; 
 
 And, efter voyages twee or three, 
 
 (In which he wad feyne presents bring,) 
 
 Baith fondly whop’d they’d married be. 
 
 And now this teyde they quit the pwort ; 
 
 Tom wid a kiss his faith did seal ; 
 
 They cry’d, they seegh’d, whop’d suin to meet— 
 ’Twas hard to part wi’ Nanny Peal! 
 
 The sea was cawm, the sky was clear, 
 
 The ship she watch’d while eye cud see ; 
 
 “ The voyage is shwort !” she tremblin said, 
 
 “ God send him seafe and suin to me !” 
 
 Afwore her peer auld mudder’s duir, 
 
 She sung, and thowt, and turn’d her wheel ; 
 
 But when that neet the storm com on, 
 
 Chang'd was the heart of Nanny Peal. 
 
 And sad was she the next lang day ; 
 
 The third day warse — still warse grew she ; 
 
 Alas ! the fourth day brought the news, 
 
 Baith ship and men were lost at sea ! 
 
 She heard, she fainted on the fluir ; 
 
 Much did her peer auld mudder feel ; 
 
 The neybors roun, baith auld and young, 
 
 D«"opt monie a tear for Nanny Peal. 
 
 Sin’ thai, she wanders aw day lang, 
 
 And gazes weyldly on the sea ; 
 
 She’s spent, peer thing, to skin and be&ne, 
 
 And ragged, wretched, now is she. 
 
 Oft reydin on the wheyte-topp’d waves. 
 
 She sees her Tom towerts her steal; 
 
 : 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 And then she laughs, and caws aloud, 
 
 “ O come, O come to Nanny Peal ! 
 
 God keep thee ! helpless, luckless lass ! 
 
 On earth thou munnet happy be ; 
 
 But leyfe is wearin fast away — 
 
 Thou suin in Heav’n peer Tom wilt see. 
 
 ANDREW’S YOUNGEST DOWTER. 
 
 Tune by the Author. 
 
 Where Irthin* rows to Eden’s streams, 
 
 Thro’ meedows sweetly stealin, 
 
 Owrehung by crags, hawf hid by furze, 
 
 There stands a cwozey dwellin ; 
 
 And there’s a lass wi’ witchin feace, 
 
 Her luik gi’es pain or pleasure, 
 
 A rwose-bud hid frae pryin een, 
 
 The lads’ deleyte and treasure ; 
 
 For when 1 saw her aw her leane, 
 
 I mair than mortal thought her, 
 
 And stuid amaz’d, and silent gaz’d 
 On Andrew’s youngest dowter. 
 
 Her luik a captive meade my heart* 
 
 How matchless seem’d ilk feature ! 
 
 The sun, in aw his yearly course, 
 
 Sheynes on nae fairer creature ; 
 
 I watch’d her thro’ the daisied howmes, 
 
 And pray’d for her returnin ; 
 
 Then track d her foot-marks through the wood, 
 My smitten heart aw burnin 
 
 * ^ river in the neighbourhood of Brampton, 
 
136 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Luive led me on ; but when, at last, 
 In fancy meyne I thowt her, 
 
 I saw her awn dear happy lad 
 Meet Andrew’s youngest dowter. 
 Sing sweet, ye wild birds i’ the glens, 
 Where’er young Lizzy wanders ; 
 
 Ye streams of Irthin, please her ears 
 Aw day wi’ soft meanders ; 
 
 And thou, the lad aye neist her heart, 
 
 Caress this bonny blossom 
 
 Oh, never may the thworn o* care 
 Gi’e pain to sec a bosom ! 
 
 Had I been king o’ this weyde warl, 
 And kingdoms cud ha’e bought her, 
 I’d freely parted wi’ them aw, 
 
 For Andrew’s youngest dowter ! 
 
 SOLDIER YEDDY. 
 
 Tune — (f The widow can bake," 
 
 Peer Yeddy was brought up a fadderless bairn, 
 His jacket blue duffle, his stockins cworse gairn ; 
 His mudder, sad greaceless ! liv’d near Talkin Tarnn 
 But ne’er did a turn for her Yeddy. 
 
 Weel shep’d, and fair feac’d, wid a bonny blue e’e r 
 Honest-hearted, aye merry, still teydey was he ; 
 
 But nae larnin had gotten, nor kent ABC; 
 
 There’s owre monie leyke silly Yeddy. 
 
 Suin tir d o’ the cwoal-pit, and drivin a car, 
 
 Won by feathers, cockades, and the fuil’ries o’ war, 
 He wad see feyne fwok, and grand pleaces afar— 
 The bad warl was aw new to lal Yeddy. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 137 
 
 How temptin the liquor, and bonny bank nwote ! 
 How temptin the pouder, sash, gun, and reed cwoat ! 
 Then the Frenchmen, die bin them ! we’ll kill the 
 whole twote ! 
 
 These, these were his thoughts, honest Yeddy. 
 Awhile wi* his cronies he’ll smuik, laugh, and sing, 
 Tell of wonders, and brag of his country and king, 
 And swagger, and larn of new oaths a sad string — 
 These little avail simple Yeddy. 
 iFor suin he may sing to another-guess tune, 
 
 His billet a bad yen, his kelter aw duin ; 
 
 And faint at his post, by the pale winter muin, 
 
 Nae comfort awaits luckless Yeddy. 
 
 When Time steals his colour, and meks his pow 
 grey, 
 
 May he tell merry stories, nor yence rue the day, 
 When he wander’d, peer lad ! frae the fell seyde 
 away ; 
 
 This, this is my wish for young Yeddy. 
 
 Of lads sec as him may we ne’er be in want, 
 
 And a brave soldier’s pocket of brass ne’er be scant ; 
 Nit the brags o’ proud Frenchmen auld England 
 can daunt, 
 
 While we’ve plenty leyke young soldier Yeddy. 
 
 THE DAWTIE. 
 
 Tune — “ I'm o'er young to marry yet” 
 JENNY. 
 
 “ Tho’ weel I leyke ye, Jwohny lad, 
 
 I cannot, munnet marry yet ! 
 
 My peer auld mudders unco bad, 
 
 Sae we a wheyle mun tarry yet ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 For ease or comfort she has neane — 
 
 Leyfe’s just a lang, lang neet o* pain ; 
 
 I munnet leave her aw her leane, 
 
 And wunnet, wunnet marry yet !’* 
 
 JWOHNY. 
 
 “ O Jenny [ dunnet brek this heart, 
 
 And say, we munnet marry yet ; 
 
 Thou cannot act a jillet’s part — 
 
 Why sud we tarry, tarry yet ? 
 
 Think, lass, of aw the pains I feel ; 
 
 I’ve leyk’d thee lang, nin kens how weel ! 
 
 For thee, I’d feace the varra de’il — 
 
 0 say not, we mun tarry yet !” 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 " A weddet leyfe’s oft dearly bowt ; 
 
 1 cannot, munnet marry yet : 
 
 Ye ha’e but little — I ha’e nought, 
 
 Sae, we a wheyle mun tarry yet ! 
 
 My heart’s yer awn, ye needna fear, 
 
 But let us wait anudder year, 
 
 And luive, and toil, and screape up gear— 
 
 We munnet, munnet marry yet ! 
 
 ’Twas but yestreen, my mudder said, 
 
 4 O, dawtie ! dunnet marry yet ! 
 
 I’ll suin lig i’ my last cauld bed ; 
 
 Tou’s aw my comfort — tarry yet.* 
 
 Whene’er I steal out o’ her seet, 
 
 She seeghs, and sobs, and nought gangs reet— 
 Whisht ! — that’s her feeble voice ; — Guid neet ! 
 We munnet, munnet marry yet !” 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 139 
 
 THE CODBECK WEDDIN. 
 Tune — “ Andrew Carr.” 
 
 True is my song, tho’ lowly be the strain. 
 
 I They sing of a weddin at Worton, 
 
 Where aw was feight, fratchin, and fun ; 
 
 Feegh ! sec a yen we’ve hed at Codbeck, 
 
 As niver was under the sun : 
 
 I The breydegruim was weaver Joe Bewley, 
 
 He com frae about Lowthet Green ; 
 
 The breyde, Jwohny Dalton’ lisli dowter, 
 
 And Betty was weel to be seen. 
 
 Sec patchin, and weshin, and bleachin, 
 
 And starchin, and darnin auld duds ; 
 
 Some lasses thought lang to the weddin — 
 Unax’d, others sat i’ the suds. 
 
 | There were tweescwore and seeben inveyted, 
 
 God speed tem, ’gean Cursenmass-day ; 
 
 ! Dobson’ lads, tui, what they mun come hidder — 
 I think they were better away. 
 
 j Furst thing Oggle Willy, the fiddler. 
 
 Caw’d in, wi’ auld Jonathan Strang ; 
 
 ! Neist stiff and stout, lang, leame, and lazy, 
 
 Frae aw parts com in wi’ a bang ; — 
 
 Frae Brocklebank, Faulders, and Newlands, 
 Frae Hesket, Burkheads, and the Height, 
 
 Frae Warnell, Stairnmire, Nether Welton, 
 
 And awt’ way frae Eytonfield-street.* 
 
 Furst auld Jwohny Dawton we’ll nwotish, 
 
 And Mary, his canny douse deame ; 
 
 • Names of Cumberland villages. 
 
110 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Son Wully, and Mally, his sister; 
 
 Goffet* weyfe, muckle Nanny by neame ; 
 
 Wully Sinclair, Smith Leytle, Jwohn Aitchin, 
 Tom Ridley, Joe Sim, Peter Weir, 
 
 Gworge Goffet, Jwohn Bell, Miller Dyer, 
 
 Joe Head, and Ned Bulman wefe there. 
 
 We’d hay-cruiks, and hentails, and hanniels, 
 And nattlers that fuddle for nought ; 
 
 Wi’ skeape-greaces, skeybels, and scruffins, 
 
 Wi’ maffs better fed far than taught ; 
 
 We’d lads that wad eat for a weager, 
 
 Or feight, ay, till bluid to the knees ; 
 
 Fell-seyders, and Sowerby riff-raff, 
 
 That de’il a bum-bealie dare seize. 
 
 The breyde hung her head, and luik’d sheepish, 
 The breydegruim as wheyte as a clout ; 
 
 The bairns aw gleym’d thro’ the kurk windows, 
 The parson was varra devout : 
 
 The ring was lost out of her pocket, 
 
 The breyde meade a bonny te-dee ; 
 
 Cries Goffet’ weyfe, ‘ Meyne’s meade o’ pinchback, 
 * And, la ye ; it fit’s till a tee.’ 
 
 Now buckl’d, wi’ fiddler’s afwore them, 
 
 They gev Michael Crosby a caw; 
 
 Up spak canny Bewley the breydegruim, 
 
 4 Get slocken’d, lads, fadder pays aw.’ 
 
 We drank till aw seem’d blue about us, 
 
 We’re aw murry deevils, tho’ peer; 
 
 Michael’ weyfe says, 4 Widout onie leen, 
 
 4 A duck mud ha’e swam on the fleer.* 
 
 Now, aw ’bacco’d owre, and hawf-drucken, 
 
 The men f'wok wad needs kiss the breyde ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 14*1 
 
 Joe Head, that’s aye reckon’d best spokesman, 
 Whop’d “ guid wad the couple beteyde.” 
 
 Says Michael, ‘ I’s reet glad to see you, 
 
 « Suppwosin I gat ne’er a plack. 
 
 Cries t’ weyfe, ‘ That ’ll nowther pay brewer, 
 
 < Nor get bits o’ sarks to yen’s back.’ 
 
 The breyde wad dance Coddle me Cuddie . 
 
 A threesome then caper’d Scotch reels ; 
 
 Peter Weir cleek’d up auld Mary Dalton, 
 
 Leyke a cock round a hen neist he steals ; 
 
 Jwohn Bell yelp’d out ‘ Sowerby Lassies;’ 
 
 Young Jwosep, a lang country dance, 
 
 He’d got his new pumps Smithson meade him, 
 And fain wad show how he cud prance. 
 
 To march round the town, and keep swober. 
 
 The woman fwok thowt was but reet ; 
 
 ‘ Be wise, dui, for yence,’ says Jwohn Dyer, 
 
 The breydegruim mud reyde shouder heet — 
 
 The youngermak lurried ahint them, 
 
 Till efter them Bell meade a brek ; 
 
 Tom Ridley was aw baiz’d wi’ drinkin, 
 
 And plung’d off the steps i’ the beck. 
 
 To Hudless’s now off they sizell’d, 
 
 And there gat far mair than eneugh ; 
 
 Miller Hodgson suin brunt the punch ladle, 
 
 And full’d ev’ry glass wid his leuf ; 
 
 He thowt he was teakin his mouter, 
 
 And de’il a bit conscience hes he ; 
 
 They preym’d him wi’ stiff punch and jollop, 
 Till Sally Scott thowt he wad dee. 
 
 Joe Sim rwoar’d out, ‘ Bin, we’ve duin wozrJersl 
 t Our Mally’s turn’d bowe i’ the weame.’ 
 
 f 
 
142 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Wi* three strings atween them, the fiddlers 
 Strack up, and they reel’d towerts heame ; I 
 Meyner Leytle wad now hoist a standert — 
 
 Peer man ! he cud nit daddle far, 
 
 But stuck in a pant ’buin the middle, 
 
 And yen tuik him heame in a car. 
 
 For dinner, we’d stew’d geuse and haggish, 
 Cow’d-leady, and het bacon pie, 
 
 Boil’d fluiks, tatey-hash, beastin puddin, 
 
 Saut salmon, and cabbish ; forbye 
 Pork, pancakes, black puddins, sheep trotters, 
 And custert, and mustert, and veal, 
 
 Grey-pez keale, and lang apple dumplins; 
 
 I wish every yen far’d as weel. 
 
 The breyde geavin aw round about her, 
 
 Cries, 4 Wuns ! we forgat butter sops !’ 
 
 The breydegruim fan nae teyme for talkin, 
 
 But wi’ stannin pie greas’d his chops. 
 
 We’d lopper’d milk, skimm’d milk and kurn’d milked 
 Well watter, smaw beer, aw at yence ; 
 
 4 Shaff! bring yell in piggens,’ rwoars Dalton, ; 
 4 De’il tek them e’er cares for expense.’ 
 
 Now aw cut and cleek’d frae their neybors, 
 
 ’Twas even down thump, pull and haul; 
 
 Joe Head gat a geuse aw together. 
 
 And off he crap into the faul ; 
 
 Muckle Nanny cried 4 Shem o’ sec weastry I* 
 
 The ladle she brak owre ill Bell ; 
 
 Tom Dalton sat thrang in a corner, 
 
 And eat nar the weight of his sel. 
 
 A hillibuloo was now started, 
 
 ’Twas, 4 Rannigal ! whee cares for tee ?* 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 * Stop, Tommy — whe’s weyfe was i’ th* carras ? 
 
 4 Tou’d ne’er been a man, but for me !’ 
 
 4 Od dang thee !’ — 4 To jail I cud send thee ! 
 
 4 Peer scraffles !’ — 4 Thy lan grows nae gurse !* 
 4 Ne’er ak ! it’s my awn, and it’s paid for ! 
 
 4 But whea was’t stuil auld Tim Jwohn’ purse?’ 
 
 Ned Bulman wad feight wi’ Gworge GofFet — 
 Peer Gwordy he nobbet stript thin, 
 
 And luik’d leyke a cock out o’ fedder, 
 
 But suin gat a weel-bleaken’d skin ; 
 
 Neist, Sanderson fratch’d wid a hay-stack, 
 
 And Deavison fuight wi* the whins ; 
 
 Smith Leytle fell out wi' the cobbles, 
 
 And peel’d aw the bark off his shins. 
 
 The hay-bay was now somewhat seyded, 
 
 And young fwok the music men miss’d, 
 They’d drucken leyke fiddlers in common, 
 
 And fawn owre ayont an aul kist ; 
 
 Some mair fwok that neet were a-missin, 
 
 Than Wully, and Jonathan Strang — 
 
 But decency whispers, 4 What matter ! 
 
 4 Tou munnet put them in the sang.* 
 
 Auld Dalton thowt he was at Carel, 
 
 Says he, 4 Jacob : see what’s to pay ; 
 
 4 Come, wosler ! heaste — get out the horses, 
 
 4 We’ll e’en teake the rwoad, and away.* 
 
 He cowp’d off his stuil leyke a san bag, 
 
 Tom Ridley beel’d out, 4 De’il may care !* 
 
 For a whart o’ het yell, and a stick in’t, 
 
 Dick Simson ’ll tell ye far mair. 
 
 Come, bumper the Cummerlan lasses, 
 
 Their marrows can seldom be seen ; 
 
144 CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 
 
 And he that won’t feight to defend them, 
 
 I wish he may ne’er want black een. 
 
 May our murry-neets, clay-daubins, races, 
 And weddins, aye finish wi* glee ; 
 
 And when ought’s amang us worth nwotish, 
 Lang may 1 be present to see. 
 
 THE BEGGAR AND KEAT1E. 
 Tune — “ O'er the muir amang the heather .” 
 
 KEATIE. 
 
 Wheb’s rap rappin at the duir, 
 
 Now when our aul fwok are sleepin ? 
 
 Thou’ll git nowt here if thou’s puir— 
 Owre the hills thou’d best be creepin ! 
 
 When sec flaysome fuils we see, 
 
 Decent fwok may start and shudder ; 
 
 I’ll nit move the duir to thee — 
 Vagrant-leyke, thou’s nowt but bodder ! 
 
 BEGGAR. 
 
 Oh ! guid lassie, let me in 1 
 I’ve nae money, meat, or cleedin — 
 
 Starv’t wi’ this caul angry win ; 
 
 Aul an’ helpless — deeth ay dreedin ! 
 
 Let me lig in barn or byre ; 
 
 Ae brown crust will pruive a dainty ; 
 
 Dui, sweet lass ! what I desire, 
 
 If thou whop’st for peace and plenty ! 
 
 KEATIE. 
 
 Beggars yen may weel despise— 
 
 To the sweyne-hull hie an’ swat thee, 
 
 Rap nae rr.air if thou be wise— 
 
 Here’s a doz wad fain be at thee : 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Sec leyke hawf-wits, far and weyde, 
 Beggin breed, and meal, and money. 
 
 Some may help, to shew their preyde — 
 I’ll ne’er lift mey han to onie ! 
 
 BEGGAR. 
 
 Move the duir to sec as me ; 
 
 Lift thy han to fwok when starvin ; 
 
 Meynd, er lang, thou peer may be ; 
 
 Pity beggars, when desarvin. 
 
 Nobbet lissen to the storm, 
 
 Think how monie now mun suffer I 
 Let me in thur limbs to warm, 
 
 And wi’ preyde, due thanks I’ll offer ! 
 
 KEATIE. 
 
 I’ve a sweetheart ; sud he caw, 
 Monstrous vex’d I’d be to see him ; 
 
 He helps beggars, yen and aw, 
 
 Leyke a foil ; nae guid ’twill dee him ! 
 
 He hes gear ; I’ll ne’er be peer — 
 
 Say nowt mair, or Snap sal beyte thee ; 
 
 Noisy sumph ! what, our fwok hear 
 Thy crazy voice — Be off! od wheyte thee ! 
 
 BEGGAR. 
 
 Keate, it’s teyme to change mey voice — 
 Heartless wretch, they weel may caw thee ; 
 
 Fain I meade thee aye mey choice, 
 
 Sin’ the hour when furst I saw thee : 
 
 Lang thy sweetheart I ha’e beeft ; 
 
 Thowt thee gude, an’ lish, an’ diver — 
 Ne’er will I wi’ thee be seen, 
 
 Come what will ! — Fareweel for ever ! 
 
 K 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 THE HAPPY COUPLE. 
 
 Tune — '* Ettrick Banks” 
 
 Come, Mary, let’s up Eden seyde, 
 
 An’ chat the ebenin hours away ; 
 
 Tho’ hard we toil, leyke millions mair, 
 Industrious fwok sud aye be gay ; — 
 
 Far frae the slanderous noisy town, 
 
 It’s sweet the murmurin streams to hear, 
 
 An’ share the joys o’ peace an’ luive, 
 
 Wheyle some buy plishure far owre dear. 
 
 Just mark that peer bit freetent hare, 
 
 Now neet draws on, frae heame she’ll steal 
 
 The weyld burds sweet, in deyke or wood, 
 Now bid the sinkin sun fareweel ; 
 
 They joyfu’ sing the sang ov thenks, 
 
 On rock, on meedow, bush, or tree; 
 
 Nor try their partners to deceive— 
 
 O, that ilk mortal sae wad be ! 
 
 That savage hawk, owre hill an’ glen, 
 
 Seeks some weak warbler to destroy ; 
 
 True emblem o’ the tyrant, man, 
 
 To crush the peer oft gi’es him joy : 
 
 The burds rejoice, an’ ha’e their toil, 
 
 Unshelter’d, blithe the blasts they beyde ; 
 
 Wheyle oft, wi’ plenty, man compleens, 
 
 Snug, seated by his awn fire-seyde. 
 
 Our sons come runnin, Dick and Ned, 
 
 Twee feyner niver went to schuil ; 
 
 I’d suiner see them coffin’d low, 
 
 Than owther turn a fop or fuil. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 147 
 
 The maister says Dick’s fit for kurk ; 
 
 And Ned in law peer fwok may seave : 
 What, judge and bishop they may sit, 
 
 When thee an’ me lig i’ the greave. 
 
 Ay, Mary ! nowt e’er hurts mey meynd, 
 
 But when I ’cross the kurk-garth gang, 
 
 I think I see our aul fwok still, 
 
 For nowther wad dui onie wrang ! 
 
 A helpless orphan tou was left, 
 
 An* fadder, mudder, scarce e’er saw ; 
 
 | Beath lost at sea Nay, dunnet cry ; 
 
 A better warl let’s whop they know. 
 
 Sweet bloom’d aw roun, that summer mworn, 
 
 I carv’d our neames, now pleas’d we see ; 
 Leyke us the tree was in its preyme, 
 
 But now it withers, sae mun we ! 
 
 Sworn foes to streyfe, the joys of leyfe 
 
 We’ve shar’d sin’ furst I meade thee meyne; 
 Reet cheerfu’ still, we’ll bear ilk ill, 
 
 But come what will, let’s ne’er repeyne ! 
 
 CAREL FAIR. 
 
 Tune — “ Woo'd and married and a'.” 
 
 My neame’s Jurry Jurden, frae Threlket ; 
 
 Just swat down, and lissen my sang ; 
 
 I’ll mappen affword some divarsion, 
 
 And tell ye how monie things gang. 
 
 Crops o’ aw maks are gud ; tateys lang as lap- 
 ens, and dry as meal. Teymes are sae sae ; for 
 e thin-chop’d, hawf-neak’d trimlin beggars flock 
 our house, leyke bees tot’ hive : and our Cwoley 
 
148 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 bit sae monie, I just tuck’d him i’ th* worchei 
 Mudder boils tem a knop o’ Lunnen Duns, ivei 
 dey ; and fadder gies tem t’ barn to lig in. If on ( 
 be yebel to work, wey he pays tem reet weel. Fw<ii 
 sud aw dui as they’d be duin tui ; an’ it’s naturab i 
 to beg, rader nor starve or steal ; efter aw the rattl j 
 
 Some threep, et the teymes ’ll git better ; 
 
 And laugh to see onie repeyne : 
 
 I’s nae pollytishin, that’s sarten, 
 
 But England seems in a declyne ! 
 
 I ruise afwore three, tudder mwornin, 
 
 And went owre to see Carel Fair; 
 
 I’d heard monie teales o’ thur dandies — 
 Odswinge ! how they mek the fwok stare ! 
 
 Thur flay-crows wear lasses stays ; and buy 'm 
 Lword Wellinten’s buits ; cokert, but nit snouu 
 bandet. Mey sartey ! sec a laugh I gat, to sees 
 tarrier meakin watter on yen o’ ther legs ! They’ 1 
 seerly mongrels, hawf-monkey breed : shept ff 
 awt’ warl leyke wasps, smaw i* t’ middle. To s«t 
 them paut pauten about, puts me i’ meyn o’ our aa 
 gander ; an’ if they meet a bonny lass, they damn 
 turn roun to luik at her. The “ Turk’s Heed” aa 
 “ Tir’d Spwortsman” are bonny seynes, but a danei 
 wad be far mair comical ; efter aw the rattle ! 
 
 But, shaff o’ sec odd trinkun-trankums ! 
 
 Thur hawf-witted varmen bang aw: 
 
 They’d freeten aul Nick, sud tey meet him— , 
 A dandy’s just fit for a show ! 
 
 I neist tuik a glowr ’mang the boutchers, 
 
 An’ gleymt at ther lumps o’ fat meat ; 
 
 They’ve aw maks the gully can dive at— 
 
 It meks peer fwok hungry to see’t. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 
 
 149 
 
 “What d’ye buy! what d’ye buy?” — “Wey a, 
 ] (outcher, wul te be out at our en o’t’country, suin ? 
 > re’ve a famish bull, nobbet eleeben year aul ; twee 
 (, raid-backt tips, an’ a bonny sew.” “ Nae bull, tips 
 i r sweyne for me !” — “ Hes te got any coves heeds 
 o sell, boutcher ?” “ Wa nay, Tommy ; but tou hes 
 en atop o* thy shouders ! What d’ye buy ? what 
 f’ye buy? here’s beef fit for a bishop; mutton for 
 ; markiss ; lam for a Iword ; aw sworts for aw maks ; 
 tee an’ low, yen an’ aw : nobbet seebenpence a pun : 
 fter aw the rattle !” 
 
 Wheyle peer fwok wer starin about tem, 
 
 Up hobbles an’ aul chap, an’ begs — 
 
 Oh ! wad our girt heeds o’ the nayshen 
 , Just set the peer fwok on their legs; 
 
 1 An odd seet I saw, ’twas t’naig market, 
 
 ! Whoar aw wer as busy as bees; 
 
 1 Sec lurryan, an* trottin, an’ scamprin — 
 
 1 Lord help tem ! — they’re meade up o’ lees ! 
 
 
 i “ Try a canter, Deavie.” — “Whoar gat te t’ powny, 
 ] Tim?” — “ Wey at stegshe.” — “ That’s a bluid meer,” 
 
 ii ays aul Breakshe, “ she was gittin by shrimp, an’ 
 j ut o* Madam Wagtail; she wan t’ king’s plate at 
 
 Donkister, tudder year.” — “Wan the deevil!” says 
 en tull him, “Tou means t’ breydle at Kingmuir 
 nin !” — “ Here’s a naig ! nobbet just nwotish his 
 en ! he can see through a nine inch waw. Fuils 
 ell o’ fortifications ; what he hes a breest leyke a 
 i iftification. Dud ye iver see yen cock sec a tail, 
 ridout a peppercworn ?” “ What dus te ax for em, 
 janny man?” — “Wey he’s weel worth twonty pun; 
 kit I’ll teake hawf.” — “Twonty deevils! I’ll gi’e 
 hee twonty shillin ; efter aw the rattle !” 
 
150 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 What aw trades are bad as horse-cowpers ; 
 They mek the best bargain they can ; 
 
 Fwok say, its the seame in aw countries — ' 
 
 Man leykes to draw kelter frae man ! 
 
 Neist daunderin down to the Cow Fair, 
 
 A famish rough rumpus I saw; 
 
 For Rickergeate lwoses her charter, 
 
 Sud theer be nae feightin at aw. 
 
 Aa ! what a hay-bay ! ’twas just leyke the battll 
 o’ Watte rlew. Men an’ women, young an’ aul, ra t! 
 frey aw quarters. Theer was sec shoutin, thrustiriri 
 pushin, an’ squeezin ; what they knock’d down staws 
 an’ brak shop windows aw to flinders. Thur leedti 
 heedet whups dui muckle mischief: a sairy beggaa 
 gat a bluidy nwose an’ broken teeth i’ the fray; 
 Hilltop Tom, an’ Low-gill Dick, the twea feightili 
 rapscallions, wer lugget off by the bealies, to mil 
 lword Mayor’s offish ; an’ thrussen into the blacl I 
 whol. I whop they’ll lig theer : for it’s weel na!a 
 ley ves wer lost ; efter aw the rattle ! 1 
 
 Shem o’ them ! thur peer country hanniels, 1 
 That slink into Carel to feight ! 
 
 De’ii bin them ! when free frae hard labour* 
 True plishure sud be their deleyte. 
 
 Theer was geapin an’ stairin, ’mang aw maks — — 
 “ Aa! gies ty fist, Ellek ! how’s tou!” 
 
 “ Wey, aw bais’d, an’ bluitert, an’ queerish ; 
 
 “ We’ll tek a drop gud mountain dew.” 
 
 “ Sees te, Ellek, theer’st peer luikin chap, et mek 
 aw t’ bits o’ Cummerlan ballets !” — “ The deevil ; 
 fye, Jobby, lets off frev him, for fear!” — “ Here’ 
 yer whillimer ; lank an* lean, but cheap an’ clean ! 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 151 
 
 tys yen. “ Buy a pair of elegant shun, young 
 entleman,” cries a dandy snob, “ they wer meade 
 >r Mr. Justice Grunt. Weages are hee, and ledder’s 
 sar ; but they’re nobbet twelve shillin.” Then a 
 ,t chap wid a hammer, selt clocks, cubberts, teables, 
 lairs, pots and pans, for nought at aw. What, I 
 ;ed fadder talkin to t’ lawyer, an gowl’d till my een 
 jer sair : but nae ill was duin ; efter aw the rattle! 
 
 j Then peer bits o’ hawf-broken farmers 
 In leggins, wer struttin about; 
 
 : Wer teymes gud, they’d aw become dandies— 
 We’ll ne’er leeve to see that, I doubt ! 
 
 Sec screapin, and squeekin, ’mang t* fiddlers; 
 
 I crap up the stairs, to be seer ; 
 
 But suin trottet down by the waiter, 
 
 For de’il a bit caprin was theer. 
 
 What lads and lasses are far owre proud to dance, 
 jw-a-days. I stowtert ahint yen desst out leyke 
 gingerbreed queen, an’ when I gat a gliff at her, 
 hee sud it be but Jenny Muirfhet, my aul sweet- 
 eart. I tried to give her a buss, but cuddent 
 >uch her muzzel ; for she wore yen o’ thur meal 
 ;owp bonnets. She ax’d me to buy her a parryswol ; 
 le we off to the dandy shop, an’ I gat her yen, forby 
 ridiculous. Jenny’ll hev a mountain o’ money ; 
 a* mey stars, she’s a walloper ! A a ! just leyke a 
 ouse en ! As for me, I’s nobbet a peer lillyprushen ; 
 ut she’ll be meyne, efter aw the rattle ! 
 
 Sae we link’d, an’ we laugh’d, an’ we chatter’d ; 
 
 Few husseys, leyke Jenny, ye’ll see; 
 
 O hed we but taen off to Gratena, 
 
 Nin wad been sae happy as we ! 
 
152 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 We went thro’ the big kurk, an’ cassel ; 
 
 And neist tuik a rammel thro’ t’ streets : I 
 
 What, Carel’s the pleace for feyne houses, 
 
 But monie a peer body yen meets ; 
 
 Ay ! yen in tatters, wi’ ae e’e, shoutet, “ Here’s 
 last speech, confession, and deem words o’ Martha 
 Mumps: she was hang’t, for committin a reape; 
 on— Hut shap ! I forgit his neame.” Anuddei: 
 tatterdemalion says, “ Come buy a full chinse Indylj 
 muslin ; nobbet sixpence hawfpenny a yard !” Jenny; 
 bowt yen, an’ it was rotten as muck. Then theetj 
 was bits o’ things wi’ their neddys, and rwoariiii 
 upt’ lanes, “ Bleng-ki-ship cwoals!” And chaps 
 cawin “ Watter ! watter !” it mun be that meks’l i 
 yell sae smaw. Then they sell puzzin for gin ; whahl 
 it hes sec a grip o’ the gob* it’s leyke to mek fwoks 
 shek their heeds off. They hannel brass an’ nwotes, , 
 but ther’s nee siller i’ Carel. Sec cheatin, stealing 
 wheedlin, leein, rwoarin, swearin, drinkin, feightin,*, 
 meks Fairs nowt et dow ; efter aw the rattle ! 
 
 Thro’ leyfe we hev aw maks amang us ; 
 
 Sad changes ilk body mun share : 
 
 To-day we’re just puzzen’d wi 5 plishure ; 
 To-mworn we’re bent double wi' care ! 
 
 September 18, 1819. 
 
 PEGGY PEN. 
 
 The muin shone breet, the tudder neet ; 
 
 The kye were milk’t, aw wark was duin ; 
 
 I shav'd mysel, en cwom’t my hair, 
 
 Threw off the clogs, put on greas’d shoon ; 
 The clock strack eight, as out I stule ; 
 
 The rwode I tuik, reet weel I ken ; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 153 
 
 An* crost the watter, clam the hill, 
 
 I* whops to meet wi’ Peggy Pen. 
 
 When i* the wood,. I hard some talk ; 
 
 They cuttert on, but varra low ; 
 
 I hid mysel ahint a yek, 
 
 An* Peggy wid a chap suin saw : 
 
 Fie smakt her lips, she criet, “ give owre ! 
 
 We lasses aw er pleaguet wi’ men,” 
 
 1 trimlin stuin, but dursent speak ; 
 
 Tho* fain wad coddelt Peggy Pen ! 
 
 He cawt her Marget, sometimes Miss ; 
 
 He spak queyte feyne, an’ kiss’d her han ; 
 He braggt ov aw his fadder hed — 
 
 I seeght ; for we’ve na house or lan : 
 
 Said he, “ My dear, I’ve watch’d you oft, 
 
 And seen you link through wood and glen. 
 With one George Moor, a rustic poor, 
 
 Not fit to wait on sweet Miss Pen !” 
 
 She drew her han, and turn’d her roun ; 
 
 “ Let’s hae nae mair sec tawk,” says she ; 
 
 “ Tho* Gwordie Muir be nobbet puir. 
 
 He’s dearer nor a prince to me ! 
 
 Mey fadder scauls, mworn, nuin, and neet ; 
 
 Mey mudder fratches sair, what then ? 
 
 Aw this warl’s gear cud niver buy 
 
 Frae Gworge, the luive o’ Peggy Pen.” 
 
 “ O Miss !” says he, “ forget such fools ; 
 
 Nor heed the awkward stupid clown ; 
 
 If such a creetcher spoke to me, 
 
 I’d quickly knock the booby down !” 
 
 " Come on !” says I, “ thy strength e’en try ; 
 
 An head owre heels sec chaps I’d sen ; 
 
 Lug off thy cwoat ; I’ll feight aw neet, 
 
 Wi* three, leyke thee, for Peggy Pen !” 
 
154 * CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Now off be flew ; my airms I threw 
 About her weast ; away we went ; 
 
 I ax’d her, if she durst be meyne ; 
 
 She squeez’d my han, an’ gev consent : 
 We tawkt and jwokt, as lovers sud : 
 
 We partet at their awn byre en ; 
 
 And ere anudder month be owre, 
 
 She’ll change, to Muir, frae Peggy Pen ! 
 
 THE AUL HOLLOW TREE. 
 
 Tune — (< Come under my jilaidie .” 
 
 When heame I ay wander, and see the sun settin, 
 Queyte free frae hard labour an’ care, till thee 
 mworn, ’ | 
 
 My thoughts turn to yen that nin roun e’er saw frettin, , 
 A bonnier, a better, nay, ne’er yet was bworn. 
 Tho’ J’s a peer sarvant, an’ money’s wheyles scanty, . 
 An’ maister’s tarn’d temper some daily wad dree; 
 At ebenin, tho’ weary, 
 
 My heart’s ay queyte cheery, 
 
 When Peggy I meet nar the aul hollow tree. 
 
 When twee bits o’ bairns, theer we ofFen sat laikin, 
 An’ wheyles wer fworc’d in by weyl win or the 
 rain ; 
 
 Now luikin owre picters, now seevy caps meakin, 
 
 Or sharin an apple, that ay meade us fain. ! 
 
 We’d lissin the blackburd, lark, throssle, or lennet, 
 And hares playin nar us, in summer we’d see ; 
 Lambs merry wad wander, 
 
 Its brenches an under ; 
 
 But few now will nwotish an aul hollow tree. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 155 
 
 Sow happy the days, when our teens we’ve just 
 enter’d. 
 
 And luive gies a glance frae the lass we haud dear ; 
 But, O, when yen’s driven frae the heart’s dearest 
 treasure, 
 
 In fancy, we’ll gaze on her oft wid a tear : 
 Content hails the mwornin, and joy the day clwoses, 
 When evenin to lovers true comfort can gie ; 
 When nature’s seen smeylin, 
 
 An’ dull cares begueylin, 
 
 ! An’ teyme’s spent in peace nar the aul hollow tree. 
 
 Mey cruikt cankert maister, queyte greedy, hawf 
 crazy, 
 
 Oft cowshens his niece aw peer fellows to shun ; 
 An’ Peggy, wi’ smeyles, ne’er an uncle yence cros'ses, 
 Nor e’er can by wealth, preyde, or flattery be 
 won. 
 
 I’ve wheyles thought o* leavin the snarlin aul body, 
 To hunt out some other, wheas heart’s fou o’ glee ; 
 Luive whispers, “ O, bear aw ! 
 
 Ay cheer aw, nor fear aw ; 
 
 Just think o’ past teymes nar the aul hollow tree.” 
 
 Af dances she’s courted by chaps thrang about her, 
 
 ! But ne’er yence was seen to gie onie a frown ; 
 ;To win her wi’ feynery, the squire oft hes sowt her, 
 An’ sent owre a silk shawl an’ gran satin gown ; 
 She’d laugh at the thowt, an’ the seame hour return 
 them, 
 
 Then bid him nit whope a squire’s mistress she’d 
 be ; 
 
 Far titter than wear them, 
 
 She’d burn them or tear them, — 
 
 At neet I hard aw nar the aul hollow tree. 
 
156 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Whene’er the sky’s cawm, and the muin wheyte as 
 siller, , 
 
 And partridges caw the lost partners to meet, 
 
 We steal out thegither, and leavethe crabb’d uncle— - 
 He snwores on the sattle, ay neet efter neet ; J 
 Wi’ yage he’s bent double, an* row’d up in trouble, 
 But dreams nit sweet Peggy her heart hes gieri 
 me; 
 
 Till kindred may loss him, 
 
 We’ll ne’er wish to cross him, 
 
 But spen hours o’ luive at the aul hollow tree. 
 
 When laid i’ the greave, nar his decent deame Jenny, 
 Of aw neybors roun him, but few will repeyne ; 
 Sud mey favourite, Peggy, be left nit ae penny, 
 Ere threyce the muin changes I whop she’ll be 
 meyne, 
 
 If peer, or if wealthy, ay merry when healthy, 4 
 We’ll pray that aw countries for iver may ’gree ; 
 We’ll comfort ilk other, 
 
 But brethren ne’er bother, 
 
 An* think o’ days geane nar the aul hollow tree. 
 
 What trees er leyke mortals— -^eks strang, an* wide 
 spreedin, 
 
 Wake willows to every leeght breeze will ay bow; 
 Girt cedars, leyke breers that men cattle keep treedin, (- 
 Are nourisht aleyke, yen an* aw, the warl thro*; j 
 On yerth, seame as bairins, for a wheyle they’re 
 seen creepin, 
 
 Oft robb’d of a brench— pity sae it sud be ! 
 
 Some grow up together. 
 
 In youth monie wither — 
 
 A teype o’ frail man is the aul hollow tree ! 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 157 
 
 THE WIDOW’S WAIL. 
 
 Tune, — By the Author • 
 
 Now clwos’d for aye thy cwoal-black een. 
 
 That lang, lang gaz’d on me ! — Oh ! Wully ! 
 
 An’ leyfeless lies that manly form, 
 
 I aye was fain to see ; my Wully ! 
 
 Ah ! luckless hour, thou struive for heame, 
 
 Last neet, ’cross Eden weyde !— Dear Wully ! 
 
 This mworn a stiffen’d corpse brong in 
 
 It’s warse than deeth to beyde ! — Oh ! Wully f 
 
 The owlet hootet sair yestreen, 
 
 An* threyce the suit it fell ! — Oh ! Wully ! 
 
 The teyke com leate, an’ bark’d aloud ; 
 
 It seem’d the deein knell o’ Wully : 
 
 Deep wer the snows, keen, keen my woes ; 
 
 The bairns oft cried for thee, their Wully : 
 
 I trimlin said, “ He’ll suin be here” — 
 
 They ne’er yence clwos’d an e’e — Oh ! Wully ! 
 
 An’ when I saw the thick sleet faw, 
 
 A bleezin fire I meade for W ully ; 
 
 An’ watch’d, an’ watch’d, as it grew dark, 
 
 An’ I grew mair afraid for Wully i 
 
 I thowt I heard the powney’s feet, 
 
 An’ ran, the voice to hear o’ Wully ; 
 
 The win’ blew hollow, but nae sound 
 
 My sinkin heart did cheer — Oh ! Wully ! 
 
 The clock struck yen, the clock struck twee, 
 The clock struck three, at four, nae Wully; 
 
 I heard, wi’ joy, the powney’s feet, 
 
 An’ thowt my cares were owre for Wully: 
 
 The powney neigh’d, but thou was lost; 
 
 I sank upon the ground, for Wully ; 
 
158 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Suin, where I lay, appear’d thy ghost, 
 
 An* whisper’d, thou wert drown’d — Oh ! Wullyy 
 The muin was up, in vain I sowt 
 
 The stiffen’d corpse o’ theyne, lost Wully ! 
 ’Twill suin, suin mingle wi’ the dust, 
 
 An’ nar it, sae wull meyne — Oh ! Wully ! 
 Gang, dry your tears, my bairns five ! 
 
 Gang, dry your tears o’ sorrow, dearies ! 
 
 Your fadder’s cares are at an en, 
 
 An’ sae may ours, to-morrow, dearies ! 
 
 THE LASSES OF CAREL. 
 
 The lasses o’ Carel are weel-shep’d, and bonny, ! 
 
 But he that wad win yen mun brag of his gear j; 
 You may follow, and follow, till heart-sick andd 
 weary, 
 
 To get them needs siller, and feyne claes to wear: ;j 
 They’ll catch at a reed cwoat, leyke as monie mackrel> : 
 And jump at a fop, or e’en lissen a fuil; 
 
 Just brag of an uncle, that’s got heaps of money, 
 And de’il a bit odds, if you’ve ne’er been at schuii! ! 
 
 I yence follow’d Marget, the twoast amang aw maks, y 
 And Peg hed a red cheek, and bonny dark e’e ; 
 But suin as she fan I depended on labour, 
 
 She snurl’d up her neb, and nae mair luik’d at me: 
 This meks my words gud, nobbet brag o’ yer uncle, 
 And get a peer hawf-wit to trumpet yer praise, 
 You may catch whee you will, they’ll caress ye, and 
 bless ye — 
 
 It’s money, nit merit, they seek now-a-days ! 
 
 I neist follow’d Nelly, and thowt her an angel, 
 
 And she thowt me aw that a mortal sud be; 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 159 
 
 \ rich whupper-snapper just stept in atween us, 
 Nae words efter that pass’d atween Nell and me : 
 rhis meks my words gud, nobbet brag o’ yer uncle, 
 They’ll feight, ay leyke mad cats, to win yer sly 
 smeyle ; 
 
 \nd watch ye, to catch ye, now gazin’ and praisin’, 
 They’re angels to luik at, wi’ hearts full o’ geyle ! 
 
 THE ILL-GIEN WEYFE, 
 Tuke — " My wife has ta'en the gee." 
 
 A toilsome leyfe, for thurty years, 
 
 I patiently hev spent, 
 
 As onie yen o’ onie rank, 
 
 I* this weyde warl e’er kent ; 
 
 For when at heame, or when away, 
 
 Nae peace ther is for me ; 
 
 I’s pestert wid an HUgien weyfe , 
 
 That niver lets me be : 
 
 Aye teazin, ne’er ceasin, 
 
 Leyke an angry sea ; 
 
 Nea kurk-bell e’er hed sec a tongue, 
 
 And oft it deefens me ! 
 
 When furst I saw her mealy feace, 
 
 ’Twas painted up sae feyne, 
 
 I thowt her e’en fit for a queen — 
 
 She wan this heart o’ meyne ; 
 
 But sin’ that hour, that sworry hour, 
 
 We ne’er cud yence agree ; 
 
 And oft I curse the luckless day 
 I pawn’d my liberty : 
 
 Care an’ sorrow, then to-morrow 
 Aye the seame mun be ; 
 
160 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Oh ! had I coffin’d been, that day 
 I lost my liberty ! 
 
 When young, I wish’d for weyfe and weans, 
 But now the thowt I sc worn ; 
 
 Thank Heav’n, a bairn o’ owther sex 
 To me she ne’er has bworn ! 
 
 Leyke fuils we wish our youth away, 
 
 When happy we mud be — 
 
 Aw ye whee’re pleagued wi’ scauldin weyves, 
 I wish ye suin set free ! 
 
 Grin, grinnin ! — din, dinnin ! 
 
 Toil and misery ! 
 
 Better feed the kurk-yard wurms. 
 
 Than leeve sec slaves as we ! 
 
 I’s past aw wark, it’s hard to want, 
 
 And auld and peer am I ; 
 
 But happiness i’ this veyle warl, 
 
 Nae gear cud Tver buy : 
 
 O were I on some owre sea land, 
 
 Nae women nar to see, 
 
 At preyde an’ grandeur I wad smeyle, 
 
 An’ thanks to Heav’n wad gie : 
 
 O woman ! foe to man ! 
 
 A blessin thou sud be ; 
 
 But wae to him that wears thy chain, 
 
 Peer wretch unblest leyke me ! 
 
 When wintry blasts blow loud an* keen, 
 
 I’s fain to slink frae heame ; 
 
 An’ rader feace the angry storm, 
 
 Than hur I hate to neame : 
 
 Wheyle she wi’ sland’rous cronies met, 
 
 Sit’s hatchin monie a lee ; 
 
 The seet wad flay auld Nick away, 
 
 Or vex a saint to see. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 161 
 
 Puff, puffin ! — snuff, snuffin ! 
 
 Ne'er frae mischief free ; 
 
 How waak is lwordly boastin man, 
 
 On sec to cast an e’e ! 
 
 If to a neybor’s house I steal, 
 
 To crack a wheyle at neet, 
 
 She hurries ti’ me leyke a de’il, 
 
 An’ flays the fwok to see’t ; 
 
 Whate’er I dui, whate’er 1 say, 
 
 Wi’ hur a faut mun be ; 
 
 I freet an’ freet baith neet an’ day, 
 
 But seldom clw^se an e’e : 
 
 Wake, wakin ! — shake, shakin ! 
 
 Then she teks the gee ; 
 
 He’s happy that leevs aw his leane, 
 Compar’d wi’ chaps leyke me. 
 
 To stop the niver-ceasin storm, 
 
 I brong her cousin here ; 
 
 She aw but brak the wee thing’s heart, 
 An’ cost her monie a tear : 
 
 If chance a frien pops in his head, 
 
 Off to the duir she’ll flee ; 
 
 She snarls leyke onie angry cat, 
 
 An’ sair I’s vex’d to see ! 
 
 Now fratchin, neist scratchin, 
 
 Oft wi’ Weaken’d e’e, 
 
 I pray auld Nick hed sec a deame, 
 
 I trow he vex’d wad be ! 
 
 How blithe man meets the keenest ills, 
 I’ this shwort voyage o’ leyfe, 
 
 And thinks nae palace leyke his heame. 
 Blest wid a keyndly weyfe : 
 
 But sure the greatest curse hard fate 
 To onie man can gie, 
 
 L 
 
JG2 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Is sec a filthy slut as mevne, 
 
 That ne’er yence comforts me ; 
 
 Lads jeerin, lasses sneerin, 
 
 Cuckold some caw me ; 
 
 I scrat an auld grey achin pow, 
 
 But darn’t say they lee. 
 
 They’re happy that hev teydey weyves, 
 To keep peer bodies clean ; 
 
 But meyne’s a freetfu’ lump o’ filth, 
 
 Her marra ne’er was seen : 
 
 Ilk dud she wears upon her back, 
 
 Is poison to the e’e ; 
 
 Her smock’s leyke aul Nick’s nuttin bag, 
 The de’il a word I lee : 
 
 Dour an’ durty — house aw cl arty ! 
 
 See her set at tea, 
 
 Her feace defies baitli seape an san, 
 
 To mek’t just fit to see ! 
 
 A beyte o’ meat I munnet eat, 
 
 Seave what I cuik mysel ; 
 
 Ae patch or clout she’ll nit stick on, 
 
 Sae heame’s just leyke a hell : 
 
 By day or neet, if out o’ seet, 
 
 Seafe frae this canker’d she, 
 
 I pray and pray, wi’ aw my heart, 
 
 Deeth, suin tek hur or me ! 
 
 I Fleyte, fleytin ! — feight, feightin ! 
 
 How her luik I dree ! 
 
 Come tyrant rid me o’ this curse, 
 
 Dui tek her ! I’ll thank thee ! 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 THE DAYS THAT ARE GEANE. 
 
 Tune — “ The muckin' o' Geordie's byre," 
 
 Now, weyfe, sin* the day-leet hes left us, 
 And drizzly sleet’s ’ginnin to fa’, 
 
 Let’s creep owre the heartsome turf ingle, 
 And laugh the weyld winter awa’ ; 
 
 Contented, thou spins the lang e’enin’, 
 
 And I wi’ my peype envy neane ; 
 
 Then why shou’d we peyne about riches — 
 Let’s think o’ the days that are geane. 
 
 This crazy auld chair, when I think on’t, 
 Nae wonder a tear blins my e’e ; 
 
 ’Twas e’en my puir fadder’s, God rest him ; 
 He valued this warl nit a flea : 
 
 His maxim was, be guid, and dui guid ! 
 
 To mortal he wadna gie pain — 
 
 My chair’s mair than gilded throne to me, 
 
 It propp’d the leal fellow that’s geane. 
 
 Thy wheel that’s gien deedin’ to monie, 
 
 O* mortals aye puts me i’ meynd ; 
 
 The spoke now at top, is suin lowest, 
 
 And thus it oft fares wi’ mankeynd : 
 
 The clock, clickin’, tells how Teyme passes, 
 A moment he’ll tarry for neane ; 
 
 Contented we’ll welcome to-morrow, 
 
 Aye thankfu* for days that are geane. 
 
 Now fifty shwort years hae flown owre us, 
 Sin’ furst we fell in at the fair ; 
 
 I’ve monie a teyme thowt, wi’ new pleasure, 
 Nae weyfe cud wi* Jenny compare: 
 
 Tho’ thy rwose has gien way to the wrinkle, 
 At changes we munna complain ; 
 
164 # 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 They’re rich, whea in age are leet-hearted, 
 And mourn nit for days that are geane. 
 
 Our bairns are heale, hearty, and honest, 
 
 And willinly toil thro’ the year ; 
 
 Our duty we aye hae duin ti’ them, 
 
 And poverty e’en let them bear : 
 
 Theer’s Jenny hes lamin’, and manners, 
 
 And Wully can match onie yen ; 
 
 We tought tern my guid fadder’s maxim, 
 
 And they’ll bliss the auld fwok, when geane 
 
 Theer’s ae thing I lang, lang ha’e pray’d for, 
 Sud tyrant Deeth tear thee away, 
 
 And rob me o’ life’s dearest treasure, 
 
 May he gie me a caw the seame day ! 
 
 If fworc’d to resign my auld lassie, 
 
 I cuddent lang linger my leane ; 
 
 I’d creep to thy greave, broken-hearted 
 Wi’ thowts o’ the days that are geane. 
 
 
 ROB LOWRIE. 
 
 Tune — “ Auld Rob Morris .” 
 
 I’ve seen thirty Summers strow flow’rs i* the gleki 
 But anudder blithe Summer I’ll ne’er see again ! 
 I’ve bed monie wooers, frae clown to the beau, 
 
 But I’ve lost Rob Lowrie, the flow’r o’ them aw 
 
 The furst was Joe Coupland, when I was fifteen 
 The neist was Wull Wawby, and then com Gj! ! 
 Green ; 
 
 An* Jwohn o’ Kurkan’rews, and Sly Dicky Slee, 
 But bonny Rob Lowrie was dearest to me ! 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 165 
 
 1 Twas last Durdar reaces, he rid the black cowt, 
 \nd widout onie whuppin, he bang’t tem leyke owt ; 
 \nd then when they russel’d, the lads how he felt ! 
 
 1 ind off heame we canter’t, wi’ breydle and belt. 
 
 \t neets when we daunder’t alang Cauda seyde, 
 He’d promise, and promise to mek me his breyde ; 
 \n’ then our twee neames he wad carve on the 
 steyle — 
 
 Lord help the peer lasses men seek to beguile ! 
 
 1 [ luik owre the pasture — nae Rob’s to be seen ! 
 Then sit down, heart-broken, an’ tears blin my een : 
 My mudder she fratches, frae mwornin till neet, 
 &nd lasses keep flyrin’, wheniver we meet. 
 
 ftVhen singin’, Rob Lowrie was aye i’ my sang ; 
 jNow thoughts o’ Rob Lowrie ha’e turn’d me quite 
 I wrang ; 
 
 He’s weel-shep’d, an’ lusty, he stans six feet twee; 
 Theer’s health in his fair feace, and luive in his e’e ! 
 
 But whee’s this comes whuslin’, sae sweet, owre the 
 hill? 
 
 He brings me a pwosey — It’s e’en Gwordie Gill ! 
 He’s lish, an’ he’s canny, wi’ reed curly hair — 
 
 The De’il tek Rob Lowrie ! I’ll heed him nae mair 1 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Tune — “ Miss Forbes's Farewell to Bamf," 
 
 I’ve known my share o’ warldly care, 
 
 And poverty is aye my lot ; 
 
 But, Mary, when on thee I gaze, 
 
 Dull care and puirtith are forgot : 
 
166 
 
 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 Thou art the sweet’ner o’ my life ; 
 
 Thou art Golconda’s wealth to me ; 
 And by thy bosom, pure as white, 
 
 I’ll love thee, Mary, till I dee ! 
 
 O, were we on some desert Isle, 
 
 Where human foot ne’er trode before, 
 My arms shou’d be thy couch a’ day, 
 
 And I wou’d gaze, and love thee more ! 
 I’d shield thee frae ilk angry blast, 
 
 Thou dearest gem on earth to me ! 
 
 For by thy speaking een, I swear, 
 
 To love thee, Mary, till I dee ! 
 
 The lavrock hails the rising morn ; 
 
 The gowdspink lo’es the thorny spray ; 
 The cushat coos within the wood ; 
 
 The plover seeks the pasture grey : 
 
 I envy these what these enjoy, 
 
 But hope ne’er wares a smile on me ; 
 
 I hug the chain that gies me pain, 
 
 For I maun love thee, till I dee ! 
 
 END OF THE BALLADS. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note 1 , p. 17 . — Let's gow to Rodey fair. 
 
 These fairs are holden on an extensive tract of 
 common, called Rosley-hill. They commence on 
 Whit-Monday, and continue once a fortnight till 
 Michaelmas. It is impossible to convey an adequate 
 
 idea of them by description One part of the 
 
 hill is covered with horses and black cattle, with 
 dealers, drovers, and jockeys ; who, if the day be windy 
 and sultry, are involved in a hurricane of dust, almost 
 as violent in its duration as that which sweeps the 
 arid deserts of Africa : another part is overspread 
 with the booths of mercers, milliners, hardwaremen, 
 and bread-bakers. Here you see the mountebank, 
 hawker, and auctioneer, addressing the gaping crowd 
 from a wooden platform ; and there you hear the 
 discordant strains of the ballad-singer, the music of 
 the bagpipe and the violin, of the fife, and the “ spirit- 
 stirring drum.” 
 
 Tents of innkeepers, crowded with bottles and 
 barrels, are interspersed in every part of the festal 
 ground, but particularly in the vicinity of the horse 
 fair, wher6 the heat and dust of the day occasion a 
 more than usual thirst ; and, much to the honour 
 of these knights of the cork and spigot , the malt and 
 spirituous liquors which they retail to their thirsty 
 customers, are so judiciously diluted with water, 
 that they operate with all the innocence of simple 
 diuretics ; so that it is not uncommon to see a com- 
 pany of hale farmers, after having exhausted all the 
 casks and bottles in these moving cellars , returning 
 to their own houses with all the sobriety and gravity 
 in which they left them in the morning. 
 
16S 
 
 NOTES, 
 
 Of these fairs, which are prolonged till they 
 dwindle into insignificance, the second is particularly 
 noted for a fine assemblage of Cumbrian lasses, who, | 
 in different parties, parade the hill, in all the artless 
 simplicity of rural beauty, till some rustic admirer: 
 displays his gallantry and his love, by escorting a 
 select number of them to some neighbouring tent, ; 
 and treating them with cake and punch, and the q 
 music of the bagpipe and fiddle When these ac- 
 
 knowledgments have been paid to their beauty, 
 they return to the field to attack and to conquer*; 
 for to a girl, who has received from Nature hern 
 share of beauty, the whole day is distinguished by 
 a succession of triumphs. The cakes, ribbons, and i 
 handkerchiefs, (the tributes of rural gallantry), are, , 
 on their return home, carefully deposited, as so. 
 many illustrious trophies of their victories. 
 
 At these fairs are sold a species of cheese called! 
 Whillymer , or, as some whimsically style it, Rosleyt 
 Cheshire. It is as remarkable for its poverty as thaft 
 of Stilton is for its richness ; and its surface is so hard,!] 
 that it frequently bids defiance to the keenest edge . 
 of a Cumbrian gully , and its interior substance so 
 very tough, that it affords rather occupation to the 
 teeth of a rustic than nourishment to his body, 
 making his hour of repast (to use the expression 
 of an ingenious friend) the severest part of his,: 
 day’s labour. 
 
 About noon the boundaries of the fair are peram- 
 bulated, or, as it is provincially called, " ridden ,” — •> 
 which exhibits a spectacle “ sufficient” (to use the. 
 words of Dr. Johnson) “ to awaken the most torpid 
 risibility.” A number of lairds, farmers, tradesmen,! 
 and mechanics, mount their horses, and, in a slow i 
 and solemn pace, wind round the circuit of the hill, i 
 
NOTES. 
 
 169 
 
 accompanied by a train of venerable fiddlers, many 
 of whom have been the tormentors of cat-gut for 
 
 almost half a century These minstrels, who, during 
 
 the rest of the year, travel on foot from village to 
 village, giving music in return for oats or barley, 
 are on these occasions, by the favour of their friends, 
 mounted on horseback, and provided with better 
 clothes. 
 
 I Note 2. p. 19. — I went my ways down to Caret fair, 
 Carlisle fair, or, as it is called by the country people, 
 
 | Carel fair, is holden on the 26th of August, and is 
 so noted for the number and variety of its amuse- 
 ments and choice of commodities, that there is hardly 
 a villager within the circuit of ten miles who does 
 not attend it, except perhaps two or three unhappy 
 swains and nymphs, whom the authority of a morose 
 parent, or a churlish master or mistress, confines at 
 home. 
 
 A Cumberland lad, when he meets his sweetheart 
 at a fair, whether by appointment or accident, throws 
 his arms round her wai$t in all the raptures of love, 
 conducts her to a dancing room, places her beside 
 him on a bench, and treats her liberally with cake 
 and punch. When a vacancy happens on the floor, 
 he leads her out to dance a jig or a reel. If her 
 choice be a reel, another partner being necessary, he 
 makes a bow to some other girl in the company, 
 and at the end of the dance he salutes each of his 
 fair partners with a cordial kiss, if its cordiality can 
 be ascertained by the loudness of its sound ; for a 
 plain, honest rustic, impresses his kisses with such 
 vehemence on the roseate lips of his fair one, that 
 they have been compared by Burns to the crack 
 of a waggoner’s whip ; and, with equal happiness, 
 
170 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 by the author of the preceding Ballads, to the sound 
 of the latch of a gate. 
 
 At the close of the day, a Cumberland rustic 
 would think himself deficient in common gallantry, 
 if he omitted to escort his sweetheart to her own 
 house, — a favour that she always repays by a more 
 than usual portion of smiles on his next visit. 
 
 Note 3 , p. 20 . 
 
 When aw t' auld fwolc were liggin asleep. 
 
 A Cumbrian peasant pays his addresses to his sweet- 
 heart during the silence and solemnity of midnight, 
 when every bosom is at rest, except that of love and 
 sorrow. Anticipating her kindness, he will travel 
 ten or twelve miles, over hills, bogs, moors, and ; 
 mosses, undiscouraged by the length of the road, i 
 the darkness of the night, or the intemperature of 
 the weather — On reaching her habitation, he gives 1 
 a gentle tap at the window of her chamber, at which a 
 signal she immediately rises, dresses herself, and 1 
 proceeds with all possible silence to the door, which 
 she gently opens, lest a creaking hinge, or a barking 
 dog, should awaken the family. 
 
 On his entrance into the kitchen, the luxuries of 
 a Cumbrian cottage — cream and sugared curds — 
 are placed before him by the fair hand of his sweet- 
 heart. Next the courtship commences, previously 
 to which the fire is darkened or extinguished, lest 
 its light should guide to the window some idle or 
 licentious eye. In this dark and uncomfortable 
 situation, (at least uncomfortable to all but lovers) 
 they remain till the advance of day, depositing in 
 each other’s bosoms the secrets of love, and making 
 vows of unalterable affection. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 171 
 
 Though I am so far partial to my fair country- 
 women, that in some instances I respect their very 
 prejudices, I cannot conclude this note without re- 
 presenting to them the danger and impropriety of 
 admitting their lovers during those hours of the 
 night, which virtue and innocence have appropriated 
 to repose. Nothing more encourages unbecoming 
 familiarities, nothing more promotes dissolute man- 
 ners, nothing more endangers female chastity, 
 nothing more facilitates the designs of the seducer, 
 than these night-courtships . 
 
 A custom that leads to such serious consequences, 
 however general it may be, or whatever antiquity 
 it may claim, cannot be too soon abolished ; and I 
 am so much convinced of the good sense and purity 
 of mind of the Cumbrian fair, that I am confident, 
 as soon as they reflect on the guilt and misery to 
 which it so often leads, their virtue will take alarm, 
 and they will see the danger of admitting the visits 
 of their lovers in improper situations and at improper 
 times. 
 
 Note 4, p. 21. — I got aw the news, far and nar. 
 Amidst the laborious duties which his condition of 
 life imposes upon him, a Cumbrian peasant finds 
 leisure and opportunities for collecting and dissemi- 
 nating village news. His intelligence is gathered 
 in different quarters, but generally at the mill, while 
 his batch of corn is grinding ; or at the smithy, 
 while his clogs are receiving their customary load 
 of iron. 
 
 When he has completed his collection, he travels 
 1 with all the expedition of a courier, from village to 
 | village, from house to house, gratifying every in- 
 quisitive mind, and attracting every vacant ear. 
 
172 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 He is the “historian of his native plain,” and 
 gives an accurate relation of a wrestling or a boxing 
 match, discriminating the respective merits of the 
 combatants, and pointing out the causes that led to 
 victory or defeat. If his own actions be the subject j 
 of his conversation, he becomes more than usually 
 eloquent, elevating his tone and diction agreeably 
 to the precept of Sallust: “ dictis excequanda sunt 
 facta ,” great actions demand a corresponding gran- 
 deur of style.. To discover the extent of his political 
 knowledge to the public, he assembles a group of! 
 his neighbours round his evening fire, or, after the 
 fatigues of the day are finished, goes to the ale- 
 house, 
 
 “ Where village statesmen talk with looks profound, 
 
 “ And news much older than their ale go round.” 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Note 5, p. 22. — A boggle s been seen , fyc. 
 
 The fault of the present age is not that it believes ? 
 too much, but that it believes too little. Its Illumi- 
 nati have ejected from their creeds not only the 
 fables of giants, fairies, and necromancers, but the 
 truths of revelation and the facts of sacred history. 
 They wish to reform our politics, our philosophy, , 
 and our manners, and yet would take away that i 
 religion, to which we are indebted for our public 
 and domestic happiness. 
 
 Were a missionary from this new school to visit 
 those sequestered parts of Cumberland, where the 
 superstitions of our ancestors are preserved in all : 
 their purity, what stubborn tenets would he have to 
 contend with! What shades of mental darkness 
 would his philosophy have to penetrate ! In almost 
 every cottage he would see the Bible, and the his- 
 
NOTES. 
 
 17S 
 
 tories of giants, fairies, witches, and apparitions, 
 occupying the same shelf, and equally sharing the 
 belief and engaging the attention of their rustic 
 readers. The effects, indeed, of these sacred and 
 fabulous records are different : the one shedding 
 
 over the mind a pleasing serenity; the other, a 
 sombre melancholy. 
 
 In the days of antiquity, the houses, woods, and 
 rivers of Greece and Rome were frequented by 
 Lares, Fauns, Dryads, and Naiads — all of them 
 cheerful in their nature, and friendly to man. The 
 Graces and the Loves sported on their plains, and 
 on their mountains the Muses strung their harps. 
 But the Genii that haunt the romantic valleys, the 
 hills, woods, and rivers of Cumberland, are so mis- 
 chievous and malevolent in their disposition, so 
 terrific in their aspect, and hostile to the human 
 race, that a person would be thought very regard- 
 less of his safety, were he to entrust himself at any 
 late hour of the night in the neighbourhood of 
 their haunts. Though of an aerial nature, these 
 beings often assume, during their nocturnal rambles 
 on our earth, a corporeal form, that the gross optic 
 nerves of poor mortals might be able to take their 
 size, form, and aspect. They are generally taciturn ; 
 but when they do break silence, their unearthly cries 
 “make night hideous.” — The benighted peasant no 
 sooner hears them than he discovers the imminence 
 of his danger, and hastens home with precipitated 
 steps, his hair standing on end, “ like quills upon 
 the fretful porcupine.” It sometimes happens that, 
 in the rapidity of his flight, he is under the necessity 
 of leaving his clogs in the mire, in order to save (what 
 is certainly of greater consequence to a breathing 
 mortal) his carcass. 
 
174 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 6, p. 23 — 0, sec a weddin I've been at. 
 
 The day of marriage is in all countries a day of 
 festivity ; because the married state is supposed to 
 bring an addition to our domestic happiness, perhaps 
 greater than a cynical old bachelor will allow. 
 
 Among the plebeians of Cumberland the whole 
 day glides away amidst music,, dancing, and noisy 
 revelry. Early in the morning, the bridegroom, 
 attended by a select party of his friends, and mounted 
 on horseback, proceeds to the house of the bride, 
 where they breakfast. As soon as this repast is 
 finished, the bride makes a silent retreat, and arran- 
 ges every ringlet. After she has paid this attention 
 to her person, she joins the nuptial party, who 
 proceed in a regular cavalcade towards the church, 
 accompanied by a fiddler, who plays a succession of 
 tunes correspondent to the festivity of the occasion, 
 till they reach holy ground. As soon as the connubial 
 knot is tied, the company proceed to some neighbour- 
 ing ale-house, where many a flowing bumper of 
 home-brewed ale is quaffed to the health of the 
 married couple. Animated with earthly nectar, 
 they gallop full speed towards the bride’s habitation, 
 where a handkerchief is presented to the person 
 who shall first reach the house. When the dinner, 
 which consists generally of beef, bacon, pies, and 
 puddings, is placed upon the board, every individual 
 in the party carves for himself, and loads his trencher 
 with a mess of provisions, which many men, in these 
 degenerate days, would consider a sufficient burden 
 for the back. After dinner the spirits of the com- 
 pany receive an additional elevation from copious 
 potations of ale and whisky, from the music of the 
 village-minstrel, from the song and the dances. The 
 
NOTES. 
 
 175 
 
 effects of the liquor soon discover themselves ill the 
 clamorous tongue and roseate phiz of every rustic, 
 which resembles a rising moon in all her glory. 
 
 In the evening a general pugilistic contest (the 
 common consequence of intemperate cups) usually 
 commences, presenting a scene worthy of the pencil 
 of a Hogarth. 
 
 About midnight, or as soon as peace is established 
 among the belligerent parties, the bride retires to 
 her bed-chamber, and, while she undresses herself, 
 [delivers a stocking to one of her female attendants, 
 who throws it among the company, and the person 
 upon whom it alights, will, it is supposed, be next 
 married. 
 
 Some of the Cumbrians, particularly those who 
 I are in poor circumstances, have, on their entrance 
 into the married state, what is called a bidden or 
 bidding wedding. To be invited on such an occa- 
 sion is regarded as a mark of respect, particularly 
 by the females; for in that at Codbeck, it is said 
 that “some lasses thought lang to the wedding,” 
 and two score and seven were invited. See page 139. 
 When the guests are assembled, a pecuniary collec- 
 tion is made among them for the purpose of setting 
 ! the wedded pair forward in the world. In the 
 Ballads, the bride is described as casting up her 
 accounts in the lap of her bride- maid, page 26. 
 And when one of the guests is made welcome, sup- 
 posing he did not contribute any thing, the wife 
 complains, 
 
 “ That will nowther pay brewer, 
 Nor get bits o' sarks to yen’s back.’ 
 
 -P. 141 . 
 
 The wedding is always accompanied with music and 
 dancing; and the fiddler, when the contributions 
 begin, takes care to remind the assembly of their 
 
176 NOTES. 
 
 duties, by notes imitative of the following couplet : — 1 1 
 
 “ Come, my friends, and freely offer, 
 
 Here’s the bride who has no tocher.” 
 
 A Bridewain or Infair is also a festive meeting 
 called together for the same purpose, and is held at j 
 the house of the bridegroom, when the bride and*! 
 her furniture are brought home in a wain or waggon, . 1,1 
 and, from this circumstance, called the bride-wain, j 
 The inhabitants, for several miles round, are invited ! ^ 
 to it, and various diversions are exhibited for their ' 
 entertainment. A plate or dish is placed upon a : j 
 table, and every one of the company contributes 
 according to inclination and circumstances. The . 
 contributions sometimes amount to a considerables] 
 sum, enabling a young couple to begin the world 
 with advantage, and are also a convincing testimony y 
 of the high estimation in which they are held byy f 
 their neighbours. 
 
 Note 7, p. 23. — De'il bin ! 
 
 A common mode of swearing among the Cumber- ( 
 land clowns. — It is certainly a testimony of thee 
 refined manners, if not of the improved morals of f 
 the age, that oaths are banished from all polite circles, ; 
 and are only to be found among the dregs of the 
 commonalty. 
 
 Note 8, p. 28. 
 
 I was sebenteen last Collop- Monday . 
 
 The first Monday before Lent is provincially called | 
 Collop-Monday ; and the first Tuesday, Pancake - \ 
 
 Tuesday ; — because on these two days collops and.ni i 
 pancakes form the chief repast of the country people ; : t 
 — a custom derived from our ancestors, who gave® I 
 
NOTES. 
 
 177 
 
 full indulgence to their appetites a day or two be- 
 fore the arrival of that long and meagre season— 
 the Quadragesimal Fast. 
 
 Note 9, p. 23. — Had tou seen her at kurk, <£c. 
 From the levity of air, which distinguishes some of 
 my fair countrywomen during the hours of public 
 iworship, it would not be uncharitable to suppose 
 that they attend church from the same view as they 
 !do fairs. What can we think of a young woman 
 whose eye is continually roving from one part of 
 the audience to another, observing every dress, and 
 examining every countenance with the minuteness 
 if not with the penetration of a Lavater? What 
 can we think, but that she is destitute of those soft, 
 retiring graces, which so much adorn her sex, and 
 give so much attraction to beauty ? 
 
 Note 10, p. 29. 
 
 The dumb weyfe was tellin their fortunes. 
 
 A person, born without the faculty of speech, is 
 thought, by the illiterate part of the Cumbrian 
 peasantry, to possess the gift of prescience; and 
 this supposed extraordinary endowment gives him 
 so much confidence and veneration with that class 
 of the community, that, if he possess not common 
 honesty, it becomes the means of drawing pence 
 from their pockets. 
 
 Fortune-telling, (the most lucrative part of 
 vaticination), is often professed by women, who, 
 having no settled abode, travel from village to village, 
 all of them really or pretendedly dumb ; for the 
 j most voluble tongue among them can submit to a 
 j temporary restraint, when the credit of their pro- 
 
178 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 fession, and consequently their livelihood, depend 
 upon its silence. 
 
 As soon as one of these strolling sybils arrives a 
 a village, she is immediately surrounded by aplebeiai 
 group, all of them anxious to know “ the colour o 
 their future fate,” and it is certainly something t.nj 
 her credit, that instead of adding cruelty to th 
 crime of imposition, by darkening the perspective 
 with a train of disasters, she scatters over it rosee 
 and sunshine. The laborious rustic, who at presen i 
 provides with difficulty for the wants of the day, 
 beholds his future hours gliding amidst affluence! 
 abundance, and pleasures : while the village-maid 
 blushing with health and love, is gratified by thii 
 near approach of an honourable and opulent marriage, t 
 Yet these kind prophetesses, who lighten the pressur r 
 of the present moment, by making the destinieit 
 smile upon the future, are threatened with gaohij 
 stocks, and pillories ! 
 
 Note 11, p. 30. 
 
 Now, Kate, fall forty years ha'e flown. ! 
 
 We have here a couple enjoying tranquillity in thei 
 old age, after a severe struggle with the disasters C( 
 life. But though their youth had been pressed dow;v 
 with many distresses, and had been embarrassed witii 
 many difficulties, they could yet look back upon f 
 with satisfaction, because it had been innocent, anjii 
 recall to mind, without pain, the daily toils they hai;i 
 undergone, in providing for the wants of an infar 
 family ; because they could behold that family, whic 
 they had cherished with so much affection, actin'! 
 their parts with credit on the stage of life, and ret 
 paying, with filial piety, the numerous favours whic 
 parental affection had conferred upon them. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 179 
 
 The example of this aged couple may be proposed 
 is a model of conduct to that part of the community 
 vhose lot is labour. Under all their necessities, 
 lifficulties, and hardships, let them persevere in a 
 aithful discharge of their duties, — and remember 
 hat virtue will ultimately triumph over every species 
 >f external distress : 
 
 i “ Ye good distrest! 
 
 “Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
 “ Beneath life’s pressure, yet bear up a while, 
 “And your bounded view, which only saw 
 “ A little part, deem’d evil, is no more : 
 
 “ The storms of wintry time will quickly pass, 
 
 “ And one unbounded spring encircle all.” 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 Note 12, p. 31. — The Impatient Lassie. 
 
 The passion of love, restrained by forms and cere- 
 nonies in the higher classes of society, breaks out 
 n all its vehemence in the breast of a simple, un- 
 sducated country peasant. In him it is an instinct 
 )f nature, unchecked by delicacy, and unrefined by 
 sentiment. As if ashamed to akr.owledge its do- 
 ninion, he visits the object of his affections under the 
 ihades of night, and always on a Saturday, that the 
 ‘fleets of the night’s vigils might be done away by 
 fie holiday of the succeeding day. His fair one 
 vaits for him with all the impatient ardour of love, 
 fiides the loitering moments ; and should he not 
 ’each her habitation at the appointed hour, suffers 
 ill the anguish of foreboding fears : — some disastrous 
 iccident has befallen him, some coolness in his pas- 
 ;ion has taken place, some rival, with more beauty 
 )r more address, has supplanted her in his affections. 
 Apprehensions like these continue to agitate her 
 josom, till a tap at the window or door announces 
 fie arrival of her suitor. 
 
180 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 13, p. 32. — 0 durst we lasses nobbet gang. 
 
 In most countries the men pay their addresses to 
 the women, and not the women to the men ; and 
 custom, that has such great influence over human 
 actions, has given to this practice almost the force 
 and sanction of a political regulation. Though ; 
 many local customs originate in accident, this hovv- j 
 ever has its foundation in nature and in reason ; for 
 what fair one, with all the reserve and delicacy; 
 natural to her sex, would venture to disclose theft) 
 secrets of her bosom on so tender a subject as that ! 
 of love? And if such be the constitutional timidity , 
 of the fair sex, let us spare their blushes, by antici- 
 pating their wishes, and meeting with equal ardour 
 that passion which modesty and custom only allow 
 them to discover by the silent language of the eye. . 
 
 Note 14, p. 33. 
 
 Sit down , and Til count owre my sweethearts. 
 
 To have a great variety of sweethearts, is, in thee 
 opinion of a simple country girl, a virtual acknow- 
 ledgment of the predominating force of her charms ; ; 
 and she seldom discovers her error, till she findsfs 
 herself neglected by every man whose esteem wouldsi 
 be valuable, and whose addresses would do her; 
 honour. 
 
 Of so delicate a nature is female reputation, that ;! 
 the conduct of a young woman ought not only to | 
 be free from guilt, but also free from suspicion 
 and surely her chastity may be disputed, who, 
 without any regard to their character, conduct, andli 
 views, indiscriminately admits of the visits off 
 various suitors. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 181 
 
 Note 15, p. 33. — To th* pocket-whol, <%c. 
 
 In this ballad poor Snip bears testimony to the 
 effects of love by his blunders ; and he who laughs 
 at his imbecility, and can behold the charms of a 
 lovely woman without emotion, must be something 
 less , or something more , than man 
 
 “For who can boast he never felt the fires, 
 
 “ The trembling throbbings of the young desires, 
 
 “ When he beheld the breathing roses glow, 
 
 “ And the soft heavings of the living snow ; 
 
 “ The waving ringlets of the auburn hair, 
 
 “ And all the rapturous graces of the fair ? 
 
 “ Ah ! what defence, if nxt on him he spy 
 “ The languid sweetness of the steadfast eye!” 
 
 LUSIAD. 
 
 The charms of the fair have indeed in all ages 
 triumphed over the human breast. The piety of 
 David and the wisdom of Solomon gave way when 
 opposed to their force; and Julius Caesar, the con- 
 queror of the world, forgot his fame and his victories 
 in the arms of an Egyptian beauty. Even the 
 mighty Hercules threw down his club, with which 
 he had achieved so many arduous enterprises, and 
 became a humble suitor at the feet of an imperious 
 fair one. 
 
 Note 16, p. 34. — *Twas last Leady Fair , <Jjc. 
 This fair is held on Lady-day, at Wigton ; and, like 
 other Cumbrian fairs, passes away amidst mirth, 
 music, and dancing. 
 
 Note 17, p. 36 . — WV Laird Hodgson , <%c. 
 
 In Cumberland the appellation of laird is applied 
 to the proprietors of landed property, and to their 
 eldest sons. Their oldest daughters are styled 
 
 ladies. 
 
132 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 18, p. 36. 
 
 For that was the pleace my grand/ adder was bworn in. 
 
 A predilection for the place of our nativity is a 
 patriotic prejudice, that does honour to our feelings, 
 and shows a heart formed for receiving the best 
 impressions. It displays itself in early life, and 
 does not diminish with years, with absence, with 
 travel, or with distance. A Cumbrian mountain- 
 eer feels its influence, when, amidst the rudest 
 scenes of nature, he contentedly sits down in his 
 paternal cottage, takes his homely fare, sings his 
 artless song, or joins in the rustic dance. — 
 
 “ Tho’ poor the peasant’s hut, his feasts tho’ small, 
 
 “ He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
 
 “ Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, 
 
 “ To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 
 
 “No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, 
 
 “ To make him loath his vegetable meal ; 
 
 “But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, 
 
 “ Each wish contracting fits him for the soil,” 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 In whatever distant country, or in whatever 
 situation of life, fortune may place us, we still re- 
 member with affection the place of our birth, and 1 
 cheer the hours of absence with the hopes of return- 
 ing to it, — of seeing the companions of our early 
 years, — and of revisiting these scenes that have been 
 long endeared to us by tender recollections. In 
 what melting strains of genuine pathos did Ovid t 
 break out, when, in those remote regions to which 
 he was banished, he recollected his country, his 
 home, and his friends ! 
 
 Et poena est patria sola carere mea ! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 183 
 
 Note 19, p. 40 — Tom Linton . 
 
 A man of licentious opinions and dissolute morals 
 is considered, by his companions in guilt, as a 
 liberal thinker, and as a man of spirit and gallantry ; 
 but, to the virtuous and wiser part of the world, he 
 appears as a timid and illiberal-minded wretch, cal- 
 lous to every honourable feeling, and as contracted 
 'in his understanding as he is depraved in his heart, 
 lit may seem strange that such a description of men 
 exist in a kingdom peculiarly distinguished by the 
 excellency of its constitution, its laws, and its re- 
 ligion. But if, among the great and illustrious 
 characters which our country has produced, there 
 may be found some who disgrace her, who can 
 help it? The soil that gives growth and vigour to 
 the majestic oak, frequently nourishes the loath- 
 some reptile. 
 
 Note 20, p. 42 — The Happy Family . 
 
 The numerous instances of domestic felicity, which 
 we meet with among the lower classes of society, 
 and the dissatisfaction and inquietude which so often 
 prevail among the higher ranks, will convince us, 
 that to acquire riches and distinction, is. not to ac- 
 quire contentment and happiness. With health, 
 industry, and virtue, happy in his domestic relations, 
 in his kindred, in his friends, with limited wishes, 
 and all his thoughts at home, the poor man enjoys 
 comforts which wealth cannot purchase, or rank 
 confer. Every remove from his humble, unambi- 
 tious situation, would probably be so many removes 
 from innocence and peace. 
 
 Poverty, indeed, however supported by virtue, 
 has its peculiar distresses ; but what are its dis- 
 
184 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 tresses to the pangs felt by guilty affluence ? O 
 the innocent and uncorrupted heart gleams of com 
 fort are continually darting through the darkes 
 shades of human life. 
 
 Note 21, p. 44 . — I think o’ my playmates* fyc. 
 
 We always look back with pleasure on our earl ! 
 years, because at that period every object that suiir 
 rounds us appears in gay and pleasing colours; ouu 
 hearts are light, our affections warm, our hope- 
 eager, and our pursuits ardent. 
 
 In whatever part of the world we reside, wm 
 always feel a passionate desire to return to the spool 
 where we passed the hours of our early life ; to seff 
 again the companions of our childhood ; to retrace 
 the scenes of our juvenile frolics; to re-visit thct 
 green where we have sported, the shades undefci! 
 which we have reposed, and the banks where wn 
 have often loitered. A modern poet, in describing 
 the scenes where his early youth was passed, breaks 
 out in the genuine language of poetry and o&j ( 
 nature : — 
 
 “ Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade ! 
 
 “Ah, fields belov’d in vain ! 
 
 “ Where once my careless childhood stray’d, 
 
 “ A stranger yet to pain ! 
 
 “ I feel the gales that from you blow 
 “A momentary bliss bestow ; 
 
 “As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
 
 “ My weary soul they seem to sooth, 
 
 “ And, redolent of joj^ and youth, 
 
 “ To breathe a second spring.” • i; -I 
 
 GRAY. 
 
 These tender feelings, which exist in a greater or 
 less degree in every bosom, afford a melancholy 
 attestation, that the more we advance in life the 
 
 I 
 
NOTES. 185 
 
 more are our years laden with sorrow, with care, 
 
 J and with discontent ! 
 
 Note 22, p. 45. 
 
 Now monie a weyfe will weep for joy. 
 
 Peace brings so many blessings, and puts a period 
 to so many calamities, that it can hardly be pur- 
 chased by too great sacrifices. What pleasing 
 sensations does it afford to a feeling and patriotic 
 heart to hear the carol of joy and contentment in 
 ! every village ; to see domestic happiness restored 
 to an afflicted family, by the return of a husband, . 
 a father, or a favourite son ; to behold the spirit of 
 trade, commerce, and agriculture revive, and receive 
 new energies ; and to see wealth, plenty, and hap- 
 piness diffused through the nation by a hundred 
 different channels ! If such be the effects of peace, 
 who can behold without a tear those guilty laurels 
 which have been obtained in unjust wars, amidst 
 scenes of blood and devastation, — amidst the widow’s 
 tears and the orphan’s cries ! 
 
 Note 23, p. 47. — That farmers are happier , §c. 
 The poets, in their descriptions of human felicity, 
 
 I generally draw their images from pastoral life, be- 
 cause they suppose where there is simplicity there 
 is also innocence and happiness. But when we 
 search rural life for the original from which they 
 draw their beautiful pictures, we search for what 
 is not always to be found. We often see there vice 
 in all its grossness, and the tranquillity of life de- 
 stroyed by the agitation of the passions. With the 
 ploughman’s song and the shepherd’s lute we some- 
 i times hear the murmurs of complaint, and the voice 
 of discontent. — In every situation the degree of 
 
186 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 happiness and misery will be found in proportion 
 to the prevalence of virtue and vice. , 
 
 Note 24, p. 49. — 0 this weary , weary warlf ■ 
 
 Such will be the exclamation of every one who has ; 
 lived to that period of life when the powers of sen- 
 sation are blunted, when worldly objects no longer j 
 attach the heart, and when those amusements which 
 gave rapture to youth can no longer please. 
 Weighed down with infirmities and sorrow, and ' 
 standing on the stage of life as a friendless, forlorn, . 
 insulated individual, the burden of an old man’s 
 song must ever be, “ O this weary, weary world 1” 
 
 Note 25, p. 52. — Lai Stephen . 
 
 The hero of this ballad seems to have been, from , 
 his multifarious accomplishments, the Creighton 
 of his village. Though diminutive in stature, yet i 
 his agility and prowess, his superior skill in rural I 
 occupations, and expertness at gymnastic exercises, v 
 highly exalted him in the eyes of his countrywomen, , 
 and gave him a reputation that was not soon to 
 decay ; and a clown is as proud of his rustic honours 
 as a warrior is of his laurels, or a poet is of his bays. 
 
 Note 26, p. 57. — To set me out a mile o’ geate. 
 Sometimes a girl shews her affection to her lover 
 by accompanying him a part of the road on his 
 return home ; ahd the enamoured rustic usually re- 
 pays this mark of regard by an increased love in 
 his next visit to her. 
 
 Note 27, p. 58. 
 
 At Caret I stuid, wi > a strae V my mouth . 
 
 In Cumberland, servants who are employed in 
 
NOTES. 
 
 1ST 
 
 husbandry are seldom engaged for a longer term 
 
 I than half a year On the customary days of hiring, 
 
 they proceed to the nearest town, and that their 
 I intentions might be known, stand in the market- 
 i place with a sprig or straw in their mouths. 
 
 ! Note 28, p. 60 Them ill reed-cwoated fellows, $c. 
 
 In every profession there are men who disgrace it. 
 We cannot condemn in too severe terms those 
 I sergeants of recruiting parties who mlist their 
 | countrymen, when excess of drinking has deprived 
 them of all reason and reflection. To recruit our 
 army, it is not necessary to have recourse to un- 
 justifiable arts. There will never be wanting 
 volunteers to fill its ranks, as long as we know the 
 value of that constitution which secures to us our 
 civil and religious liberties. 
 
 Note 29, p. 61 Matthew Macree. 
 
 This noted rustic seems to have reached the pin- 
 nacle of village fame. He had recommended him- 
 self to the notice of the fair, like the knight errant 
 in the times of chivalry, by the variety of his accom- 
 plishments. He excelled at running, wrestling, 
 leaping, and boxing. His stentorian voice and 
 sonorous sounds gained him the reputation o a 
 singer and a scholar. And let no person despise 
 Matthew Macree. He attained as much distinction 
 as satisfied his ambition ; and what greater gratifi- 
 cation do they receive who fill the world with then- 
 names ? 
 
 Note 30, p. 63. 
 
 I can't for the life o' me get her to work . 
 
 When love makes an attack upon us, he never 
 grants us a truce till he has subdued the heart. 
 
188 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 He pursues us to our occupations, to our amuse- 
 ments, to our closets, to our chambers. The whole 
 mind is engrossed by the object of our affections, 
 and nothing gives us pleasure but what has an 
 immediate or indirect relation to it ; while with 
 the possession or loss of it we connect our happiness 
 or misery. 
 
 Note 31, p. 65. — Ay, lad! sec a murry-neet, <fyc. 
 
 The common people in Cumberland, like the 
 common people in all countries, have their festive 
 scenes, in which they mingle with ardour, and 
 forget awhile the toils, cares, and hardships peculiar 
 to their stations. Amidst their coarse and homely 
 pastimes their hearts expand to gaiety, and receive 
 more genuine gratification than is to be found 
 among those splendid amusements which the rich, 
 the idle, and the dissipated have invented to diver- 
 sify life, and remove that tedium, languor, and 
 disquietude, which oppress a heart enervated by 
 luxury, and corrupted by vice. 
 
 A Cumbrian merry-night is, as its name im- 
 ports, a night appropriated to mirth and festivity. 
 It takes place at some country ale-house, during the 
 holidays of Christmas, a season in which every 
 Cumbrian peasant refuses to be governed by the 
 cold and niggardly maxims of economy and thrift. 
 That the guests might want nothing to cheer their 
 hearts, the landlord of the house is careful to re- 
 plenish his cellar with ale and spirits, as well as to 
 provide bread and cheese, pipes and tobacco, cards 
 and music. 
 
 The young women, who are particularly fond of 
 these diversions, and who are introduced to them 
 
NOTES. 
 
 189 
 
 by some friend, relation, or lover, have pies placed 
 before them, and that girl must be modest indeed 
 who refuses to taste of a luxury when it is within 
 her reach. The company are divided into different 
 parties, according to their different propensities, and 
 to the different amusements to which they are 
 attached. — They whose ruling passion is card-play- 
 ing, seat themselves in some apartment where they 
 can obtain a comfortable fire and a commodious 
 table. — The sweethearters retire to some snug, 
 sequestered corner, where, unseen by any licentious 
 eye, and unheard by any idle ear, they can breathe 
 the vows and speak the soft language of loye. They 
 who are fond of dancing, enjoy their diversion in 
 the house-loft, to which they ascend by means of 
 stone steps or a ladder. Its walls are generally 
 very low ; but, as there is no ceiling, a very tall 
 person may stand erect under its roof. The dan- 
 cers exhibit specimens of agility, rather than of 
 skill ; and though their heads have often stubborn 
 rencounters with the beams and rafters of the 
 building, they are seldom forsaken by either their 
 spirits or their elasticity. 
 
 The music is that of the fiddle ; and, if it be not 
 so powerful as the minstrelsy of old times, which 
 gave motion to stocks, trees, and stones, it may be 
 truly said of it, (and which is certainly no little 
 praise), that it gives activity, if not grace, to the big 
 unweildy limbs of a Cumbrian clown. 
 
 At the conclusion of a jig, the fiddler makes his 
 instrument squeak out two notes that say, or are 
 understood to say, “ Khs her !” — a command which 
 the rustic youth immediately obeys/ by giving his 
 fair partner a salute equal, as far as relates to sound, 
 to that recorded by Shakespeare, when— 
 
190 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 “ Petruchio took the bride about the neck, 
 
 And kiss’d her lips with such a clam’rous smack, 
 That, at the parting, all the church did echo.” 
 
 This familiarity between a dancing couple is of 
 ancient standing. The anonymous author of an 
 old poem, entitled “ The use and abuse of Dancing 
 and Minstrelsie,” gives it as the common opinion 
 that a dance would afford no pleasure, if not ter- 
 minated by a parting salute. He says, 
 
 “But some reply, what fool would dance, 
 If that when dance were done, 
 
 He may not have a ladye’s lips, 
 
 That which in dance he won.” 
 
 It appears to have been formerly a regal custom 
 in England ; for, in Shakespeare’s Henry VIII., 
 the prince says to his partner : — 
 
 “ I were unmannerly to take you out, 
 
 And not to kiss you,” 
 
 But all these authorities in favour of the custom 
 will not be able to keep it up against the refine- 
 ments of the age, which, in some parts of Cumber- 
 land, have nearly done it away, and induced the 
 country girls to be less lavish of the balmy fragrance 
 of their lips — at least in public. 
 
 They who love flowing bumpers seat themselves 
 in the kitchen, or bower, where 
 
 “ The dry divan 
 
 “ Close in firm circle ; and set, ardent, in 
 “ For serious drinking.” m*r™cnw 
 
 These are the jovial and legitimate sons of Bacchus, 
 who know no other pleasures of life than that which 
 is supplied by the bottle. He who wastes life in 
 an ambitious pursuit of power or distinction, and 
 the sordid wretch who starves amidst accumulated 
 treasures, are alike the objects of his contempt and 
 
NOTES. 
 
 191 
 
 satire. Even the “ whining lover,” whose happiness 
 or misery is produced by the smiles or the frowns 
 of his mistress, betrays, in his opinion, a weak, 
 despicable understanding, that hardly entitles him 
 to a place in the scale of thinking beings. These 
 boon companions of the glass are the last lingering 
 remains of these festive meetings, seldom departing 
 till their roseate faces receive the reflection of the 
 next day’s sun. 
 
 An Upshot is a meeting among a number of 
 merry-hearted swains and nymphs, who are fond of 
 music and dancing. It generally takes place in a 
 
 barn, during the summer season, when there are 
 no merry nights to animate the lagging moments of 
 a leisure hour. 
 
 , Note 32, p. 69. 
 
 How monie a scwore this angry neet . 
 
 The comforts that are found in a cottage often moi\ 
 than counterbalance the toils and hardships attend- 
 ing a life of poverty. Happy in the society of his 
 wife and family, blest with a healthy and vigorous 
 constitution, industrious, temperate, and innocent, 
 what is there in the nature of things that can im- 
 prove his condition? — When he becomes dissatisfied, 
 it is when he suffers his thoughts and imaginations 
 to roam among scenes of grandeur — among luxuries 
 and expensive pleasures — among the pompous pur- 
 suits and amusements of the great — all of which 
 are but so many different modifications of splendid 
 misery. 
 
 Note 33, p. 70. — ’ Twas Rob and Jock, fyc. 
 
 The convivial meeting celebrated in this ballad, may 
 
 vie, in many respects, with the most distinguished 
 
192 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 symposiums of Greece and Rome. Had old Ana- 
 creon composed one of the party, with what rapture 
 would he have surveyed the capacious vessel that 
 contained a pool of liquor, of superior quality to 
 the famed nectar of the gods ! — With what anima- 
 tion would he have shaken his hoary locks ! What 
 a glow would all his features have received from 
 the spirituous fluid ! And with what vigour would 
 he have struck his lyre in its praise ! 
 
 The party here alluded to were our author and 
 a few jovial friends. Archy, to whose comfortable 
 cabin they were invited, is a well-known, indus- 
 trious, and respectable tradesman — the scourge of 
 pretenders, but the friend of humble merit ; a man 
 who possesses the endearing qualities, benevolence 
 of heart, and cheerfulness of disposition. 
 
 “ By nature form’d in her most sportive mood.” 
 
 He is one of the few who can put Care to the rout, 
 make his friends happy, and keep the table in a 
 
 Note 34>, p. 72 — At toun , kurk , market , <%c, 
 
 A beautiful country girl makes a swain feel the 
 force of her charms wherever she beholds him: 
 even “ Sunday shines no sabbath-day to him.” At 
 his very devotion she points against him the artillery 
 of her eye. In short, she attacks him in every 
 place, and, what is still more cruel, when she has 
 subdued his heart, often plays with his passion, 
 refusing her hand to the man whose affections she 
 has gained. She ought, however, ito observe, that 
 a conqueror’s glory is his lenity, and that her be- 
 haviour to her captives ought to be humane, if not 
 generous ; and not like that of a heathen victor, 
 
NOTES. 
 
 193 
 
 who dragged them at the wheels of his triumphant 
 chariot. 
 
 Note 35, p. 73. — But as for Jwohnie , <$*c. 
 
 In every Cumbrian village there is generally a 
 rustic politician, who has established his political 
 reputation among his countrymen by volubly dis- 
 coursing on the state of the nation. At his leisure 
 hours, he assembles a group of his neighbours round 
 his fire-side, reads to them a provincial newspaper, 
 comments upon every paragraph, reviews every 
 transaction, points out all the errors of the ministry, 
 and concludes by laying down a system of politics, 
 which, in his opinion, would put the good things of 
 life more within the reach of him and his country- 
 men, and enable them to dine and breakfast upon 
 roast-beef and plum-pudding, instead of cow'd-lword, 
 and oatmeal pottage. 
 
 Note 36, p. 74. — The schuilmaister's a conjurer , <%c. 
 Few occupations are attended with more labour 
 and less profit than that of a country schoolmaster. 
 In Cumberland his income seldom exceeds thirty 
 pounds a-year, for which he teaches forty or fifty 
 scholars, during nine or ten hours of the day. If 
 he be a single man, his stipend, with rigid economy, 
 may be equal to his support ; but if he be married, 
 and have a family, his distresses must be great 
 indeed! In some parts of Cumberland his situa- 
 tion is somewhat improved ; for he not only receives 
 quarter-pence, but is provided with victuals at the 
 homes of his scholars, which he visits in succession. 
 This whittle-gait (as it is called) subjects him how- 
 ever to the toil of travelling, as many of the houses, 
 in which he is entitled to his victuals, are situated 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 at a great distance from his school, and the roads 
 to them scarcely passable during the winter season ; 
 but what difficulties cannot a rustic pedagogue, 
 with a keen appetite and a vigorous constitution, 
 overcome in pursuit of a dinner ?-— Provided with 
 an oaken staff, a pair of clogs , and a kelt surtout, he 
 travels always with spirit and expedition to his kail 
 and crowdy, unintimidated by the length of the 
 road, or the tempestuousness of the weather. And 
 he never finds any reason to regret this mode of 
 dining by rotation at the tables of his pupils, as 
 every good housewife always provides, against his 
 whittle-day, a cowed-lword , and a piece of beef oi 
 mutton. 
 
 Note 37, p. 78. 
 
 Our parson says , we bang'd them still. 
 Nothing tends more to inspire valour than a know 
 ledge of the achievements of our ancestors. A 
 British soldier does not calculate the number of 
 his enemies when he recalls to mind the battles of 
 Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt. The study of 
 history, particularly that of our own country, should 
 therefore form an important part in the system of 
 education. It will be the means of making us 
 better patriots and better men ; for he must be lost 
 to every honourable feeling, whose loyalty and 
 patriotism do not kindle at the names of a Falk- 
 land and a Montrose. 
 
 Note 38, p. 79. 
 
 The witch weyfe begg'd in our backseyde . 
 
 In Cumberland, the word backside implies that 
 space of ground which lies immediately behind the 
 
NOTES. 
 
 195 
 
 house but, in its common acceptation, it conveys 
 an idea less refined, and is particularly apt, in the 
 mouth of a rustic, to wound the delicate ear of a 
 fine lady, unacquainted with its provincial significa- 
 tion. 
 
 « A plain Cumberland farmer, being called to 
 London on some law-business, took the opportunity 
 to visit his landlord, whose residence was in Spring- 
 Garden ; but not finding him at home, he entered 
 into a chat with his daughter, a fashionable fine 
 lady, who very civilly shewed him all the house, 
 and was highly diverted with his remarks on every 
 thing he saw. In the course of his survey, honest 
 Hodge, casually resting his hand upon a certain 
 be-corked part of her dress, exclaimed with much 
 simplicity, while he popped his head out of the 
 window, — ‘ The leevin surs , Miss! what a muckle 
 backside you ha*e gotten ! It cannot seerly be aw 
 your awn T i. e. Wonderful, Miss ! what a spa- 
 cious backside you have gotten ! It cannot surely 
 be all your own ? To this plain question a blush 
 was the only answer which the lady returned.” 
 
 Note 39, p. 79 . — Auld Grizzy the witch, $c. 
 Those of the Cumbrian peasantry, whose ideas have 
 not been enlarged by education, have a firm belief 
 in witchcraft and necromancy ; and discover, in the 
 person of every deformed old woman, a witch and 
 a magician, whose favour they are anxious to con- 
 ciliate, and whose vengeance they are solicitous to 
 avert. If poor Hodge fall from his cart, and dis- 
 locate his neck ; if he be bewildered on some dreary 
 moor ; if some contagious disease destroy his cattle, 
 
 ' or some pestilential sickness afflict his family ; in 
 short, all the calamities and misfortunes that visit 
 
196 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 him or his neighbours, are imputed to her infernal 
 incantations. 1 
 
 Note 40, p. 80. 
 
 Whea was't that brak our lanlword garth ? 
 
 To pillage a garden or an orchard is generally 
 considered as a venial fault in a schoolboy, and 
 even praise is bestowed on the spirit with which the 
 enterprise is executed. But certainly every tendency ■ 
 to vice cannot be too soon corrected, as a disposition 
 to virtue cannot be too soon formed. 
 
 Note 41, p. 81 . — My Gwor die's whussle weel I ken . 
 A life of severe labour does not depress the spirits 
 of a peasant. On his return to his cottage, after f 
 the toils of the day are over, he makes the woodsy 
 and valleys vocal with his song, and “ the maid of A 
 his heart ” is generally the theme of his praise;; 
 happy if his notes catch her ear, and happier stilfii 
 if they be heard with partiality, and incline her too 
 meet with equal ardour the passion that dictatedd 
 them. 
 
 Note 42, r. 83 — I mind what , <^c. 
 
 The pleasures which the aged enjoy are mostly} 
 supplied by memory. Amidst their increasing in- 
 firmities, they dwell with peculiar delight on thet 
 days of their youth, — on those happy hours whenn 
 every object seemed gilded in the brightest colours; 
 
 . — when the heart was light, and all around them} 
 joy and festivity. They are fond of recounting}! 
 their juvenile frolics, exploits, and adventures; and,, 
 when they are the narrators of their own actions, 
 a partiality for the subject generally leads to a 
 minuteness of detail that would weary every ear, 
 except that of garrulous old age. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 197 
 
 t 
 
 Note 43, p. 86. — Come gi'es thy hand , Gabey ! 
 Modern friendships are for the most part rather 
 nominal than real ; they profess much, but mean 
 nothing. Their language never comes from the 
 heart. It is formal and ceremonious, breaks out 
 in fulsome compliments and extravagant panegyric, 
 and applies nearly the same set of phrases to the 
 genius and to the dunce, to the wise and the foolish, 
 to the virtuous, and the vicious. 
 
 Note 44, p. 88. — Our Ellek likes fat bacon weel . 
 There is nothing fastidious in the appetite of a 
 Cumbrian rustic. His repast at noon generally 
 consists of a crowdy, a cow'd-lword , and a piece of 
 bacon. If the bacon be boiled, he sups the broth ; 
 if fried, he pours the melted fat among his potatoes. — 
 A cow'd-lword is a cant name for a kind of pudding 
 composed of oatmeal, tallow, suet, and hog’s-lard, 
 which, to a rustic palate, is always a luxurious dish. 
 A crowdy is composed of oatmeal and the marrow of 
 beef or mutton bones, and is the introductory dish 
 that takes off something from the keenness of a 
 ploughman’s appetite. 
 
 When potatoes solely constitute the dinner, the 
 mess is more than usually large. After boiling 
 some time, they are beaten and mashed by a club- 
 headed wooden instrument, called a tatoe-chopper , 
 and the whole mass placed upon a platter. In the 
 centre of this fuming pile is a cavity filled with 
 melted butter, or the fat of bacon, into which every 
 one at table merges his spoon or knife loaden with 
 potatoes. 
 
 The breakfast and supper generally consist of 
 thick pottage, a kind of food made of oatmeal and 
 water, and boiled till it becomes a viscous mass. 
 
198 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 
 The general bread of the peasantry is composed of 
 barley fermented with dough, and baked in an oven. 
 In the parts bordering on Scotland, a sort of barley 
 and oat cakes, called scons and bannocks , are used. 
 
 Note 45, p. 89. 
 
 0 Wully ! had tou nobbet been at Burgh Races ! 
 Some villages in Cumberland have their annuaki 
 horse races. The prize is commonly a saddle or aa 
 bridle, and the horses that run for it are the pro-^ 
 perty of the neighbouring lairds and farmers, and, , 
 without any previous discipline, are brought front ! 
 the plough or cart to the course. When the races 
 is finished, the country lads proceed with their sweet- 
 hearts to the village alehouse, where they dance, sing, , 
 and drink, and talk over the adventures of the day. . 
 
 The races celebrated in this ballad took place om 
 the 3rd of May, 1804, at Brough, or Burgh, aaj 
 village in the neighbourhood of Carlisle, where our? 
 warlike Edward died on an expedition that was tob 
 decide the fate of Scotland. The prize was a silver ? 
 cup, given by Lord Lowther, which, besides itss 
 intrinsic value, £50, conferred an honour on thes 
 winner, equal at least to the garland of wild olivet 
 worn by the victors at the Olympic games. 
 
 Note 46, p. 89. 
 
 There was , ‘ How fens te, Tommy T <JJ*c. 
 
 When an honest Cumbrian rustic meets an ac- 
 quaintance, he addresses himself to him by the. 
 warm interrogatory, * How fens te T i. e. How » 
 fares it with you in respect to health? If the 
 person to whom the question is addressed be in a a 
 good state of health, the reply is, ‘ I’s gaily ;* i. e. 
 
 I am in good health and spirits. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 199 
 
 Note 47, p. 90 . — Man thyself Jemmy . 
 
 Before the company depart from country horse- 
 races, a stubborn contest with fists usually com- 
 mences, in which the rustic warriors are animated 
 by the praises of their sweethearts. Sometimes a 
 courageous rural dame takes an active part in the 
 battle, and brings succour to her fainting lover by 
 directing, with the vigour of an amazon, a few des- 
 perate blows against the nose of his antagonist. 
 
 Note 48, p. 91—/ peep'd through the window , $c. 
 The windows of many farm-houses in Cumberland 
 are without shutters, and some of them without 
 curtains so during a winter night, while the fire 
 is cheerfully blazing, the whole family, and every 
 part of the kitchen and furniture, are revealed to 
 the sight of every idle eaves-dropper. The honest 
 sweetheart, however, when he pays his nocturnal 
 visit to his dulcinea , peeps through the glass with 
 no other view than of gratifying his sight with the 
 looks and motions of the fair object of his affections, 
 happy if he find no rival participating in her smiles 
 and conversation. 
 
 Note 49, p. 92.— Peer Dinah Dufton, §c. 
 
 It must be an insensible heart that does not feel for 
 the fate of those unfortunate females who have been 
 seduced from the paths of virtue and innocence, by 
 the artifices of a set of men who are the disgrace of 
 their country, and the pests of society.— The crime 
 of seduction has spread general misery. It has 
 even filled rural life, (from which the poets of all 
 ages have drawn their finest images of felicity,) 
 with complaint, disease, and wretchedness; and if 
 such be its effects, he is no friend to his country 
 
200 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 who does not wish that some effectual check were 
 put to it. 
 
 Note 50, p. 94. 
 
 Says Ned, says he, the tliimmel gi'e me. 
 
 A village swain endeavours to ingratiate himself 
 into the favour of his sweetheart by making her 
 such presents as are within the reach of his hum- 
 ble circumstances, such as handkerchiefs, ribbons, 
 
 gloves, thimbles, beads, &c In all ranks of life, 
 
 the cold virtue of savingness gives way to the 
 warmth of love. 
 
 Note 51, p. 95. 
 
 There was ill gusty Jemmy, the Cocker o’ Codbeck. 
 
 A cocker is a character that a humane mind will 
 always contemplate with disgust. The diversion 
 which he is fond of can only gratify a heart lost to 
 virtue and divested of feeling, or attract an under- 
 standing feeble, and barren of ideas. When we 
 see the profligate and squalid crowds that attend a ; 
 country cock-fight, we cannot but feel for the hon- 
 our of human nature, and regret that a practice, 
 which has such a direct tendency to brutalize the 
 heart, should be suffered to prevail in a country 
 which can boast of the mildest government and the 
 purest religion. 
 
 Note 52, p. 96 . — But canny auld Cummerlan, $c. 
 The traveller, whose object is amusement, and not 
 the acquisition of money, may gratify his passion by 
 a tour through Cumberland. Scenes of picturesque 
 beauty will every-where present themselves to his 
 eye. Keswick, where mountains, rocks, precipices, 
 and cataracts are contrasted with peaceful vales and 
 
NOTES. 
 
 201 
 
 placid lakes, has been justly called “ The Elysium of 
 the North for if Elysium is to be found upon earth, 
 it must surely be in that happy vale, which Nature 
 has so peculiarly distinguished by her bounties, and 
 surrounded with such rich and magnificent scenery, 
 and where may be found a race of men leading 
 happy and peaceful lives, strangers to the follies 
 and unagitated by the passions that fill the rest of 
 the world with crimes and misery. 
 
 Note 53, p. 97. — We've Corby , #c. 
 
 Corby Castle, by far the most delightful situation 
 in Cumberland (perhaps in the North), stands on 
 the banks of Eden, four miles from Carlisle. Its 
 hanging woods of various hues, hoarse murmuring 
 streams, stupendous rocks, echoing cells, and ex- 
 tensive walks, have so often been the traveller s 
 theme, that any attempt at minute description 
 might justly be deemed vanity in our author. 
 
 The present owner, Henry Howard, Esq., haR 
 long been adding beauties to a place, where Nature 
 seems to say, 
 
 Behold me, man, in all my wild attire ! 
 
 And while he, from every manly, patriotic, and 
 virtuous principle, enjoys the confidence of the 
 highest circles, his amiable lady is the idol of the 
 tenantry and neighbouring villagers ; 
 
 Softening the pangs of sickness, want, and sorrow, 
 While thousands ruin seek in lewd excess, 
 
 And rob the wretched, Heav’nhas plac d beneath them. 
 
 R. A. 
 
 Note 54, p. 98. 
 
 Nin leyke thee cud fling the geavelick. 
 
 The brawny rustics of Cumberland were formerly 
 so fond of athletic exercises, such as wrestling, leap- 
 
202 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 ing, playing at foot-ball, quoits, &c., that they were 
 frequently practised on the Sunday ; but the advance 
 of civilization has nearly abolished these rustic 
 diversions, and operated as a bar to their taking 
 place on the day set apart for public worship. 
 They sometimes make a trial of their strength by 
 pitching the gavelick, or lever, and sometimes by 
 lifting huge stones, almost equal in size and weight 
 to that with which the mighty Hector forced the 
 Grecian fortifications: — 
 
 “ A ponderous stone bold Hector heav’d to throw, I 
 “ Pointed above, and rough and gross below ; 
 
 “Not two strong men th’ enormous weight could raise, 
 
 “ Such men as live in these degen’rate days.” 
 
 ILIAD. 
 
 Note 55 , p. 98 . 
 
 Then , Job, I mind at your kurn-supper . 
 
 When a Cumbrian farmer has cut down his corn, 
 he makes an entertainment, to which he invites the 
 reapers and a few of his neighbours. This enter- 
 tainment is called a kurn or churn ; because a 
 quantity of cream, slightly churned, was originally 
 the only dish which constituted it. In the progress 
 of modern luxury, other dishes have been added to 
 this rural feast, and a rustic epicure may now riot 
 amidst a profusion of pies, plum-puddings, and 
 dumplings. 
 
 Note 56 , p. 98 . 
 
 And, Jeff, when met at Cursmas cairdins. 
 
 In Cumberland, a succession of diversions, feasts, 
 and merriments, distinguishes the holidays of 
 Christmas. Of the different festive meetings which 
 take place at that season, card-playing constitutes a 
 considerable portion of the amusement; and the 
 
 I 
 
 
NOTES. 
 
 203 
 
 cottage that can supply a stool, ashes-board, and a 
 rush-light, has sufficient accommodations for a 
 rustic card-player. 
 
 The children have also their peculiar amusements 
 at this festive season. In some parts of Cumberland, 
 a number of boys and girls, on the eve of New Year’s 
 Day, go about from house to house singing a sort 
 of a carol, of which the following lines are the first 
 couplet : — 
 
 Hagnuna , Trolola, 
 
 Give us some pie, and let us go away. 
 
 When they receive their present of pie, they depart 
 peaceably, wishing the donor a happy New Year. 
 In Northumberland, the first word in the couplet 
 is Hagmena , which some derive from the two Greek 
 words, agia mene, signifying the holy month. The 
 custom is not unknown in Scotland. Some years 
 ago, one of her ministers endeavoured to abolish it 
 by censuring it from the pulpit. “ Sirs,” (said he 
 to his audience), “do you know what Hogmane 
 signifies ? It is, the Devil be in the house !— that 
 is the meaning of its Hebrew original .” Our little 
 strolling Cumbrian boys and girls will not, I think, 
 be easily persuaded that any part of their begging- 
 song conveys an imprecation on the houses which 
 they visit. 
 
 Note 57, p. 99 M hev a young weyfe suin ! 
 
 A man, with his bosom inflamed with love, while 
 his head is crowned with the hoar of age, exhibits 
 as strange a phenomenon as the mountain that con- 
 tains fire in its bowels, while its summit is crowned 
 with snow ; and when he leads a young woman to 
 the altar, he is always subject to the ridicule of the 
 world. But if it be true, what the author of “ The 
 
204 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Valetudinarian’s Bath Guide” advances, that the 
 breath of young girls has a salubrious effect on the 
 constitution of old men, his marriage, at so late a 
 period of life, ought to be rather adduced as an in- 1 
 stance of mature wisdom than of doating folly. 
 
 Note 58, p. 101. 
 
 A wee swope guid yell is a peer body's comfort . 
 
 A poor man’s comforts and amusements are confined 
 within narrow limits ; but, as narrow as they are, 
 there are those who would wish to contract them. 
 They would not only take from him his dance and 
 merry night , but also his pot of ale at the village 
 ale-houses, where, after the labour of the day, he 
 sometimes relaxes himself among companions of 
 similar manners, pursuits, and habits of life ; and 
 an indulgence certainly innocent, provided it be not 
 carried to an excess ruinous to himself and family. 
 His life is a life of labour, and often of distress. 
 If he sometimes steal from care and toil to the place 
 “ where nut-brown draughts inspire,” who can 
 blame him ? 
 
 Note 59, p. 101. 
 
 The dangerous yell-house kills monie brave fellows . 
 Moderate cups administer comfort to the heart, 
 open its springs, and keep up the spirit of social 
 intercourse ; but numerous are the evils which flow 
 from intemperate drinking. How many promising 
 youths, who, by their talents and genius, were 
 capable of sustaining the dignity of the human 
 character, has this baleful habit sunk into insig- 
 nificance and contempt, or hurried to an untimely 
 grave ! How many bosoms, formed for virtue and 
 happiness, has it filled with guilt and misery ! In 
 
NOTES. 
 
 205 
 
 the time of King Edgar, the vice of drunkenness 
 so much prevailed, that he endeavoured to check it 
 by limiting the number of ale-houses, and ordering 
 nails or pins to be fixed, at stated distances, in the 
 drinking cups and horns, by which marks the 
 drinkers were to regulate their draughts, or suffer 
 punishment. What effect these regulations pro- 
 duced at that time I do not know ; but I’m afraid 
 that pins and penalties would be feeble barriers 
 against the vigorous draughts of a modern toper. 
 
 Note 60 , p. 102 . 
 
 We went owre to Deavie' clay-daubin. 
 
 In the eastern and northern parts of Cumberland, 
 the walls of houses are in general composed of clay, 
 and in their erection take seldom more than the 
 space of a day. When a young rustic marries, the 
 highest ambition of his heart is to be the master of 
 an humble clay-built cottage, that might afford 
 shelter to him and his family. As soon as he has 
 selected a proper site, which usually borders on 
 some moor that affords turf and peat for fuel, he 
 signifies his intentions to his neighbours, who, on 
 the appointed day, punctually muster on the spot 
 where the intended building is to be raised, each 
 individual bringing a spade and one day’s provisions 
 along with him. 
 
 That every thing might be done in order, ana 
 without confusion, a particular piece of work is 
 assigned to each labourer. Some dig the clay, 
 some fetch it in wheelbarrows, some water it and 
 mix it with straw, and some heave it upon the 
 walls. The rustic girls, (a great many of whom 
 attend on the occasion), fetch the water, with which 
 the clay is softened, from some neighbouring diten 
 
 
206 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 or pond. When the walls are raised to their pro- 
 per height, the company have plenty to eat and to 
 drink ; after which the lads and the lasses, with 
 faces incrusted with clay and dirt, take a dance 
 upon the clay-floor of the newly-erected cottage. 
 Note 61 , p. 102 . 
 
 See, deame , if we've got a swope whusky . 
 Whisky, diluted with water, is the common beverage 
 of the rustic inhabitants of the north of Cumberland ; 
 and, though their rum bottle may sometimes be ex- 
 hausted, they seldom fail to be pretty well stocked 
 (notwithstanding the vigilance of the exciseman) 
 with contraband whisky. 
 
 Note 62 , p. 103 . 
 
 P th ' kurk-garth the dark caw'd his seale. 
 
 “ The kurk-garth, or church-yard, on a Sunday 
 morning, (observes an ingenious friend), is to the 
 country people of Cumberland what the Exchange 
 is to the merchants of London, and answers all the 
 purposes of business or amusement, from whence 
 general information is to be sent round the parish. 
 
 “ The kurkfwok , or congregation, therefore, 
 usually stop about the church-door, after the ser- 
 vice is done, to hear these notices which are mostly 
 given by the parish clerk, elevated upon a thrujf, 
 or flat tomb-stone, sometimes from a written paper, 
 and sometimes taken verbally from the mouth of 
 the party concerned. This latter mode, in the tone 
 and dialect of an old formal psalm-singer, produces 
 often a very curious effect, as is exemplified in the 
 following notice, actually delivered a few years ago 
 at the door of Stanwix church, near Carlisle: — 
 Clerk. — Hoa-a-z-yes ! — This is to give nwotice, 
 that there is to be, on Wednesday neist, at — -(When ?) 
 
NOTES. 
 
 207 
 
 Man. — Twelve. 
 
 Clerk.— -Twelve of the Clock precisely— 
 (Whar?) 
 
 Man. — L instock. 
 
 Clerk. At Linstock, near Rickarby, a sale of 
 
 —(What?) 
 
 Man. — Esh for car-stangs. 
 
 ! Clerk A sale of esh-wood— for car-stangs; 
 
 land if any body wants to ken aught mair about it, 
 ithey mun apply to — (Wheay ?) 
 
 Man. — Thomas Dobson. 
 
 ' Clerk.— —Thomas Dobson, Clerk of Stanwix ; 
 'that is, Mister. — (Any thing mair?) 
 
 Man. — Nay, that’s aw. 
 
 Clerk Wa* then, God save the King ! — 
 
 (How fend ye, Mister Ritson? how fend ye?) . 
 
 « This manner of making a public proclamation 
 through the medium of a prompter, is by no means 
 modern ; it occurs exactly in the second scene of 
 the third act of 6 The New Inn ,* by Ben Jonson. 
 
 Note 63, p. 103. 
 
 The lads rubb'd her down wV pez strae. 
 
 A Cumbrian girl, when her lover proves unfaithful 
 to her, is, by way of consolation, rubbed with pease- 
 straw by the neighbouring lads ; and when a Cum- 
 brian youth loses his sweetheart, by her marriage 
 with a rival, the same sort of comfort is administered 
 to him by the lasses of the village. 
 
 END OF THE NOTES. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 In the Cumberland Dialect, the letter g is generally 
 omitted in the participial termination ing; as, 
 partin, for parting, &c. 
 
 A 
 
 Abed, in bed 
 Abuin, above 
 Adveyce, advice 
 Ae, one 
 A-fit, on foot, 
 
 Afwore, before 
 Aga, the ague 
 Agean, against 
 Ahint, behind 
 A-horse, on horseback 
 Aikton, a village near 
 Wigton 
 
 Ail, to be indisposed 
 Ajy, awry 
 
 Ak, to mind or care. 
 Aiang, along 
 Allyblaster, alabaster 
 Amang, among 
 Ambrie, a pantry 
 An’, and 
 Anent, opposite 
 Anudder, another 
 Anunder’t, under it 
 Aroun, around 
 Ass-buird, ashes-board ; 
 
 a box to carry ashes. 
 ’At, contraction of that 
 Atomy, a skeleton 
 
 Atween, between 
 Auld, old 
 Aunty, aunt 
 Aw, all 
 Awn, own 
 Ax, to ask 
 
 Ay ! expression of wonder 
 Aye, always 
 Ayont, beyond. 
 
 B 
 
 ’Bacco, tobacco 
 Backseyde, the yard be- 
 hind a house 
 Bailies, bailiffs 
 Bairns, children 
 Bais’d, bombazed, con- 
 founded 
 Baith, both 
 
 Bandylan, a female of 
 bad character 
 Bane, bone 
 
 Bang, to beat; an action 
 of haste, as, “ he com 
 in wi’ a bang.” 
 Bannocks, bread made 
 of oatmeal, thicker 
 than common cakes 
 Bashfu’, bashful 
 Batter, dirt 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 209 
 
 Bawk, a cross beam 
 Beath, both 
 Beck, a river 
 Behint, behind 
 Belangs, belongs 
 Beider, bellow, vociferate 
 Belsh, to emit wind from 
 the stomach 
 Bet, a wager ; beat 
 1 Bettermer, better 
 I Beyde, to endure, to stay 
 Biggin, building 
 Billy, brother 
 Bit, a small piece 
 Bizen, (see shem) 
 
 Blate, bashful 
 I Blaw, blow 
 1 Bleaken’d, blackened 
 | Bleckell, Blackwell, a 
 village near Carlisle 
 Bleer-e’ed, blear-eyed 
 Bleets, blights 
 I Blin, blind 
 Blissin, blessing 
 Bluid, blood 
 I Bluim, bloom 
 Bluitert, naked, deserted 
 Blusteration, the noise 
 of a braggart 
 Boddem, to empty 
 Bodder, bother 
 Boggle, hobgoblin 
 Bout, a turn ; action 
 Bonnie, pretty 
 Bonnyprat, Bonaparte 
 
 Boutchers, butchers 
 Bow-hough’d, having 
 crooked houghs 
 Bowt, bought 
 Brack, broke, 
 
 Brackens or Breckans, 
 fern. 
 
 Brag, boast 
 Braid, broad 
 Bran new, quite new 
 Brast, burst 
 Brat, a coarse apron 
 Bravely, in a good state 
 of health 
 Bray, to beat 
 Breeks, breeches 
 Breer, brier 
 Brees’d, bruised 
 Breet, bright 
 Breyde, bride 
 Brig, bridge 
 Brong, brought 
 Brulliment, broil 
 Brunt, burnt 
 Brust, burst 
 Buck up, to subscribe 
 Buin, above 
 Buits, boots 
 Bum-bealie, a bailiff 
 Bumm’d, struck, beat 
 Bunc’d, an action of 
 haste, as, M ke bunc’d 
 in amang us.” 
 
 Buss, a kiss 
 
 Butter-shag, a slice of 
 
no 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 • bread spread with 
 butter 
 
 Butter-sops, wheat or 
 oaten bread, soaked 
 in melted butter and 
 sugar 
 
 Bwor’d, bor’d 
 Bworn, born 
 Bygeane, bygone ; past 
 Byre, cow-house. 
 
 C 
 
 Cabbish, cabbage 
 Caff, chaff 
 Cairds, cards 
 Canny, . decent-looking, 
 well-made 
 
 Capper, one who excel? 
 Car, cart 
 Carel, Carlisle 
 Carras, a shed wherein 
 carts are kept 
 Cassel, castle 
 Cat-witted, silly and 
 conceited 
 Caw, to call 
 Cawshens, cautions. 
 Ceyder, cider 
 Chap, a general term for 
 man, used either in a 
 manner of respect or 
 contempt 
 . Chawk, chalk 
 Cheyde, chide 
 Chiei, a young fellow 
 
 Chimley, chimney 
 Chinse, chints 
 Chops, mouth 
 Claes, clothes 
 Clarty, miry 
 Clashes, tale-bearers 
 Claver, to climb 
 deed, to clothe 
 Cleek, to catch as with a 
 hook 
 
 Click- clack, the noise 
 that the pendulum of 
 a clock makes in its 
 vibrations 
 Clink, a blow 
 Clipt dinment, a thin 
 mean-looking fellow 
 Clipt and heel’d, properly 
 dressed, like a cock 
 prepared to fight 
 Cliver, clever 
 Clogs, a sort of shoes, the 
 upper part of strong 
 hide leather, and the 
 soles of birch or alder, 
 plated with iron 
 Cliiff, a blow 
 Co’, come or came 
 Cocker, a feeder or 
 fighter of cocks 
 Cockin, cock-fighting 
 Coddle, to pillow or sleep 
 (from Lat. codd a 
 pillow) 
 
 Codlin tree, an apple tree 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 211 
 
 Com, came 
 Compleens, complains 
 Corp, corpse 
 
 ! Cow’d-lword, a pudding 
 made of oatmeal and 
 suet 
 
 Cowp, to exchange 
 Cowt, colt 
 
 Crack, to chat, to chal- 
 lenge, to boast, or do 
 any thing quickly, as, 
 “ I’s dui’t in a crack.” 
 Crackets, crickets 
 Crammel, to perform any 
 thing awkwardly 
 Crap, crept 
 Creetcher, creature 
 Creyke, creek 
 Croft, a field behind the 
 house 
 
 Cronie, an old acquaint- 
 ance 
 
 Crouse, lofty, haughty 
 Cruds, curds 
 Cruin, to bellow, to hum 
 a tune 
 Cud, could 
 
 Cuddy Wulson, Cuthbert 
 Wilson 
 Cuil, cool 
 
 Cummerlan, Cumber- 
 land 
 
 Cunn’d, counted 
 Curley pow, curled head 
 Cursinin, christening 
 
 Cursmas, Christmas 
 Cursty, Christopher 
 Curtchey’d, curtseyed 
 Cutten, cut down 
 Cutter’d, whispered 
 Cutty, short 
 Cwoach, coach 
 Cwoals, coals 
 Cwoat, coat 
 
 Cwoley, a farmer’s or 
 shepherd’s dog 
 Cworn, corn 
 Cwort, court 
 Cwose-house, a corse- 
 house. 
 
 D 
 
 Daddle, hand 
 Daft, half-wise, some- 
 times wanton 
 Daggy, drizzly 
 Dander, to hobble 
 Dang, (did ding), struck, 
 defeated 
 
 Dapper, neatly dressed 
 Darrak, a day’s labour 
 Darter, active in per- 
 forming a thing 
 Dawstoners, inhabitants 
 of Dalston, a village 
 near Carlisle 
 De, do 
 De, to die 
 Deame, dame 
 Deavie, David 
 
212 
 
 GLOSSARY* 
 
 Ded or deddy, father 
 Deef, deaf 
 Deeins, doings 
 Deet, died ; to clean 
 Deeth, death 
 Deetin, winnowing corn 
 De’il, devil 
 De’il bin, devil take 
 Deleyte, delight 
 Desarve, deserve 
 Deyke, hedge 
 Deyl’d, mop’d, spiritless 
 Dick or Dicky, Richard 
 Diddle, to hum a tune 
 Dinment, a wether sheep 
 in its second year 
 Dis, does 
 
 Dispert, desperate, 
 Dissnins, a distance in 
 horse-racing, the 
 
 eighth part of a mile 
 Divarsion, diversion 
 Divvent, do not 
 Doff, to undress 
 Don, to dress 
 Donnet, an ill-disposed 
 woman 
 
 Douse, jolly, or sonsy- 
 looking ; according to 
 others, solid, grave, 
 and prudent 
 Downo, cannot, i. e. 
 when one has the 
 power, but wants the 
 will to do any thing 
 
 Dow, to be able 
 Dowter, daughter 
 Dozen’d, spiritless and 
 impotent 
 
 Dree, to endure, to suf- 
 fer, to feel 
 Drissin, dressing 
 Dub, a small collection 
 of stagnant water 
 Dubbler, a wooden plat- 
 ter 
 
 Dud, did 
 
 Duds, coarse clothes 
 Duffle, a kind of cloth 
 Dui, do 
 Duin, done 
 Duir, door 
 
 Dunch, to strike with 
 the elbows 
 
 Dung owre, knocked 
 over 
 
 Dunnet, do not 
 Durdem, broil, hubbub 
 Durt, dirt 
 
 Durtment, any thing 
 useless 
 
 Dust, durdem, one of 
 the many provincial 
 names for money 
 Dwoated, doted. 
 
 E 
 
 Ebenin, evening 
 E’e, eye 
 Een, the eyes. 
 
glossary. 
 
 213 
 
 Efter, after 
 Elcy, Alice 
 Eleeben, eleven 
 Ellek, Alexander 
 En, end 
 
 Eneugh, enough 
 Esh, ash 
 Eshes, ash-trees. 
 
 Est, a nest. 
 
 F 
 
 Fadder, father 
 Famish, famous 
 Fan, found, felt 
 Fash, trouble 
 Fares-te-weel, fare-thee 
 well 
 
 Fau’t, fault 
 Faul, farm-yard 
 Faw, fall 
 Feace, face 
 Feale, fail 
 
 Feckless, feeble, want- 
 ing effect 
 Feegh, alas 
 Feight or feght, fight 
 Fellen, fellon, a disease 
 in cattle 
 
 Fettle, order, condition 
 Feyne, fine 
 Fit, foot, fought 
 Fin, to find, to feel 
 Flacker’d, flutter’d 
 Flay, fright, to fright 
 Fleek, flitch 
 
 Flegmagaries, useless 
 fripperies of female 
 dress 
 
 Fluik, a kind of fish 
 Fluir or fleer, floor 
 Flyre, to laugh 
 Font, foolish 
 Forby, besides, 
 
 Forret, forward 
 Forseake, forsake 
 Fou, full 
 Fowt, a fondling 
 Frae or frev, from 
 Frase, fray 
 
 Fratch, a quarrel, to 
 quarrel 
 
 Freeten’d, frightened 
 Freet, to grieve 
 Fremm’d, strange 
 Frien, a friend 
 Frostet, frosted 
 Frow, a worthless wo- 
 man 
 
 Fuil, fool 
 
 Furbelows, useless silks, 
 frills, or gauzes, of a 
 female dress 
 Furst, first 
 Furze, firs 
 Fuss, bustle 
 Fwoal, foal 
 Fworc’d, forc’d 
 Fwok, folk, 
 
 Fwurm, a form, a bench 
 or long seat 
 
214 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 G 
 
 Ga, to go 
 Gairn, yarn 
 Gam, game 
 Gamlers, gamblers 
 Gammerstang, a tall 
 awkward person, of 
 bad gait 
 Gane, gone 
 
 Gang, to go; a confe- 
 derated company of 
 infamous persons 
 Gar, to compel 
 Garth, orchard, garden 
 Gat, got 
 
 Gate, road or path 
 Gawn, going 
 Gayshen, a smock-faced, 
 silly-looking person 
 Geapes, gapes 
 Gear, wealth, money, 
 the tackling of a cart 
 or plough 
 Gev, give 
 Girn, grin 
 Girt, great 
 Git, get 
 Gliff, glance 
 Glime, to look obliquely, 
 squint 
 
 Glowre or Glower, to 
 stare 
 
 Glump’d, gloom’d 
 Gob, mouth 
 Gomas, a simpleton 
 
 Gow, go 
 
 Gowd i’ gowpens, gold 
 in handfuls 
 
 Gowdspink, *a goldfinch 
 Gowk, the cuckoo ; a 
 thoughtless, ignorant 
 fellow, who harps too 
 long on a subject 
 Graen, to groan 
 Graith’d, dressed, ac- 
 coutred 
 
 Grandideer, grenadier 
 Grandy, grandmother 
 Granfadder, grandfather 
 Granson, grandson 
 Greace, grace 
 Greave, grave 
 Greymin, a thin covering 
 of snow 
 
 Greype, a three-pronged 
 instrument for the 
 purpose of cleaning 
 cow-houses 
 Grousome, grim 
 Grummel, to grumble 
 Gulf, a fool 
 Guid, good. 
 
 Gulder, to speak amaz- 
 ingly loud, and with 
 a dissonant voice 
 Gully, a large knife 
 Gurdle, the iron on 
 which cakes are baked 
 Gurse, gorse, furze, or 
 whins 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 215 
 
 Gowl, to weep 
 Gwordie, George. 
 
 H 
 
 Hack’d, won every tiling 
 Ha’e, have 
 Hale or heale, whole 
 Hallan, partition wall 
 Hankitcher, handker- 
 chief 
 
 Hantel, large quantity 
 Hap, to cover 
 Hardleys, hardly 
 Haud, hold, erect 
 Hauld, hold, shelter 
 Havey-scavey, all in 
 confusion 
 Havver, oats 
 Haw, a hall 
 Hawf, half 
 Hawflin, a fool 
 Hay-bay, hubbub 
 Head-wark, head-ach 
 Heale, whole, healthy 
 Heame, home 
 Heaste, haste 
 Hed, had 
 . Hee, high 
 Helter, halter 
 Helter skelter, in rapid 
 confusion 
 Hes, has 
 Het, hot 
 
 Hether-fac’d, rough- 
 faced 
 Hev, have 
 
 Hing, hang 
 Hinmost, hindmost 
 Hinney, honey 
 Hirpled, limped 
 Hizzy, huzzy 
 Hod, hold 
 
 Holesome, wholesome 
 Hotch, shake, to shake 
 Hout ! pshaw ! 
 
 Howdey, a midwife 
 Howe, empty 
 Howmes, fields or road 
 Hug, to squeeze 
 Hulk, a lazy, clumsy 
 fellow 
 
 Hunsup, scold ; quarrel 
 Hur, her 
 
 Hursle, to raise up the 
 shoulders. 
 
 I 
 
 I’, contraction of in 
 
 Ilk or ilka, every 
 
 ’111, contraction of will 
 
 Inde, East Indies 
 
 Inveyted, invited 
 
 I’s, contraction of I am 
 
 It ’ll, contraction of it will 
 
 Ither, other 
 
 Iver, ever 
 
 Jant, jaunt 
 
 Jaunice, jaundice 
 
 Jaw, mouth 
 
 Jemmy, James 
 
 Jen or Jenny, Jane 
 
 Jeybe, jibe 
 
216 
 
 GLOSSARY, 
 
 Jobby or Jwoseph, 
 Joseph 
 
 Jwohny or Jwohnie, 
 John. 
 
 Jwoke, joke. 
 
 K 
 
 Keale, broth 
 Keave, to give an awk- 
 ward wavering motion 
 to the body 
 Keek, to peep 
 Ken, to know 
 Ken-guid, the example 
 by which we are to 
 learn what is good 
 Kith, acquaintances 
 Kittle, to tickle 
 Knop, a large tub 
 Kurk, a church 
 Kurk-garth, a church- 
 yard 
 
 Kurn, churn 
 Kye, cows. 
 
 L 
 
 Laird, a farmer’s eldest 
 son, or one who al- 
 ready possesses land 
 Lait, to seek 
 Lake, play, to play 
 Lai, little 
 Lang, long 
 Lanlword, landlord 
 Lant, a game at cards 
 
 Lanters, the players at 
 lant 
 
 Lap, leapt 
 
 Lapstone, a shoemaker’s 
 stone, upon which he 
 beats his leather 
 Laming, learning 
 Latch, a wooden sneck, 
 lifted sometimes with 
 a cord, at other times 
 with the finger 
 Lave, the rest 
 Leace, lace 
 Leady, lady 
 Leame, lame 
 Leane, alone 
 Leate, late 
 Leath, unwilling 
 Leather-te-patch, a 
 plunging step in a 
 Cumberland dance 
 Ledder, to beat 
 Lee, a lie 
 Leed, lead 
 
 Leet, to meet with ; to 
 alight 
 
 Leethet’ lass, Lewth- 
 waite’s lass 
 Leetsome, lightsome 
 Leve, live 
 Leyke, like 
 Lig, to lie 
 Liggin, lying 
 Lish, active, genteel 
 Lissen, to listen 
 
glossary. 
 
 Lock, a small quantity 
 Loff, offer 
 
 Loft, the upper apart- 
 ment of a cottage 
 Lonnin, a narrow lane 
 leading from one vil- 
 lage to another 
 Lout, an awkward clown 
 Lowe, flame 
 Lowp, a leap ; to leap 
 Lowse, to untie 
 Lug, pull; to pull 
 Lugs, ears 
 Luik, look ; to look 
 Luim, a loom 
 Luive, love 
 Lunnon, London 
 Lurry, to pull 
 Lword, lord 
 Lwosers, losers 
 Lythey, thick. 
 
 M 
 
 Mair, more 
 Maist, most 
 Maister, master 
 Mak, make ; to make 
 Maks, sorts 
 
 Man thysel, act with the 
 spirit of a man 
 Mangrel, mongrel 
 Mant, to stutter 
 Man tin, stuttering 
 Mappen, may happen 
 Marget, Margaret 
 
 217 
 
 Marrow, equal ; of the 
 same sort 
 
 Marrowless, not of the 
 same kind 
 Matty, Martha 
 Mazle, to wander as 
 stupified 
 Meade, made 
 Meake or mek, to make 
 Meanders, murmurs 
 Meedow, meadow 
 Meer, a mare 
 Mess, indeed, truly 
 Mey, my 
 
 Mickle, large, much 
 Midden, a dunghill 
 Mid-neet, midnight 
 Mid-thie, mid-thigh 
 Mittens, gloves 
 Moiling, pining 
 Monie, many 
 Mowdywarp, a mole 
 Muck, dung 
 Mud, might 
 Mudder, mother 
 Muin, the moon 
 Muir, moor 
 Mun, must 
 Munnet, must not 
 Murry, merry 
 Mworn, morn 
 Mwornin, morning 
 Mysel, myself. 
 
 N 
 
 Nabab, nabob 
 
 x 
 
218 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Nae or nee, no 
 Naigs, horses 
 Nar, near 
 
 Nattle, to strike slightly 
 
 Naturable, natural 
 
 Nayshen, nation 
 
 Neame, name 
 
 Neb, nose 
 
 Nee, no 
 
 Neef, fist 
 
 Neegers, negroes 
 
 Ne’er ak, never mind 
 
 Neet, night 
 
 Neist, next 
 
 New-fangled, new-fa- 
 shioned 
 
 Neybor, neighbour 
 Neyce, nice 
 Nimmel, nimble 
 Nin, none 
 Nit, not 
 Niver, never 
 Nobbet, only 
 Nout, nothing 
 Nowt, cattle 
 Nowther, neither 
 Nuik, nook or corner 
 Nwoble, noble 
 Nwotions, notions 
 Nwotish or nwotice, 
 notice. 
 
 O 
 
 Oaners, owners 
 Odswinge ! a rustic oath 
 
 Oddments, articles of no 
 great value 
 Offen, often 
 Onie or ony, any 
 Onset, dwelling-house 
 and out-buildings 
 On’tj contraction of it 
 Oper/d their gills, gaped 
 wide and drank much 
 Or, ere 
 Ought, aught, 
 
 Owre, over 
 Owther, either 
 
 P 
 
 Paddock rud, frog spawn 
 Pang’d, quite full 
 Parfet, perfect 
 Pat, put 
 Pate, head 
 
 Paut, to walk heavily 
 Paw mair, stir more ; 
 thus, “ the cat will 
 never paw mair,” 
 means, the cat will 
 never stir more 
 Pech, to pant 
 Pee’d, one-eyed 
 Peer, poor 
 
 Peet, a fibrous moss 
 used for fuel 
 Pell-mell, quick 
 Pennystones, stones in 
 the form of quoits 
 Petti^its, petticoats 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 219 
 
 Pewder, pewter 
 Peype, pipe 
 Pez, pease 
 Pick, pitch 
 
 Pick’d the fwoal, foaled 
 before the natural time 
 Piggcn, a wood dish 
 Plack, a single piece of 
 money 
 Pleace, place 
 Pleague, to plague 
 Pleanin, complaining 
 Pleugh, plough 
 Plied, read his book 
 Poddish, pottage 
 Pops and pairs, a game 
 at cards 
 
 Potticary, Apothecary 
 Pou, to pull 
 Pow, to pull ; the head 
 Prent, print 
 Prod, thrust 
 Pruive, prove 
 Puil, pool 
 Puirtith, poverty 
 Punch, to strike with 
 the feet 
 Puzzen, poison 
 Pwoke, poke 
 Pwost, a post. 
 
 R 
 
 Rattens, rats 
 Reape or rape, rope 
 Rear, to rise ; to rally 
 
 Reed, red 
 Reek, smoke 
 Reet, right 
 Resh, rush 
 Reyder, rider 
 Rin, run 
 
 Roughness, plenty, store 
 Row up, to devour 
 Royster’d, vociferated 
 Ruddy, ready 
 Rumpus, rumple 
 Ruse, to rise 
 Russlin, wrestling 
 Rust, rest ; repose 
 Rwoar’d, roar’d 
 Rwose, rose 
 
 S 
 
 Sackless — The original 
 meaning of this word 
 is innocent, guiltless; 
 but it is now applied 
 in the sense of feeble, 
 useless, insignificant, 
 incapable of exertion 
 Sae, so 
 Sair, sore 
 Sairy, poor 
 Sal, shall 
 
 Sampleth, sampler 
 San, sand 
 Sang, song 
 Sark, shirt 
 Sarra, to serve 
 Sarvant, servant 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 220 
 
 Sattle, a 
 
 or long 
 
 Sault, salt ' 
 
 Saut, sad 
 Scalder’d, scalded 
 Sceape-greace, a hair- 
 brained, graceless fel- 
 low 
 
 Sceap’d, escaped 
 Schuil, school 
 Scons, cakes made of 
 barley meal 
 
 Scotty kye, Scotch cows 
 Scowp, scoop 
 Scraffle, struggle 
 Screap, to collect, to 
 hoard 
 
 Scribe of a pen, line by 
 way of letter 
 Scrudge, squeeze 
 Scwores, scores 
 Seame, same 
 Seape, soap 
 Sec, such 
 Seec, sick 
 Seegh, sigh 
 Seeben, seven 
 Seed, saw 
 Seer, sure 
 
 See’t, contraction of see it 
 Seet, sight 
 Seevy, rushy 
 Sel, self 
 Self, sold 
 
 Sen or seyne, since 
 
 Setterday, Saturday 
 Seugh, ditch 
 Seyde, side 
 Seyne, since 
 
 Seypers, those who drink 
 to the last drop; im- 
 moderate drinkers 
 Sha’ ndt, shall not 
 Shag, a slice 
 Sheap’d, shaped 
 Shearing, reaping 
 Sheer, shear, to reap 
 Sheks, shakes 
 Shem and a bizen, a 
 shame, and besides a 
 sin; the word bizen 
 being apparently a 
 corruption of “ By a 
 sin,” i. e. besides a sin 
 Shettle, schedule 
 Sheynin, shining 
 Shoon, shoes 
 Shouder, shoulder 
 Shoul, shovel 
 Shot, reckoning; freed 
 from 
 
 Shuffle, to scrape with 
 the feet ; to evade 
 Shuik, shook 
 Shwort, short 
 Shwort-keakes, rich fruit 
 cakes, which peasants 
 present to their sweet- 
 hearts at fairs 
 Sin’, since 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 221 
 
 Sin’ seyne, since that time 
 Siplin, a sapling 
 Sizelled, walked 
 Skirl, to shriek, to cry 
 with a shrill voice 
 Skirl’d, scream’d 
 Slaes, sloes 
 Slap, to beat 
 Slape, slippery 
 Sleate, slate 
 Slee, sly 
 Slink, slinge 
 Smaw, small 
 Smiddy, smithy 
 Smudder, smother 
 Smuik, smoke 
 Smutty, obscene 
 Snaps, small round gin- 
 gerbread cakes 
 Snaw, snow 
 
 Sneck, latch or catch of 
 a gate or door 
 Sneype, a snipe 
 Snift’rin, sniffling 
 Snippy, (from snip, to 
 cut with scissors), a 
 byname for a tailor 
 Snob, a cobbler 
 Snworin, snoring 
 Sonsy, lucky, generous 
 Sour milk, butter-milk 
 Souse, to plunge or im- 
 merge 
 
 Sowdgers, soldiers 
 Spak, spoke 
 
 Speyce, spice 
 Splet, splits 
 Spot, a place of service 
 Spunky, sparkling 
 Spuin, spoon 
 Spwort, sport 
 Stan, stand 
 Steek, to shut 
 Stegshe, Stagshaw fair 
 Steyfe, steam, dust 
 Steyle, stile 
 Steyme, a light 
 Stown, stolen 
 Strack, struck. 
 
 Strappin, tall 
 Strea, straw 
 Streenin, straining 
 Streyt, straight 
 Stuil, stool 
 Stule, stole 
 Stibble, stubble 
 Stoun, a sudden and 
 transient pain 
 Stoury, dusty 
 Stowter, to walk clumsily 
 Sticks, furniture 
 Struive, strove 
 Stuid, stood 
 Stwory, story 
 Sud, should 
 
 Summet, somewhat, 
 something 
 Suin, soon 
 Sumpli, a blockhead 
 Suppwort, support 
 
222 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Swally, to swallow 
 Swapp’d, exchang’d 
 Swat, sit down 
 Sweyne, swine 
 Swope, a sup 
 Sworry, sorry. 
 
 T 
 
 Ta’en, taken 
 Taistrel, scoundrel 
 Tak, take 
 Tane, the one 
 Tarn’d, ill-natured 
 Tatterdemalion, a ragged 
 fellow 
 Taw, tall * 
 
 Te, thee; to te-dui, to do 
 Teable, table 
 Teaking, taking 
 Teale, tale 
 
 Tearan, tearing ; a tearan 
 fellow is a rough, hot- 
 headed person, who 
 drives every thing be- 
 fore him, regardless 
 of danger and of con- 
 sequences 
 
 Tease, to importune, to 
 pester 
 
 Teasty, tasteful 
 Teaylear, a taylor 
 Tegether, together 
 Teeght, tight 
 Tek, take 
 Telt, told 
 
 Tern, them 
 Teugh, tough 
 Teydey, neat 
 Teydins, tidings 
 Teyme, time 
 Teyney, small 
 Teype, type 
 Thar or thur, these 
 Theek’d, thatched 
 Thick, friendly 
 Thie, thigh 
 Thimmel, thimble 
 Thou’ll, thou wilt 
 Thoum, thumb 
 Thowt, thought 
 Thrang, throng 
 Threap, to argue ; to 
 aver 
 
 Threed, thread 
 Threyce, thrice 
 Thropple, the windpipe 
 Throssle, a thrush 
 Thowt, thought 
 Thurteen, thirteen 
 Tig, to strike gently 
 Titty, sister 
 Tizzy, sixpence 
 Toddle, to walk unstably, 
 as children 
 Tom, Thomas 
 To-mworn, to-morrow 
 Top, or topper, of a 
 good quality 
 To’t, to the 
 Tou, thou 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Tought, taught 
 Tou’s, thou is 
 Towerts, towards 
 Trig, tight 
 Trimmel, tremble 
 Trinkums, useless finery 
 Trippet, a small piece of 
 wood obtusely pointed 
 with which rustics 
 amuse themselves 
 Trouncin, beating 
 Tudder, the other 
 Tui, too 
 Tuik, took 
 
 Tuith-wark, tooth-ache 
 Tummel’d, tumbled 
 Tuppence, two-pence 
 Twea or twee, two 
 Twonty, twenty 
 Tworn, torn 
 Twote, lot. 
 
 U 
 
 Unco, very 
 
 Unket, strange, par- 
 ticular news 
 Uphod, uphold 
 Upseyde, upside. 
 
 V 
 
 Vaprin, vapouring 
 Varmen, or varment, 
 vermin 
 Varra, very 
 Veyle, vile 
 
 W 
 
 Waak, weak 
 
 223 
 
 Wa, dang it ! a mode of 
 swearing 
 Wad, would 
 
 Wadn’t, contraction of 
 would not 
 Wae, sorry 
 Waffler, waverer 
 Wale, choice 
 Wan, to win 
 Wanters, persons who 
 want wives or hus- 
 bands 
 
 War or warse, worse ; 
 were 
 
 War-day, work-day, 
 every day in the week 
 except Sunday 
 Wark, work 
 Warl, world 
 Watter, water 
 Waw, wall 
 Weade, to wade 
 Weage, wage 
 Weame, breast 
 Weast, the waist 
 Weastcwoat, waistcoat 
 Webster, or wobster, 
 a weaver 
 Wee, diminutive 
 Weel, well 
 
 Wey ! expression of as- 
 sent; why 
 Weyde, wide 
 j Weyfe, wife 
 ' Weyl, wild 
 
224 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Weyte, blame 
 Whack, thwack or blow 
 Whaker, a quaker 
 Whart, quart 
 Whee, who 
 
 Wheezlin, drawing the 
 breath with difficulty 
 Whey-feac’d, smock-fac’d 
 Wheyte, quite, white 
 Whietly, quietly 
 Whiff, a blast 
 Whilk, which 
 Whinge, to weep 
 Whinin, whining 
 Whisht ! hush ! 
 
 Whitten, Whitehaven 
 Whoal or whol, a hole 
 Whop or whope, hope 
 Whornpeype, hornpipe 
 Whupper, snapper 
 Whurry, wherry 
 Whussenday, Whit-Sun- 
 day 
 
 Whussle, to whistle 
 Whuzzin, whizzin 
 Whye, a heifer 
 Wi* or wid, with 
 Wide-gob, wide-mouth 
 Win, wind 
 Windy, noisy 
 Winnings, money won 
 
 Worchet, orchard 
 Wordy, worthy 
 Worton, Orton, name of 
 a village 
 Wots, oats 
 Wrang, wrong 
 Wull, will 
 Wulling, willing 
 Wully or Wulliam, 
 William 
 Wun, to dwell 
 Wunnet, contraction of 
 will not 
 
 Wussle or wursle, to 
 wrestle 
 
 Y 
 
 Yacres, acres 
 Yad, a mare 
 Yallow, yellow 
 Yat or yeat, a gate 
 Yeage, age 
 Yeble, able 
 Yek, oak 
 Yel, ale 
 Yen, one 
 Yer, your 
 Ye’s, ye shall 
 Yestereen, yesterday 
 Youngermer, younger 
 persons 
 Yulben, oven. 
 
 W. DAVISON, PRINTER, ALNWICK.