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THE LIBRARY 

OF 

THE UNIVERSITY 

OF CALIFORNIA 

LOS ANGELES 



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ANDERSON'S 

CUMBERLAND BALLADS 

AND SONGS. 




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anderson's 

Cumberland Ballads 

AND Songs. 

CENTENARY EDITION.* 

EDITED, WITH 

LIFE OF ANDERSON & NOTES, 

BY 

Rev. T. Ellwood, m.a., 

Rector of Torver, 

And ormerly Master in St. Bees Grammar School. 

Author of "The English Dialect Society's Glossary of the Dialect of 

Cumberland, Westmorland and North Lancashire," 

" The Songs and Singers of Cumberland," &c. 

ALSO WITH 

GLOSSARIAL CONCORDANCE, 

BY 

GEO. CROWTHER. 

•The last o' December, lang may we remember. 
At five o' the mworn, eighteen hundred an twee (three). 
Here's health an success to the brave Jwohnny Dawston 
An monie sec meetings may we ieeve to see." — 

" Blackwell Murry Neel," page 52. 



ULVERSTON : 

Printed and Pl-blished by W. Holmes, Ltd., 

1904. 



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LIFE OF ANDERSON. 



Extracts from Autobiography : — 

"At six o'clock on the snowy morning of 
February ist, 1770, I beheld the hght of the world 
at the Damside, in the Parish of St. Mary, in the 
suburbs of the ancient city of CarUsle. I was a poor 
little tender being scarce worth the trouble of rearing, 
and was the youngest of nine children, born of 
parents getting up in years, who with all their 
kindred had been kept in bondage by poverty, hard 
labour and crosses. 

" At an early age I was placed in a Charity School, 
supported at that time by the Dean and Chapter of 
Carlisle for the Education of children only. Having 
studied my letters, the see-saw drone of the "Primer" 
and waded through the "Reading-Made-Easy," and 
" Dyche's Spelhng Book" I was now turned over to 
a long, lean, needy Pretender to Knowledge. He 
devoted much time to angUng, and I was always 
selected to accompany him in those fishing expedi- 
tions. It was during those summer excursions that 
an attachment to rural scenery first stole over my 
mind. A love of nature grew in me from this period 
to manhood and such has been the influence of this 
passion for nature, that it has been the dearest wsh 
of my heart to creep into retirement in the dechning 
years of my life, and strike the strings of my feeble 
harp in the shades of peace. From this teacher I 
was removed by my parents to the Quaker's School, 
nnder Mr. Isaac Ritson a very learned and ingenious 
man. 

" At the age of 10 years, I left school to try to 
earn a little to assist ray father who was now very 
infirm. I was employed as a Calico Printer under 
my brother and my wages one and sixpence a week 
were presented to my beloved father. From 
infancy I was fond of drawing, especially animals, 
and to this amusement my evenings were chiefly 
devoted. For a self-taught artist my early efforts 



viu. LIFE OF ANDERSON. 

afiford evidence of industry, but they are devoid of 
anything indicative of genius. My next change 
was to be bound apprentice to a pattern drawer 
with Messrs. T. Losh and Co., Denton Holme near 
CarUsle where I enjoyed all the happiness an 
industrious apprentice can hope for ; being treated 
with every mark of esteem. While here I turned my 
thoughts to music, and as from childhood a love 
of rural Ufe had grown with me, I let shp few op- 
portunities of spending the Sabbath more especially 
m summer with friends in some neighbouring village. 

" It was on paying a welcome visit at a friend's 
house that I was first smitten with female charms. 
Picture to yourself a diffident youth in his sixteenth 
year daily pouring out the sigs of a sincere heart for 
iin artless cottager somewhat j'ouger than myself. 

She was all my thoughts by day, 
And all my dreams by night. 

At church she drew my attention from the preacher. 
On her " I could have gaz'd my soul away," and I 
have a thousand times fancied to myself our joining 
hands at the Hymeneal altar. Whatever I had had 
of worldly possessions I would gladly have bestowed 
upon her.* 

" When in London, where I had obtained 
employment before the expiration of my appren- 
ticeship, my first attempt at poetical composition 
was made in a song called " Lucy Grey," which 
with some others was afterwards set to music 
and sung at the Vauxhall. While in London my 
poor father whom I had regularly supported paid 
me an unexpected visit. He was in his 75th year, and 
had walked from Carlisle to London a distance of 
301 miles. Such however was his aversion to the 
noise and tumult of London that I could only 
prevail upon him to remain wth me seven days at 
the end of which time he returned to CarUsle." 

In 1796 Anderson returned from London to Car- 
lisle to support the decUning years of his aged father. 
Employment was oftered to liim by Messrs. Lamb, 
Scott, Foster, and Co., and the situation in his native 
place proved in every sense agreeable, and he gives 

♦Read in this connexion the Ballad of " Sally Gray," page 10 
reads like a page of autobiography." 



LIFE OF ANDERSON. ix. 

the following account of the first commencement of 
his literary career : — " I had now written a great 
number of poetical pieces, and in 1798. ambition 
led me hke too many of my brother scribblers to 
pubUsh a volume of poems, printed by John Mitchell 
and dedicated to J. C. Curwen, Esq.,M.P. From this 
pubUcation I received httle more than dear bought 
praise. I have already more than once adverted 
to the pleasures rural hfe afforded me. My only 
poetical deUght has been the study of nature, and 
ff any merit can be claimed for any effusions of my 
music it is when she appears in her rustic dress. 
The manners and dialect of the Cumberland peasantry 
now occupied a great share of my attention. In 
December, 1801, I pubhshed the Ballad called " Betty 
Bro\\-n " in the Cumbrian dialect. The praise 
bestowed bv many but particularly my friend 
Thomas Sanderson, liimself a Poet of no mean 
pretensions, encouraged me to other attempts in 
the same species of poetry ; at length a sufficient 
number of pieces were produced to form a volume. 
The friend I have named was kind enough to furnish 
me with notes to the volume and at lais request 
it was sent to the Press under the title of " Cumber- 
land Ballads." The work became somewhat popular, 
the edition was soon exhausted, and a new impression 
was sent into the world from the Press of Mr. Hether- 
ton, of Wigton, who purchased the copyright." 

Prior to the issue of this second edition, Ander- 
son had left Carlisle at the earnest entreaty of a 
friend having the provision of a more lucrative 
situation at B-'ookfield, near Belfast. On reaching 
Dumfries, he states that his wish was so great to pay 
the tributary tear at the Tomb of Robert Burns, 
that this alone induced him to prefer a pedestrian 
journey through Scotland to a short sail from 
Maryport. 

Owing to the pressure of the times and the want 
of spirit in the proprietors, the Print Works at Belfast, 
were closed in less than 2 years. In that period he 
had pubUshed much in the Belfast Newspaper 
which led him into the Society of many literary 
characters. He wrote and was about to publish an 
" .\dieu to Erin " whtn he met with an unexpected 
engagement at Carnmoney six miles from Belfast. 
His employer was David Bigger, of Belfast, Proprie- 



X. LIFE OF ANDERSON. 

tor of the Calico Print Works at Carnmoney. He 
resided and worked here until the death of David 
Bigger in 1818 and the following record of his sojourn 
in Ireland has been most kindly furnished to me by 
Francis Joseph Bigger, of Ardrie, Belfast, the 
grandson of David Bigger above mentioned, and 
editor of the Ulster Journal of Archseology, a 
magazine full of interest in Antiquarian records 
and research in the North of Ireland. 

Referring to this time Mr. Bigger gives a letter 
and the following epitaph written to his employer's 
Widow — the originals of which are still preserved at 
Ardrie : — 

Epitaph on David Bigger, Esq. 

Affection tender rears this humble stone, 
A mouUi'riiig mark of gratitude to one 
Who in the Husband, Parent and the Friend, 
Love, fondness and sincerity did blend ; 
Whose thoughts ambition never taught to stray. 
Nor owned unlawful pleasures' dangerous sway. 
The love of country warmed his feeling breast, 
And proud was he to succour the distrest. 
Cheerful resigned life's peaceful vale he trod, 
And rested on the mercy cf his God. 
Go, reader, and when in earth's silent womb, 
May truth give such a tribute to thy tomb. 

This epitaph was not published in the loca 
press in Ireland but appears (omitting lines 3 and 4 
in the Carlisle Edition of Anderson's Poems pubUshed 
in 1820, Vol. II. page 91. 

" It is said," says Mr. Bigger, " that Anderson 
while resident at Carnmoney almost rivalled 
Goldsmith in his Charity, sparing himself nothing. 
He would have given all his money, or food or even 
his very clothes to those who were in need." In his 
memoir he says : " Duty soon led me to share my 
income with the wretched and helpless, which, my 
friends well know% added no little to the happiness 
of many, and afforded me true pleasure. Charity 
balls, as they are termed, were frequently held, and 
at these I collected considerable sums, and without 
doubt, saved numbers from the grave. Subscriptions 
were liberally attended to at the Print Works, 
whenever they were deemed necessary, not only for 
the wretched famiUes employed tliere, but for the 
helpless throughout the neighbourhood. On these 
occasions I was uniformly appointed collector, and I 



LIFE OF ANDERSON. xi. 

still pray for the happiness of my fellow workmen, 
whose benevolence will seldom be equalled." 

During this time his lodging was at a retired 
farmhouse, udth a peaceable family, consisting of 
Thomas and Andrew Stewart and some female 
members, the place was known as Springtown, in 
the townland of Ballyearl, Carnmoney. So much 
charity on the part of Anderson led to kindness 
of a different sort being pressed upon him, and he 
fell a victim to inebriety, a habit wliich ever after- 
wards followed him, shadowing him to the grave. 
Anderson did not pubUsh any volume in Ireland, 
most of his pieces appearing from time to time in 
the News Letter and Commercial Chronicle. Those 
which appeared in the News Letter are found in a 
" Collection of Poems on various subjects," Vol. II. 
(Belfast, Alexander Mackay, 1810). They are ten 
in number, and not in the dialect. 

Calico Printing in Ireland having now been for 
sometime on the decline, he found if necessary to 
leave Belfast, and to return to his native city, Carlisle. 
He had every reason to be gratified with the re- 
ception which he received from all classes amongst 
those to whom his works had made him known, 
and he was shortly afterwards advised to publish 
his works in order to make some provision for his 
decUning years. " Dilfidence," he says, " would have 
prevented me from making such an attempt had not 
necessity forced me to it. A committee was 
appointed who have used every exertion to insure my 
happiness in the winter of life and the same anxiety 
has been shown by many in various parts of the 
Kingdom." Two volumes were accordingly publish- 
ed at Carlisle in 1S20 ; prefixed by "An Essay on 
the character and manners of the Peasantry of 
Cumberland," from the pen of his friend Thomas 
Sanderson ; and a memoir written by himself. 

Theissue of this edition notwithstanding the long 
and most influential list of subscribers* by which it 
is headed <loes not seem to have brought him that 
needful aid tliat was expected, there is no certain 
evidence of wliat he did or what he did not receive 
from tin; various edition of his works for with the 
open handed generosity that is everywhere apparent 

• The printed list of subscribers numbers nearly one thousand 
names, and incliidis kobcrt Southey .^^ld William Wordsworth. 



xii. LIFE OF ANDERSON. 

in his doings this would make very Uttle difference 
to liis permanent resources, and there is certain 
evidence that very shortly after this Edition had 
appeared the position of his finances was just as 
low as ever.* He went to live at Hayton, a village 
7 miles from Carlisle in 1823, and records this in his 
" Farewell to Carel " and many of his later poems 
appear to have been written while there. 

During the latter portion of the period that 
lapsed between his return from Ireland and his 
death the poet at times seems to have sunk into 
those fits of deep depression to which poets in all 
ages and under all conditions seem to have been 
subject, and he appears at times to have held that 
same morbid fear of the workhouse that Burns in his 
latter moments seems to have had of the jail. There 
was much to depress him. No one can realise this 
fully who has not read through and collated his 
manuscripts, and seen the most careful way in which 
he has wTitten and rewritten and worked out his 
subjects some of them with most careful analysis. 
Thev take in a range of subjects from what were 
evidently intended to be Epic Poemst and Plays 
down to those terse popular songs and ballads which 
will Uve while the Cumbrian Dialect lives and possess 
a talismanic influence while Cumbrian can grasp the 
hand of Cumbrian in the strong assurance that — 

Canny ole Cumberland caps them aw still. 

All this had been done by him in what was evidently 
a life work, and while he could work at his trade he 
did work at it honestly and well. There is an 
excellent record of his doings as a workman in 
Ireland. And Mr. Bigger who is well qualified 
to .speak in this respect says, " Anderson was an 
excellent workman when at Carnmoney and many 
beautiful samples of printed calico from his designs 
are still preserved at Ardrie." And yet what was the 
sum of it — poetry and workmanship alike ? He 
might say of them as another Robert had said of 
his Ufe long efforts : — 

* I allude to an appeal he made to the Publishers to purchase 
the copyright of his Ballads now increased to 177 — this appea 
was unsuccessful. 

t The Epic Poem is " The Rose of Corbye " in ordinary 
English, containing 1500 or 1600 lines, and occupying 60 pages in 
Vol. I. of the edition of 1820. 



LIFE OF ANDERSON. xiii. 

Here half fed, half mad, half sarket, 
Is aw the amount. 

' Age and want, " an ill matched pair," •^'ere 
rapidly stealing upon him. His profession was fast 
becoming a decaying industry in which he could not 
get work if he would. In one of his hitherto un- 
published poems he seems to refer to such a state 
of depression when he says : — 

How many aye are wrapt in care, 
Whea ne'er a mortal wad oppress, 
Wheyle others plenty daily share, 
Still wishin brothers in distress. 
Years fifty-five now owre are flown 
Sin furst on this weyl warl aw gaz'd ; 
Weel rear'd by twea in want aye thrown, 
An leyke them aw mun ne'er be rais'd. 

About this time occurred an event which must 
have tended much to deepen and perpetuate his 
sadness. The Poet Sanderson had been his hfe long 
friend and companion. He himself gives the dale of 
1795 as the time from which he had first known him 
and from thence they seem to have been to each other 
as David and Jonathan. Sanderson seems mostly 
to have acted as Pioneer in Anderson's Uterary 
efforts. When he had written " Betty Brown " in 
the dialect he says, " The praise bestowed upon it 
by many, particularly by my faithful friend Thomas 
Sanderson, himself a Poet of no mean pretensions 
encouraged me to other attempts in the same species 
of Poetry and at length a sufficient number of pieces 
were produced to form a volume," Sanderson 
furnished notes to this volume and at Sanderson's 
request it was sent to the Press under the titlo of 
"Cumberland Ballads" and when in 1820 ^\hat 
from a literary point of view must be considered 
the most impo-'taiU* edition of his works, appeared 
in 2 volumes it was prefaced by an Essay upon the 
character and manners of the Peasantry of Cumber- 
land, by Thomas Sanflcrson. His poems and other 
writings abound with references to Sanderson. By 
a custom familiar enough in literary circles at thjit 
time, /«<<; " Sylvander and Clarinda" of Burns, he 

•It derives i's importanrc from the size and excrutlon of the 
work and from the iiuiiiber o( subscribers ; from a dialpct point of 
view it has not much vnlue, as it di.ly inchidcs 18 pieces in the 
dialect. [HniTOR]. 



xiv. LIFE OF ANDERSON. 

referred to Sanderson as Crito. And Crito or Sander- 
son seems to have been to him in Cumberland what 
Andrew McKenzie was to him in Ireland, at once 
a literary collabrateur and a firm and unfailing friend. 
Sanderson lived for many years as a teacher in 
Kirklinton and is sometimes known as the Kirk- 
linton or Levens Poet. I went and resided in that 
Parish for 2 or 3 years at a period of about 24 or 25 
years after his death ; my home there was not far 
from where he had lived and his name and doings 
still fresh in the memory of the residents, I therefore 
heard much about him. It is always a pleasure to 
me to speak of Sanderson and his connexion with 
the doings and literature of former days. For a 
period of about 50 years his life is marked with a 
devotion to the Poets and Poetry of Cumberland 
to its Dialect to its Place names, to its Literature, 
that is not to be found in any other author, and add 
to this it is a record of purity, of virtue, of kindliness, 
of heart, of abstemiousness at times amounting 
to ascetism and that I think is literally true of him 
which I have in Anderson's own handwriting in 
the notes to one of his Poems that he was — 

One born to succour and instruct mankind, 
To vice, ambition, e'en to folly blind. 

He has, according to an old copy I have of the 
work, edited the first edition or one of he first editions 
of the Songs and Poems in the Dialect of Rev. Joshua 
Relph, vicar of Sebergham, and singularly enough 
in that volume which appeared in 1797 is an ad- 
vertisement of the very first edition of Anderson's 
Poems not in the Dialect which appeared at the 
beginning of the following year, and as a specimen 
of his work a Sonnet to the river Eden is given in 
the conventional 14 lines ; this Sonnet appears again 
at page 106, Vol. II, of the edition of 1820, and is 
probably the first of his pieces that ever appeared 
in Print. 

Burns says of the muse of poetry : — 

The Muse, nae Poet ever found her. 
Till by bimsel he learn'd to wander 
Adown some trotting stream's meander, 
An no think lang ; 

Oh sweet to stray and pensive ponder 
Some heart-felt sang. 



LIFE OF ANDERSON. xv. 

And thus much of Sanderson's time was spent alone 
or with Anderson on the margin of the river Lyne.* 
Near Shield Green where he lived and died is a stone 
trough or well known yet as Sanderson's Well. 
It has been cut by him in the Sandstone rock, 
through which the river l^yne flows there and is 
situated in one of the most lonely and romantic 
recesses of the river. It is filled by a clear spring 
from above and in summer it is almost hidden by 
the foliage. Here the Poet used to come from his 
cottage at Shield Green, where he lived, as early 
as four o'clock in the morning and perform his 
ablutions, and here he spent a great portion of his 
time. The record of his end is a very sad one, and 
is thus told by the Poet Woixlsworth : " Shirley's 
death reminded me of the sad close of the life of a 
literary person, Sanderson by name in the neigh- 
bouring County of Cumberland. He lived in a 
cottage by himself, which, from want of care on his 
part, took tire in the night. The neighbours were 
alarmed ; they ran to the rescue ; he escaped, 
dreadfully burned, from the flames, and laj' down 
(he was in his 70th year) under a tree, a few yards 
from the door. His friends in the meanwhile 
endeavoured to save what they could of his property 
from the flames. He inquired most anxiously after 
a box in which his manuscripts had been deposited 
with a view to the publication of a laboriously 
corrected edition, and on being told that the box was 
consumed he expired in a few minutes, saying or 
rather sighing out the words " Then I do not wish 
to live." 

The following is the inscription on the head- 
stone, with a brass platef which marks his grave in 
Kirklinton Churchvard, near where he died : — 



•The Lync, one o{ the most romantic and picturesque of 
Cumberland rivers, flows through Kirlilinton, to which it gives the 
name Kirk Levington or Kirk Lync Town, falls into the Esk and 
thence into the Solway. 

+ I owe the ability to give this In!»cri|iti«n and Epitaph to the 
kindness of my old friend O. J. Hell, Es<j., son of Rev. G. Bell, so 
many years Rector of Kirklinton. He kindly went to the church- 
yard and copied them for me. [Editor.] 



xvi. LIFE OF ANDERSON. 

ERECTED 
IN MEMORY OF 

THOMAS SANDERSON, 

A NATIVE OF SeBERGHAM, 

Who Died at Shield Green, 
On the I 6th of Jany., 1829. 

epitaph. 

" a far from busy town " and noisy strife, 
The Levens Poet passed his peaceful life ; 
Of manners simple, but of polished mind, 
He knew the proper sphere to man assigned ; 
In friendship warm — the kindly-feeling glow 
lUumin'd all his actions here below : 
Esteem'd by those who modest worth regard, 
He lived contented with their just award ; 
Pleas"d with the rural cot and verdant wood, 
And gentle soothings of the limpid flood. 
Along the daisied mead he lonely trod. 
"And followed Nature up to Nature's God," 
But o'er his end the Muse must draw a veil. 
Nor here relate the mind-distressing tale ; 
His friends deplore his loss with many a tear, 
And o'er his tomb this humble tribute rear. 

The lines are from the pen of the Rev. Jo'hn 
Hope, for many years the respected Rector of Staple- 
ton, and equally well known as a Scholar, a Teacher, 
and a Divine, 

It may be taken for granted that there was 
much in that box relating to Anderson and the 
Cumberland Ballads, as the two poets were at that 
time in close communion. 

Anderson survived the death of his friend about 
3 years or thereabouts. He lived amid the sur- 
roundings of depression and poverty and as one 
of those who have written of him says possibly 
the gloom of intemperance may in some measure 
have shadowed him ahnost to the last. For the 
concluding twelve months of his life he was sup- 
ported froin a monthly subscription entered into 
by many of his friends and admirers, chiefly in- 
habitants of Carlisle and he died in Annctwell Street, 
Carlisle, on the 26th of September, 1833, in the 63rd 
year of his age, and wau interred in the burial ground 
of Carlisle Cathedral. A monument, of which the 






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SANDHkSONs lOMU IN K I WK I.I NTOIN CHUKCHYA«D. 



LIFE OF ANDERSON. 



following is an illustration, has since been erected 
to his memory in the Cathedral. 




The surplus of the Subscription Fund was 
expended on a Headstone over the spot where 
he is interred. 

Many of his Ballads, Songs and Memoranda 
were scattered about in M.S.S amonj; his friends 
and relations.* And it has been through their 
kindness in letting me have the loan of them for 

• My tlianks .irc psppcially dun to Mr. Alderman Wigh.Ttn, of 
Carlisle. 'IliroiKjIi his kindness I obtained frorn Mr. Aiidcison, the 
Poet's neplir.w, over 200 Sonfe's in the I'oet's handwriting, with 
other matter ; and in evciythiinj else connected with this volnnie 
he has taken a most helpful interest. Dr. Prcvost, Editor of 
Dickinson's "Cumberland Glossary," and T. H. Coward, Esq., of 
Silerroft, have also afforded me kind aid. — [Editor.] 



xviij. LIFE OF x\NDERSON. 

collation and examination that I have been enabled 
to add in the present edition important and character- 
istic Songs which have hitherto been unpublished, 
and to those friends scattered as they are all over 
Cumberland and some of them far (?utside of Cumber- 
land I hereby tender my best thanks for their aid 
in the work. The Poet excelled in minute and ex- 
cellent writing of which two specimens, " Winter," 




and *" Wellington and Waterloo " are given in exact 
facsimile. 

His shorter Poems and Songs are generally 
written on separate sheets or scraps of paper of 
which I have or have had about 250 in his own 
handwriting. An erasure or a correction in them 
occurs very rarely indeed. The handwriting is neat 
and beautiful and almost like copper plate in some 

* The MS. of " Wellington and Waterloo " was lent me by Mr. 
Miles Mark, Carlisle 



LIFE OF ANDERSON. xix. 

instances. In some instances he seems to have 
written several copies of the some Ballad, in fact 
there are such examples in his own handwriting in 
s jme of the copies that I have. I had often wonder- 
ed at the diversity to be found in some of the printed 
editions of his works. The collation of his Ballads 
discloses the reason of this for the same Ballad he 
has used different words in the different copies, 
hence the " various readings " that have come forth 
to the world. I subjoin two or three instances of 
variations. In the edition of Robertson, of Wigton, 
the first stanza of King Roger is — 

'Twa; but tudder neet, efter darkenin, 
Aroun the turf fire we aw drew ; 
Our deame she was sturrin a cow-drink, 
Our Betty was wianin a clew. 

In the edition of 1X28 it is — 

'Twas but tudder neet efter darkenin. 
We sat owre a bleezing turf fire ; 
Our deame she was sturrin a cow-drink, 
Our Betty milked kyo in the byre. 

Of " .\ndrevv's Youngest Dowter," I have two copies 
in the Poet's o%%ti writing, one is — 

Where Irthin mourn-; to Eden's streams. 
The other is — 

Where Irthin rows to Eden's streams. 

In the edition of 1805, '* Johnn}'^ and Mary," Stanza 

4 runs — 

His aul fadder watch'd till the black hour o' midneet, 
Widout his dear Johnny the naig gallopd heame : 
They sought an they fan him that mwornin in Eden 
Amang the green busses that nod owre the stream. 

In Robertson's Wigton edition it is — 

At midneet the horse ^'allop'd heame, but nea Johnny, 
The thowt made his father and family weep ; 
They sowt, an that mwornin the corp fan in Eden, 
Below the green busses that nod owre the deep. 

Many other passages with such like changes in 
the different copies may it be cited, and they show 
the extreme care with which the Poet wrote and 
re-wrote what to him was evidently a life work. He 
has also added in some instances whole stanzas to 
the Poems at times I think not to their improvement, 
and there are instances but they are very few in 
which the stanzas have been shortened and their 
number curtailed. 



XX. LIFE OF ANDERSON. 

Of Anderson's style of writing in the Dialect, 
Sanderson, probably one of the most competent 
critics who ever wrote of this, has the following 
testimony : — " His Cumberland Ballads display 
uncommon merit, and may be considered the most 
perfect specimens of pastoral writing that have yet 
appeared. The author has taken a wider view 
of rural life than any of his predecessors, and has 
been more happy in describing the peculiar cast 
of thought and expression by wliich individual 
manners are distinguished. In delineating the 
character of the peasantry he has closely adhered 
to nature and truth, never raising them above their 
condition by too much refinement and never de- 
pressing them below it l)y too much vulgaritv. 
He helds them up often to laughter but never to 
contempt. He has the happy talent of catcliing the 
ludicrous in every thing that comes before him and 
expressing it with that facility which gives its full 
force to the reader." 

Ere I conclude this notice I may mention some 
of the reasons that have led me to the studj^ of 
Anderson and of the Cumberland Dialect Poets 
generally in whose words the Dialect or language 
of our native country may be said in a great measure 
to be embalmed. A very strong reason which I 
give at the outset for its study by the Antiquary 
and the Philologist is the bearing which its older 
and more distinctive word forms have upon lan- 
guage generally and thus upon Comparative Philo- 
log3'. Its word forms derived as they generallj' 
are from the Norse in some of its cognate languages 
give the status of a language to this our Northern 
Dialect and prove that it does not derive its first 
origin from any merely accidental or corrupted 
source. These words however, I have in a great 
measure dealt with in the notes or in my Glossary 
of the Cumberland Dialect, and need not there- 
fore particularize them again. They are however, 
herein preserved for the future use of the Anti- 
quary and Philologist who herein have a truthful 
and unvarnished record of the language, the customs, 
the manners, the superstitions of Cumberland as they 
existed over lOO years ago. 

Our dialect Poets spoke a language which, 
though fast dying out, still retains its hold in many 
of our sequestered valleys, they give truthful gUmpses 



LIFE OF ANDERSON. xxi. 

of the manners and customs of our forefathers ; and 
some of the most enduring sketches of the liistory of 
our County aie preserved, when they are preserved 
at all, in the rhyme and rhythm of their well 
remembered lines. For retaining a vivid remem- 
brance of events ; for handing down the memory 
of manners and customs ; for uniting mankind in 
one common bond of brotherhood ; for awakening 
in them pure and hallowing remembrances of home 
and friends ; and, I will also add, for educating them 
in all that is virtuous and good and noble, there is 
no more powerful agency than Song. 

I am not now speaking of all Songs ; the place 
of light may be r.ssumed by darkness, and evil may 
usurp the character of good ; and I know that all 
that is lewd, Ucentious and demoralizing has al 
times been garbed in the measure of a song. But 
as a rule Anderson and the rest of our countrymen 
do not labour under that imputation. I have 
described elsewhere,* how Relph, the first Cumbrian 
dialect Poet died. He died v.-ith his pupils around 
him, exhorting them to remember his teachings and 
to devote their lives to that which was honourable 
and dutiful and good. And his poetry, besides 
being the reflex of the dialect, and manners of those 
amongst whom he lived, is also a reflex of purity 
and simplicity. Anderson as he had much the widest 
range of subejcts and has in the dialect written 
perhaps as much as all the rest put together and 
deals with just the subjects that might lay him 
open to criticism in this way, yet throughout 
inculcates virtue, truth, and domestic purity, and 
though the greater freedom of expression amongst 
the peasantry in those days have brought about that 
I have occasionally had to omit a phrase, an 
expression, a stanza, or in rare instances a whole 
tpoem yet the iottl ensemble of his writings very 
strongly evidence him to be on the side of temper- 
ance, morality, purity and truth. 

The same tiling may be said of Sanderson, of 
Wilkinson, the Yanwath Toet of Westmorland and 
otiicrs. I do not claim for them any high place of 
poetic excellence, for the quiet and unobtrusive 

• In my Lecture on " The Songs and Singers of Cumberland." 
+ In this volume are 17 Songs from Anderson's MS. which have 
not lieen printed before. 



xxii. LIFE OF ANDERSON. 

manner in which they placed their writings before 
the pubhc, when they ditl place them before the 
public at all, shows it was the very last claim that 
they themselves would have thought of making. 
Their writings seem in many instances to be but 
the natural outcome of their position and circum- 
stances. The quiet teacher and student relieving 
his studies by translating into his native dialect the 
Songs of Horace, or the pastorals of his favourite 
Virgil and Theocritus. The blind fiddler describing 
in the dialect the scenes of uproarious merriment 
to which he himself had given the key note, the keen 
huntsman at the close of a day's hunting dashing off 
with his pen for hunting appointments " D'ye ken 
John Peel ? " till John Peel is known from the hills 
of Cumberland to the woods of Tasmania. 

These are our poets, and these are their subjects. 
They serve to give us a bond of brotherhood one to 
another, and to bind us with still stronger ties to our 
hills and valleys, to our native customs and dialects, 
and to the remembrances of the friends and the 
scenery amid which our hves are cast ; and they 
seem to say to use in the words of our own author 
(Anderson) wth which I may well conclude this 
notice : — 

We help yen anudder — we welcome the stranger, 

Ourselves and our country we'll ivvcr defend ; 
We pay bits o' taxes as well as we're yebble, 

And pray, levke true Britons, the war hed an end. 
Then Cummerlan' lads, an' ye lish rwosy lasses, 

If some caw ye clownish, ye needn't think shem ; 
Be merry and wise, enjoy innocent pleasures, 

And still seek for peace and contentment at yera. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 



Torver Rectory, 

December, 1903. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDERSON. 



1798. — Poems on various subjects by R. 
Anderson, of Carlisle, dedicated to J. C. Curwen, 
Esq., M.P., Workington Hall, Carlisle, printed by J. 
Mitchell, for the author, 1798, contains miscellanies, 
16 ; Epistle, 8, including one to R. Burns, in Scottish 
dialect ; sonnets, 22 ; epigrams 4 pages, in all 227 
pages in ordinary English. 

1805. — Ballads in Cumberland Dialect by R. 
Anderson, Carlisle, W. Hodgson, Ballads 53 all in 
Dialect, pages 174 ; dedicated to Colonels Henry 
Howard, Esq., the Right Hon. Thomas Wallace, 
Major Sir Wilfrid Lawson, Bart., and the Officers of 
the Loyal Cumberland Rangers. 

1808. — Wigton, printed by R. Hetherton, 
engraved frontispiece, tail pieces by Bewick, 75 
Poems by Anderson, pages 258. 

1809. — Another edition. 

181 1. — Anderson's popular songs selected from 
his works, calculated to enliven the mind and ex- 
hilarate the spirits in difficult times. Wigton printed 
by R. Hetherton, 33 pieces, 76 pages. 

181 5. — Ballads, etc., Wigton, Printed by E. 
Rook. Differs in no respect from the edition of 1808 
excejit imprint on title. 

1820. — The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson, 
author of Cumberland Ballads, etc., to which is 
prefixed the Life of the Author written by himself. 
An essay on the character, manners, and customs of 
the Peasantry of Cumberland, and observations on 
the style and genius of the author by Thomas Sander- 
son in 2 volumes. Carlisle : printed and sold by B. 
Scott, English Street. 

Vol L contains 5 long Pieces, 4 Enigmas, 15 
Epistles, in all 223 pages ; vol. H. contains 38 Mis- 
cellaneous, 9 Sonnets, 18 Ballads, 47 Songs, in all 
264 pages. Almost all succeeding editions contain 
either m whole or part this Life of Anderson, and 
also selections from essay and notes by Thomas 
Sanderson. 



xxiv. BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDERSON. 

1823. — Ballads in the Cumberland Dialect by 
Robert Anderson and others, Carlisle : printed for 
John Pillie and all Booksellers, 37 pieces, 84 pages. 

1823. — Another edition. Printed at Wigton ; 
pages 158. 

1828. — Ballads, etc., Carlisle, Printed for H. K. 
Snowden, elegant vignette, " Tib an her maister " by 
Lizars. 86 Pieces. 

1834. — Ballads, etc., printed and sold by John 
Israay. (Frontispiece King Roger engraved from 
a painting by G. Sheffield.) 

1839. — Dialogues, Poems, Songs, etc., of West- 
morland and Cumberland, London, John Russell 
Smith, (contains 35 pieces of Anderson's of which 
about 12 are published for the first time here, and 
in Robertson's edition are none of them to be found 
out of this volume. 

1864. — Ballads, Carlisle, B. Stewart, 85 pieces, 
224 pages, very like the Alnwick edition. 

1866. — Cumberland Ballads by Robert Ander- 
son, edited by Sidney Gilpin, Carlisle : G. Coward. 

1870. — Ballads, etc., Cockermouth, printed at 
the office of J. Evening. 

Editions without date. — Anderson's Cumber- 
land Ballads. Wigton, Printed and sold by William 
Robertson. Frontispiece same as editions of 1808 
and 181 5, contains 195 pieces, with notes and glossary 
138 pages. 

Ballads in the Cumberland Dialect by Robert 
Anderson, Alnwick, printed by W. Davison, Bond- 
gate Street. Frontispiece is the Codbeck Wedding, 
85 pieces, 224 pages. 

This edition was stereotyped and the types 
being subsequently sold to T. W. .\rthur, Carlisle, 
he reissued it, substituting his own name. A 
large portion of the stock in sheets was purchased 
by Crosthwaite and Co., Whitehaven, who in like 
manner placed their name on the Title and the 
Book was afterwards sold by their successors, 
Pagen and Gill of the same place. The Alnwick 
edition would include with very slight changes 
what appeared as three or four editions. 

With the exception of Robertson's edition, no 
edition contains more than 86 Pieces in the Dialect. 



QTwrnkrlanii ^alkbB. 



-♦-•-•- 



BETTY BROWN. 
Tune — " John Anderson my Jo." 

WULLY. 

" Come, Gwordie lad ! unyoke the yad — 

Let's gow to Rosley Fair ; 
Lang Ned's afwore, wi' Symie' lad, 

Pee'd Dick, an monie mair. 
Mey titty Greace, an Jenny Bell, 

Are gangen bye an bye ; 
Sae doff thy clogs — heaste, don thysel — 

Let f adder luik to t' kye ! " 

GWORDIE. 

" O Wully ! leetsome may ye be ! 

For me, I downet gang ; 
I've offen shekt a leg vvi' thee, 

But now I's aw wheyte wrang ; 
Mey stomich's geanc, nae sleep I get 

At neet I lig me down ; 
But nobbet pech, and gowl, and fret 

An aw fer Betty Brown ! 

" Sin' Cuddy Wulson' murry-neet, 

When Deavie brces'd his shin, 
I've niver, nivcr yence been reet, 

An aw fer hur, I (in ; 
Thoo kens we danc'd a threesome reel, 

An I'otty set to me — 
She hiik'd sae neycc, an danc'd sae weal . 

Wliat cud a body dc ? 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

" Mey fadder fratches sair eneugh, 

If i but slink frae heamc ; 
Mey muddcr caws me peer deyl't guff, 

If Betty I but neame : 
Atween the twee theer's sec a frase, 

O, but it's bad to beyde ! 
An what's far war, ay Betty says, 

She wunnet be mey breyde ! 

" Just tudder day, tlie dinner duin, 

I struive to teake a nap ; 
But mudder com an rous'd me suin — 

What, kye hed meade a gap ! 
I dreem't I'd Betty i' mey airms, 

An busst her oft an oft — 
I seed her rwosy cheeks an charms. 

As I ran owre the croft. 

" She sings i't' kurk, beath hee an low, 

Aa ! music she can read ; 
At needle-wark she caps them aw — 

She mim be larn'd indeed ! 
Had she but rid on their rwoan'd cowt, 

I'd taen a tramp this mworn ; 
But, luiks-te ! — She's at wark leyke owt — 

Her marra ne'er was bwom ! " 

WULLY. 

" Wey, Gworge ! thoo's owther fuil or font, 

To think ov sec a frow ! 
In aw her flegmagaries donnt. 

What is she ? — nowt 'et dowe ! 
Ther's sceape-greace Ben, aw t' neybors ken. 

Can git her onie day — 
Er 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 trowe, she'd mak, 

'At cuddent muck a byre ! 
But, whisht ! — Here comes mey titty Greace, 

She'll guess what we're about — 
To mworn a-mworn, i' this searae pleace, 

We'll hae the stwory out ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

BARBARY BELL. 

Tune — " Cuddle us a ihegether." 

O, but this luive is a serious thing ! 

It pruives the beginner o' monie waes ! 
An yen hed as guid in a helter svvnig, 

As luik at a bonny leace, now-a-daj'S : 
Was iver peer deevil sae fasla'd as me ? 

Nobbet sit thy ways still, the truth I's tell ; 
I wish I'd been hung on our codlin tree, 

The varra furst teyme I seed Barbary Bell ! 



We fell in togither ae het summer day ; 

The queen ov aw beauties she seemt to me : 
She sang about luive, an she reak'd the hay, 

But scearce a bit wark that day I cud de. 
Reed cheeks, black een, an hair queyte breet, 

An neck far wheyter nor snow on the fell — 
Luive meks yen, alas ! leyke an idiot, havvf-reet 

Sin that hour, I've thowt o\- Baibary Bell. 



Queyte lish, an nit varra thrang wi' wark, 

I went my ways down to Carel fair,* 
Wi' bran new cwoat, an a brave ruffelt sark. 

An Dick the bit Shaver pat flour on my hair ; 
Our seyde lads er aw meade up ov fun, 

Sae some tuik ceyder, an some tuik yell ; 
Neest Diddlen Deavie strack up an aul tune, 

An I capert away wid Barbary Bell. 



Says I, " Bab," says I, " we 11 de weel eneugh, 

For thofj can kurn, an darn, an spin ; 
I can deyke, men car-gear, an follow the pleugh, 

Sae at Whussentlay necst we'll the wail begin, 
I's turn'd queyte a gayshen aw t'ncyi)(>rs say, 

I sit leyke a sumph, nao mair misel'. 
An up, or a-bcci, at heaine, or away, 

I think o' nr)wt but Barbary Bell ! " 

"Carlisle Fair. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Then whee sucl steal in but Robin Parknuik, 

Wi' Jwohn o' the Stub,* an twee or three mair 
Suin Barb'ry oflf frae my tnee they tuik, — 

" Od, dangt ! " says I, " Wey, this is nit fair," 
Robin just kick'd up a dust in a crack, 

An sticks an neeves they went pel-mel, 
The clock-feace, an bottles, an glasses they brak, 

But, fares-te-weel, wheyte fit, Barbary Bell. 

' Twas nobbet last week, nae langer seyne, 

I wheynt i' the nuik but can't tell how ; 
" Git up," says my fadder, " an sarra the sweyne, 

" I's bravely, Bab ! " says I, " how's thoo ? " 
Neest mworn to t' cwoals I was fworc'd to gang, 

But cowpt the cars nar Tindal Fell, 
For I cruin'd aw the way, as I trottet alang, 

" O that I'd niver kent Barbary Bell." 

That varra seame neet, up to Barbary's house, 

When aw t'aul fwok wer liggin asleep ; 
J off wi' my clogs, an as whisht as a mouse, 

Clavert up to the window, an tuik a peep ; 
Theer, whee sud 1 see, but Watty the laird — 

Od wheyte leet on him ! — I munnet tell ! 
On Setterday neest, If I leeve an be spar'd 

I'll wear a reed cwot for Barbarv Bell 



NICHOL THE NEWSMONGER. 
Tune — " The Night before Larry was stretch' d. 

" Come, Nichol, an give us thy cracks, 

I seed thee gang down to the smiddy 
I've foddert the naigs an the nowt, 

An wanted to hear thee 'et did ee ! " 
" Aa ! Andrew lad ! draw in a stuil, 

An gie us a shek o' thy daddle ; 
I got aw the news far an nar, 

Sae, set off as fast's I cud waddle 

* Noted pugilists. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 5 



" In France they've but swoirofu teymes, 

For Bonnyprat's* nit what he sud be — 
America's nobbet sae sae ; 

An Englan nit queyte as she mud be — 
Sad wark ther's amang blacks and wheytes.f 

Sec telHn plain teale,s to their feaces, 
Wi' murders, and wars, an aw that, 

But — hod — I lorgit whoar the pleace is ! 

" Our parson he gat drunk as muck, 

Then leddert aw t'lads roun about him ; 
Some said he was nobbet hawf reet. 

An fwok mud as weel be widout him — 
The yell's to be fourpence a whart — 

Odswinge, lad ! ther wull be rare drinkin — 
Billy Pitt's mad as onie March hare, 

An niver was reet, fwok er thinkin. 

" A weddin we'll hev or it's lang, 

Wi' Bett Brag an lal Tommy Tagwally — 
Jack Bunton's for off to the sea ; 

It'll e'en be the deeth of our Sally — 
The dogger hes bowt a new wig — 

Dawston singers come here agean Sunday — 
Lword Nelson's ta'en three Spanish fleets. 

An the Dancin Schuil oppens on Monday. 

" Carel badgers are monstrous sad fwok. 

The peer silly deils how they wring up — 
Lal bairns hae got pox frae the kye ; X 

An fact'ries, leyke mushrems, they spring up 
If they sud keep their feet for a wheyle, 

An guvverment nobbet pruive civil, 
They'll build up as hee as the muin, 

Ay 1 Card's a match for the deevil ! 

" To the bewhn-green yen tuik me down, 

Whoar proud bits o' chaps er owre chatty ; 
Yen stoopt just as he wad catch hens ; 

An anudder cried, " Hod tail <>' W'aityl " 
Ae queer fellow went wid his bans, 

Leyke Bramery playin on t' fiddle ; 
A fat chap cried " Brandy heath sides, 

An su^ger, an plums i' the middle ! " 

• Bonaparte. •)• Alluding to the insurrection of the iilacks. 
J Cow Pox. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

" At Jossy Brown's neest I cawt in, 

An they suin meade me pay far a gallon 
For sittin on t'sattle by t' lire ; 

I'd just as leeve sat by our hallan ; 
Ther was lees, news, an gay funny teales. 

An wheyles bits o' sangs they wer singin ; 
They sat thrang as four in a bed. 

Some rwoarin mair gallons to bring in. 

" The king's meade a bit ov a speech. 

An gentlefwok say it's a topper — 
Att alderman dee't tudder neet, 

Elter eatin a turkey to supper — 
Our squire's to be parliment man 

Mess, lad, but he'll keep them aw busy ! 
Whee thinks-te's comt heame i' the cwoach, 

Frae Lunnon ? — Wey, grater-feac'd Lizzy. 

" The cock-feghts er ninth o' neest month, 

I've twee, nit aw Englan can bang them — 
Thro' Irelan they're aw up in airms. 

Let's whop ther's nee Frenchmen amang them. 
A boggle's been seen wi' twee heeds, 

Lord help us ! ayont Wully' carras, 
Wi' girt saucer een an lang tail ; 

Fwok aw say 'Twas aul Jobby Barras. 



" The muin was at full this neet week — 

The weather's now turn'd monstrous daggy- 
I' the loft, just at seebem last neet, 

Leyle Steebem sweethearted lang Aggy — 
There'll be bonny wark, bye and bye. 

The truth '11 be out, ther's nae fear on 't ; 
But I niver say nowt, nay nit I, 

For fear aw the parish sud hear on't. 



" Our Tib at the cwose-house hes been. 

She tells us they're aw monstrous murry— 
At Carel the brig's tummel'd down, 

An they tek the fwok owre in a whurry — 
I carried our whye to the bull — 

They've ta'en seebem spies up to Dover — 
My fadder compleens of his hip, 

An — The Gran Turk hes entert Hanover." 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Daft Peg's got hersel, man, wi' bairn, 

An silly Pilgarlic's the fadder — 
Leyle Sim's geane and swapt the black cowt- 

An cwoley hes wurried the wedder — 
My mudder hes got frostet heels — 

What ! peace is the talk o' the nation ; 
For paper says varra neest week, 

Theer's to be a grand humiliation* 

" Aunt Meable has lost her best sark. 

An Cleutie they bleame varra mickle — 
Nowt's seafe out o' duirs now-a-days, 

Frev a millstone, e'en down to a sickle — 
The clock it streykes eight, I mun heame. 

Or I's git a deuce ov a fratchin — 
"When neest we've a few hours to spare, 

We's fin out what mischief's a hatchin 



THE WORTON WEDDING. 

Tune — " Dainty Davie." 

O, sec a Weddin I've been at ! 

Deil bin ! what cap'rin, feghten, vap'rin ! 
The priest an clerk, an aw gat drunk — 

Rare deins ther was theer : 
The Thuirsby chaps they fit the best ; 
The Worton weavers drank the meast ; 
The Bruff-seyde lairds bangt aw the rest 

For braggin o' ther gear. 
And singin — Whurry-whum, Whuddle-whum I 
Whulty-whalty, wha-wha-wha ! 
An derry-dum dcedle-dum ! 
Derry-ey den-dee ! 

Furst, helter-skelter, frae the kurk ; 

Some off leyke fire, thro' dub an mire ; 
" Deil tek the hinmost ! " Mecr' lad cries ; 

Suin heed owre heels he flew : 
" God speed ye wcel ! " the priest rwoard out, 
" Or neet we s hev a hearty bout " 
Peer Meer' lad gat a blcakcnt snout — 

He'd mickle cause to rue ; 

It spoilt his — Whurry-whum, &c. 

* lltuiniDation. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



When on the teable furst they set 

The butter'd sops, sec greasy chops, 
'Tween lug and laggin ! — Aa ! what fun, 

To see them girn and eat ! 
Then hspin Isbel talk'd sae feyne, 
" Twas 'vathly thockiu* thuth to dine ! 
Theck grivethf wark ! to eat hke thweyne ! " J 

It meade her seeck to see't ! 

Then we sang — Whurry-whum, &c. 

Neest stuttrin Cursty, up he ruse, 

Wi' aa-aa-aa, an ba-ba-ba ! 
He'd kiss Jen Jakes, fer aw lang-seyne. 

An fearfu wark meade he. 
But Cursty, souple gammerstang ! 
Ned Wulson brong his hig a whang ; 
An owTe he flew, the peets amang, 

An grean'd as he wad dee ; 

But some sang — Whurry-whum, &c. 

Aunt Ester spoilt the gurdle ceakes. 

The speyce left out, was wTang, nae doubt ; 
Tim Trummel tuik nine cups o' tea. 

An fairly capp'd them aw : 
The kiss went roun ; but Sally Slee, 
When Trummel cleekt her on his tnee. 
She duncht an puncht, cried, " Fuil, let be ! " 
Then strack him owre the jaw. 
An we sung — Whurry-whum, &c. 

Far maest I leught at Grizzy Brown, 

Frae Lunnon town she'd just come down, 
In furbelows an feyne silk gown ; 

Aa, man, but she was crouse ! 
Wi' Dick the futman she wad dance. 
An " wondert people could so prance ; " 
Then curtcheyt as they dui in France, 

An pautet like a geuse. 

Whej'le some sang — Whurry-whum, &c. 

Young sour-milk Sawney, on the stuiJ, 

A whornpeype danc'd, an keav'd an pranct, 

He slipp'd an brak his left-leg shin. 
And hurplt sair about : 

* Vastly shocking. t Such grievous. f Swine. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Then cocker WuUy lap bawk lieet, 
An in his clogs top teyme did beat ; 
But Tamer, in her stockin feet, 
Suin bang'd him out an out, 
An lilted — Whurry-whum, &c. 

Now aw began to talk at yence, 

Ov naigs an kye, an wots an rye. 
An laught an jwokt, an cought an smuikt. 

An meade a fearfu reek ; 
The furm it brack, an down they fell, 
Lang Isaac learnt aul granny Bell ; 
They up an drank het suggert yell, 

Till monie cuddent speak. 

But some sang — Whurry-whum, &c. 

The breyde she kest up her accounts 
In Rachel's lap, then pou'd her cap— 

The parson's wig stuid aw a-jy — 
The clerk sang " Andrew Car " — 

Blin Stagg, the fiddler, gat a whack, 

The bacon fleek fell on his back ; 

An neest his fiddle-stick they brack. 
'Twas weel it was nae war, 
For he sang — Whurry-whum, &c. 

Now on the midden some wer laid, 

Aw havey-skavey, an kellavey ; 
The dogger an the leaylear fit. 

Peer Snip gat twee black een ; 
Dick Wawby he began the fray, 
But Jemmy' Moffet ran away, 
An crap owrc heed amang the hay, 

Fwok say, nit varra clean, 

Then they sang — Whurry-whum, &c. 

Neest Windy Willi, o' Wample seyde, 
He lickl them aw, baith girt an smaw 

He flang them east, he Hang them west, 
An liluidy pates they gat ; 

To him they wer but caff an san ; 

He split the teable wid his han, 

lint in the dust wi' dancin Dan, 
They brunt his kurk-gaun hat : 
An then sang — Whurry-whum, &c. 



lO CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

The breyde now thowt it teyme fer bed ; 

Her stocking dofft, an iiang't quite soft ; 
It hat 15ess Bleane, WuU Webster blusht, 

An luikt anudder way : 
The lads down frae the loft mud steal ; 
The parish howdey, Grcacey Peel, 
Suin happ'd her up ; aw wisht her weel, 

Then whop'd to meet neest day, 

An sing her — Whurry-whum, &c. 

The best on't was, the parson swore, 
His wig was lost, a crown it cost : 
He belsht and heccupt, in an out. 

An said it wasn't fair ! 
Now day-leet suin began to peep. 
The breydegruim oft to bed did creep, 
I trowe he waddent mickle sleep. 

But — whisht ! — I'll say nae mair, 
Nobbet sing — Whurry-whum, whuddle-whum 
Whulty, walty, wha-wha-wha ! 
And derry-dum, diddle dum ! 
Derry-ey den-dee ! 



SALLY GRAY. 

Tune — " The mucking o' Geordie's Byre." 

Come, Deavie ! I'll tell thee a secret. 

But thoo mun lock't up i' thy breest, 
I waddent fer aw Dawston Parish, 

It com to the ears ov our priest. 
Thy hand give, I'll hod thee a weager, 

A groat to thy tuppens I'll lay, 
Thoo cannot guess whee I's in luive wid, 

An nobbet keep off Sally Gray. 

Theer's Cumwhitton, Cumwhinton, Cumranton, 

Cumrangen, Cumrew, an Cumcatch, 
An mony mair cums i' the county, 

But nin wid Cumdivock can match ; 
It's sae neyce to luik owre the black pasture, 

Wi' the fells abuin aw, far away — 
Ther is nee sec pleace, nit in Englan, 

For theer leeves the sweet Sally Gray ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. n 

I was sebemteen last Collop-Monday, 

An she's just the varra seame yage ; 
For ae kiss o' the sweet lips ov Sally, 

I'd give up a seebem year's weage ; 
In lang winter neets when she's spinnin, 

An singin about " Jemmy Gay," 
I keek by the hay -stack, and lissen — 

O, fain wad I see Sally Gray ! 

Had thoo seen her at kurk, lad, last Sunday, 

Thoo cuddent hev thowt o' the text ; 
But she sat neest to Tom o' the Lonnin — 

Thoo may think that meade me quite vext ; 
Then I pass'd her gaun owre the lang meedow. 

Says I, ' Here's a canny wet day ! ' 
1 wad hae said mair, but how cud e. 

When luikin at sweet Sally Gray ! 

I cawt to sup cruds wi' Dick Miller, 

An hear aw his cracks an his jwokes ; 
The dumb weyfe sat teUin their fortunes, 

What I mud be leyke udder fwoks ! 
Wi' chawk on a pair ov aul bellows, 

Twee letters she meade in her way — 
S means Sally, the weyde warl aw owre. 

An G stands fer nowt else but Gray ! 

O, was I but Iword o' the manor, 

A nabob, or parlimcnt man ; 
What thousans on thousans I'd give her, 

Wad she nobbet gie me her han ; 
A cwoach an six horses I'd buy her, 

An gar fwok stan out o' the way, 
Then I'd lowp up behint like a futman— 

Aw the warl for my sweet Sally Gray ! 

They may brag o' their feync Card lasses, 

Their feddcrs, silks, durtment. an leace ; 
(iod help them ! peer dceth-luikin bodies, 

Widout a bit reed on ther feace ! 
For Sally, she's leyke ally blaster, 

Her cheeks are twee rwose buds in May — 
O lad ! I could stan here for iver. 

An talk alH)Ut sweet Sally (iray I 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

WILL AND KEATE. 
Tune — " Auld Lang Seyne." 

Now, Keate, full forty years hae flown, 

Sin we met on the green ; 
Frae that to this the saut, saut tear 

Hes oft stuid i' mey een : 
For when the bairns wer some peet-heet, 

Thoo kens I leam'd my tnee — 
Leyle todlen things, in want of breed — 

O, that went hard wi' me ! 

Then thou wad cry " Come, WuUy, man, 

Keep up thy heart — ne'er fear ! 
Our bits o' bairns '11 scraffle up, 

Sae dry that sworry tear ! 
Theer's Matthew's be an alderman ; 

A bishop we'll mek Guy ; 
Leyle Ned sal be a dogger ; Dick 

Sal work for thee and I ! " 

Then when our crops wer spoilt wi' rain, 

Sur Jwohn mud hev his rent ; 
What cud we de ? — nae geer hed we — 

Sae I to jail was sent : 
'Twas hard to starve i' sec a pleace, 

Widout a frien to trust ; 
But, when I thowt ov thee an t'bairns, 

Mey heart was leyke to brust ! 

Neest, Etty, God was pleas'd to tek. 

What then ? we'd seebem still ; 
But whee kens what may happen ? suin 

The smaw-pox did fer Bill : 
I think I see his slee-black een, 

Then he wad churm an talk. 
An say, " Ded, ded : Mam, mam," an aw, 

Lang, lang er he cud walk. 

At Carel when fer six pun ten, 

I selt twee Scotty kye, 
They pickt my pocket i' the thrang. 

An deil a plack hed I ! 
" Ne'er ack ? " says thoo, "we'll work fer mair 

It's teyme eneugh to fret ; 
A pun ov sorrow wunnet pay 

Ae single ounce o' debt ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 13 

When our naig kickt, an brak thy airm, 

It meade aw mourn indeed, 
Had thoo been soun, I'd been reet fain, 

Hed t'naig but brok mey heed ! 
Thoo smeyl'd, an sed to me an t'bairns, 

" Nae gowUn let us hear ! 
Leyfe's troubles flay beath aul an young. 

If rich they be, or peer ! " 

Now todlin down the hill o' leyfe, 

Aul yage hes brong content ; 
An, God be thenkt ! our bairns are up. 

An pay Sur Jwohn his rent : 
When, seyde by seyde aw day we sit, 

I often think, an grieve, 
'Tis hard that Deeth sud pairt aul fwok. 

When happy they can leeve ! 



THE IMPATIENT LASSIE. 
Tune — " Low down in the broom." 

Deuce tek the clock 1 click-clackin sae, 

Aye in a body's ear : 
It tells, an tells, the teyme is past, 

When Jwohnny sud been here : 
Deuce tek the wheel ! 'twill nit rin roun- 

Nae mair to-met I'll spir., 
But count each minute wid a seegh, 

Till Jwohnny he steels in. 

How neyce the spunky tire now burns, 

For twee to sit beside ! 
An theer's the seat whoar Jwohnny sits 

An I forgit t(j cheyde ! 
My ladder, tui, how'sweet he snwores 1 

My mudflcr's fast asleep — 
He prf)mis'd oft, Init oh ! — I fear — 

His word he wunnet keep ? 



14 CUMBERLAND l^ALLADS. 

What can it be keeps him frae me ? 

The ways are nit sae lang ! 
An sleet or snow er nowt at aw, 

If yen wer fain to gang ! 
Some other lass, wi' bonnier feace, 

Hes catch'd his wicked e'e, 
An I'll be pointed at at kurk — 

Nay ! suiner let me dee ! 

O, durst we lasses nobbet gang. 

An sweetheart them we leyke ! 
I'd rin to thee, mey Jwohnny lad. 

Nor stop at bog or deyke ! 
But custom's sec a silly thing — 

Thur men mun hae their way, — 
An monie a bonny lassie sit. 

An wish frae day to day ! 

I yence hed sweethearts, monie a yen. 

They'd weade thro' muck an mire : 
An when our fwok wer deed asleep, 

Com Iremlin up to t' fire : 
At Carel market lads wad stare, 

An talk an follow me ; 
Wi' feyne shwort kcakes, ay frae the fair, 

Beath pockets cramm'd wad be. 

dear ! what changes women pruive, 
In less than seebem year ; 

1 walk the lonnins, owre the muir, 

But deil a chap comes near ! 
To Jwohnny I nee mair can trust — 

He's just lejkc aw the lave. 
This sworry heart for him '11 brust — 

I'll suin lig i' me greave. 

But, whisht ! — I hear mey Jwohnny's lit- 

Av ! that's his varra clog ! 
He sleeks the faul-yeat softly tui — 

Oh ! hang that cwoley dog ! 
— Now hey fer seeghs an suggar words, 

Wi' Idsses nit a few ! 
This warl's a parfet paradeyse. 

When lovers they pruive true ! 



CUIMBERLAND BALLADS. 15 

THE BUNDLE OV ODDITIES. 

Tune — " Fye, lei us a' to the Bridal." 

Sit down ! an I'll count owre my sweethearts, 

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 meynd, when he cross'd the deep watter. 

To git me the shiU-apple nest, 
How he fell owreheed, an I sldrl'd sae. 
Then off we ran heame, sair distrest. 



Then theer was a bit ov a teaylear, 

That workt at our house a heale week, 
He was shept aw the warl leyke 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 hot keale on his blue breeks, 

An deil a bit Snii)py cud eat. 

At parliii he pou'd up his spirits — 

Says he, " Thou hes boddert mey heed. 
An it sheks yen to rags an to tatters. 

To sew wi' a lang double thread : " 
Then in meakiu a cwol for my failder, 

(H(;w luive dis the senses deceive) 
Forby usm nuxrrowless buttons. 

To t' pocket whol he stitcht a sleeve. 

Then cfter that com a ragg't cobbler — 

Lord help her that marry's a snob ! 
He was bow-hoMglit. an stuttert ; when talkin 

The slaver ran out ov his gob : 
He gloriet in Cumnierlan swcerin, 

" Od-dye-theo, lass ! th(X) .sal be meyne ! " 
" Go-bon-fhee " says I, " thoo's mistaeu, min, 

I'd just as suin leeve wid a sweyne ! " 

The neest was a Whakcr cawt Jacep, 
He turnt uj) the wheytes ov his ecu, 

An talkt about llesh an the spirit — 
Thowt I, what can Gravity mean ? 



i6 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



In dark winter neets, i' the lonnins, 

He'd weade tliro' the durt buin his tnee, 

It cuilt his het hceirt, silly gander ! 
An theer let him stowter fer me ! 

A lang blue-lipt chap leyke a gueyde-pwost, 

(Lword help us and keep us frae harm !) 
Neest talkt about car-gear an middens, 

An th' reet way to mannish a farm ; 
'Twas last Leady Fair I leet on him, 

He grummelt an spent hawf-a-croun — 
God bless him ! hed he gowd i' gowpens, 

I waddent hev taen sec a clown ! 

But, stop ! — ther was leyle wee deef Dicky, 

Wad dance fer a heale winter-neet ; 
An at me aw the teyme wad keep-glowrin — 

Peer man ! he was nobbet hawf-reet ; 
He grew jilous ov reed-heeded Ellick, 

Wi' a feace leyke a full harvest muin ; 
Sae they fit till they gat eneugh on 't. 

An 1 laught at beath when 'twas duin. 

Ther's anudder worth aw put togither, 

I cud if I wad, tell his neame ; 
He gans past our house to the market. 

An monie a teyme he sets me heame : 
O wad he but ax me this question 

" Will thoo be mey partner fer le^'fe ? " 
I'd answer widout onie blushes, 

" Ay ! trust me, I'll mek a gud weyfe ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 17 

LUCKLESS JONATHAN. 
Tune — " By the Author." 

O, heale be thy heart ! mey peer merry aul 

cronie, 

An niver may trouble draw tears frae thy ee ; 
It's reet, when he can, man sud rise abuin sorrow, 

For pitv's nit common to peer fwok leyke me : 
When I "think how we spwortet o^v^e mountain 
an meedow, 

Leyke larks in a mwornin a young happy pair, 
Then I luik at mysel, an I see just a shadow, 

That's suffer'd sae mickle it cannot beyde mair. 

Thoo meynds, when I buriet mey honest aul lad- 
der — 
O, how cud I iver git owre that sad day ? 
His last words wer, " Jonathan, luik to thy mud- 
dler ' , ■ ^ ; 
An God '11 reward thee "— nae mair cud he 

sav ! XII 

My madder she stuid, seeght, an fam wad ha 
spoken, 
But tears waddent let her — O, man, it was hard, 
She tuik to her bed, an just thirteen weeks efter, 
Was laid down aside him in Aikton kurk-yard. 

Mey frien. Jemmy Gunston, went owre seas to 
Indy, , 

For me, his aul comrade, a venture he d tak ; 
I'd screapt up some money, he gat it, but leately, 

Peer Jemmy was puzzent they say, by a black : 
'Twas nit fer mey money I freeted : but Jemmy, 

I ne'er can forgit him as lang as I've breeth ; 
He said, " Don't cry mudder, ! I'll mek you a 
leady ! " 

But sairy aul Tamer, 'twill e'en be her deeth ! 

To mck bad far war, then I courted lal Matty, — 

Her b<inny blue een, how they shot to my 

heart ! 

The ncet niver com but I went owre to sec her. 

An when the clock strack, we wer sworry to 

part : 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



An aunt ayont Banton a canny house left her — 
What but hilth an contentment can money nit 

buy ? 
Wi' laird Hodgen o' Bruff off she cantert to 

Gratena, 
That varra seame mvvorn we our fortune sud try. 

'Twas nobbet last Cursmess I fain wad be niurry, 
Sae cawt in Dick Toppin, Tom Clarke, and 
Jwohn Howe ; 

We sang, an we crackt, but lal thowt er neest 
mwornin. 
That aw our heale onset wad be in a lowe ; 

They gat me poud out an reet weel I remem- 
ber, 

I stampt, ay, leyke mad, when the sad seet 
1 saw, 

For that was the pleace my grandfadder was 
bworn in, 

Forby my twee uncles, aunts, fadder an aw. 

Widout fadder, mudder, aunt, uncle or sweet- 
heart, 

A frien or a shelter to cover mey heed, 
I mazle an wander, nor ken what I's dein. 

An wad, if I nobbet durst, wish I wer dead. 
O, heale be thy heart, mey peer merry anl cronie. 

An niver may trouble draw tears frae thy 
een ! 
It's reet, when he can, man sud rise abuin sorrow, 

For pity's nit common to peer fwok leyke me. 



DICK WATTERS. 

Tune — " Crowdy." 

O, Jenny ! Jenny ! whoar's thoo been ? 

Thy fadder's just turn'd mad at thee ; 
He seed somebody in the croft, 

An gulders as he'd wurry me. 
O, monie are a mudder's whopes ; 

And monie are a mudder's fears ! 
An monie a bitter, bitter pang. 

Beath suin an leate her bwosom bears ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 19 

We brong thee up, pat thee to schuil. 

An cled thee weal as peer fwok can ; 
We larnt thee beath to read an dance, 

But now, thoo's crazy for a man ! 

O, monie are, cvc. 

When thoo was young, an at my tnee, 

I dwoated on thee, day an neet ; 
But now, wi' lads, thou's rakin still, 

An niver, niver i' my seet. 

O, monie are, ccc. 

When just thy yage, reet weel I meynd. 

What mudder bad me dui, was duin ; 
But think what changes some fwok see— 

Av ' to the greave thou'll sen me sum ! 
•^ O monie are, &c. 

Thou's proud, an past aw gud adveyce— 
Yen mud as weel speak till a stean ; 

Still, still thy awn way. iver wrang— 

Mess but thoo'll rue't when I am geane ! 
O, monie are, &c. 

Dick Walters, I hae telt thee oft. 
Ne'er means to be a son o' meyne : 

He seeks thy ruin, sure as deeth. 

Then leyke Bet Baxter thoo mey wheyne ! 
O, monie are, &c. 

He's just a fratchin, feghtin fuil ! 

An as for wark he nowt can dui ; 
Thou\l better far lig in thy greave. 

Than yen leyke him be buckl'd tui. 

O monie are, ccc. 

Thy fadder's comin thro' the croft — 

A Ixjnny hunsup faitli he'll niek — 
Put on thy clogs, an aul blue ^>r^}— 

Heaste. Jenny ! heaste— he lifts the sneck ! 
O, monie are a nuidder's whopes I 

An monie are a mudder's fears ! 
An monie a bitter, bitter pang, 

Beath suin an leate, her bwosom bears ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

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've beauty mair than cousm Tib, 

Yet she can hev her choice o' three ; 
For me, still moilin suin an leate, 

Leyfe's just a bitter widout sweets ; 
The summer brings nae pleasant days, 

An winter tires wi' lang, lang neets. 

I hed some whopes ov Wully yence. 

An Wully was the only yen ; 
I thowt, seeght, dreenit about him lang, 

But whopes an Wully aw er geane : 
A kiss he'd hev, I gev him twee, 

Reet weel I meynd, amang the hay — 
Neest teyme we met, he glumpt an gloomt 

An turnt his heed anudder way. 

The saller-opnin — Aa ! I meynd, 

When chaps frae Wigton com wi' preyde 
Wi' yen I danct, sat on his tneee, 

An suin, he sed, I'd be a breyde ! 
He praist my shep an rwosy cheek, 

But when he larnt I was but peer. 
He gript anudder roun the weast. 

Yen's thrown aseyde for want o' gear. 

A feyne silk sash my uncle sent 

Frae Lunnon yence ; it seemt the best ; 
I wore't an wore't, but deil a lad 

On me or sash a luik e'er kest : 
Mey yallow gown I thowt was sure 

To catch some yen at Carel Fair, 
But now, fareweel to gown an sash, 

I'll niver, niver weer them mair ! 

The throssle, when caul winter's geane, 
Ay in our worchet welcomes spring ; 

It mun be luive, did we but ken. 
Gars him aroun his partner sing ; 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

The cock an hen, the duck an drake, 
Nay, e'en the smawest burds that flee, 

Ilk thing that leeves, can git a mate, 
Except sec sworry things as me. 

I offen think that married fwok 

Mun lead a sweet an happy leyfe ; 
The prattlin bairns rin toddlin roun. 

An tie the husband to the weyfe : 
Then, O, what joy when neet draws on ! 

She meets him gangen heame frae wark 
But nin can tell what cheerfu cracks 

The tweesome hev lang efter dark. 

The wise man leeves nit far frae this, 

I'll hunt him out suin as I can ; 
He telt Nan Dobson whee she'd wed — 

What I'm as leykely, suir, as Nan ! 
But still, still moilin by mysel, 

Leyfe's just a bitter widout sweets — 
The summer brings nae pleasant days, 

An winter tires wi' lang, lang neets ! 



TOM LINTON. 

TuNK — " Come under my Plaidie." 

Tom Linton was bworn till a brave canny for- 
tune. 
His aul ladder screap'd aw the gear up he cud ; 
But Tom, country booby, luik'd owre hee abuin 
him, 
An mixt wi' the bad, but ne'er heeded the guid : 
At town he'd whore, gammle, play lull, an the 
deevil. 
He wad hcv his caper, nor car'd how it com ; 
Than he mud hev his greyhounds, guns, setter, 
and hunter. 
An Uing o' the cockers, they aw cursen'd Tom. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



When young, he delay ted in fratchin an feghtin, 

An monie a teyme cawt his anl ladder a fuil ; 
He'd reyde otf to cock-feghts, or ledder-plate 
reaces, 
An twee days a week he was scearce seen at 
schuil. 
Let aw that hae bairns, mek them aye dui their 
duty, 
Still praise them when reet, but correct them 
when wrang — 
This Inlaying the trowin leads thousans to ruin — 
To kurk an to schuil, may aw fworce them 
to gang ! 

I think I just see how the lads wad flock roun 
him, 
An fain they wad bow, an shelc Tom by the 
han, 
Then he'd tell how he fit wi' the blackguardin 
bullies, 
An drank wi' the waiter till nowther cud stan : 
His watch he wad shew, an his lists o' the horses. 
An pou out his purse, off'ring handfuls to lay, 
Till our peer country lads grew uneasy an lazy 
An Tom cud hae coaxt hawf the parish away. 

Then he drank wi' the squire, and laught wid his 
worship. 
An talkt ov dukes, nabobs, an — deevil kens 
whee ; 
He gat aw the new-fangl'd oaths throughout 
Englan, 
And mock'd the peer beggars when onie he'd 
see. 
His fields they were morgag'd — about it was 
whispert, 
A farmer was robb'd nit owre far frey his house ; 
At last aw was selt his anl fadder had toil'd for, 
An silly Tom Linton left nil worth a sous. 

His fortune aw spent, what he'd hev the laird's 
dowter. 
But she packt him off wid a flee in his ear ; 
Neest thing, an aul cronie, fer money Tom bor- 
row'd. 
E'en pat him in prison, an bad him lig theer : 



CUMBERLAND B-\LLADS. 23 

At last he gat out, efter laiig he hed suffer'cl, 
An sair he repented the sad leyfe he'd led : 

Widout stockings or shoon, in a sowdger's aul 
jacket, 
He toils on the turnpeyke reet hard for his bread. 

Now folly seen intui, ragg't, peer an down- 
hearted 
He works an he frets, an keen wants daily 
press ; 
If cronies reyde by, wey, alas ! they've forgot him, 

For few will remember aul friens in distress. 

Oh ! pity, what pity, that through ev'ry country, 

Sae monie Tom Lintons may always be foun ! 

Deuce tek aw weyld nwotions, an whurligig 

fashions — 

Contentment's a kingdom, ay aw the warl roun! 



THE HAPPY FAMILY. 
Tune — " O'er Bogie." 

The hollow blast blows owre the hill, 

An comin down's the sleet ; 
God help them widout house or haul. 

This dark an angry neet I 
Come, Jobby, gie the fire a prod. 

Then steek the entry duir ; 
It's wise to keep wcyld Winter out, 

Wlien wo hev't in our pow'r. 



Some fails will oft caw weather bad ; 

They mun be bad thersels ! 
It comes frae Him wheas warks owre earth, 

His guidness hourly tells. 
O, bairns ! aye leyke yer mother pruive. 

Let virtue be your preydc ; 
'Twill lead ye till a better warl, 

Whate'er in this ye beyde ! 



24 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Heaste, Jenny ! put the bairns to bed, 

An meynd they say their pray'rs ; 
Sweet innocents ! the heeds yence down, 

They sleep away their cares ! 
But gie them furst a butter-shag, 

When young, they munnet want, 
Nor e'er sal wife, or bairn ov meyne, 

Wheyle I've a beyte to grant ! 

Aa, deanie ! that weary rheumatis. 

E'en gars thee luik but thin ; 
I meynd when thoo was fresh and fair. 

An fattest o' thy kin ; 
But yage steals on, dui what we can. 

We munnet think it hard — 
A week at Gilslan thoo sal try _ 

Neest summer, if we're spar'd. 

That stuff I brong thee frae the town, 

Hes duin nee guid at aw ; 
It meks some better, others worse — 

What, physic's just leyke law ! 
But aye thou's cheerfu, weel or ill. 

As ilka yen sud be ; 
Thoo toils owre hard day efter day. 

That plays the pleague wi' thee. 

Now seated at mey awn fire-nuik. 

Content as onie king, 
Fer hawf an hour afwore we sleep, 

Bess, quit thy wark an sing : 
Try that about the beggar lass, 

'Twill please thy mudder best ; 
For she, we tnow, can fin fer aw. 

Whene'er they pruive distrest. 



Nay, what it's owre ! thoo cannot sing. 

But weel I guess the cause ; 
Young Wulliam sud hae cawt to-neet— 

Consider, lass, it snaws ! 
Anudder neet '11 suin be here, 

Sae divvent freet an wheyne ; 
Co' when he will, he's welcome still 

To onie lass ov meyne ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 25 

I'll ne'er forgit when we wer young, 

Thy madder kens as weel, 
We met but yence a month, an then, 

Out she was fworc'd to steal : 
The happiest day we owther tnew. 

Was when I cawt her meyne, 
But monie a thousan happier days 

We beath hev kent sin-seyne. 



THE AUTHOR ON HIMSELF. 
Tune — " The Campbells are coming." 

O, Eden ! wheniver I range thy green banks. 

An view the sweet scenes ov my infanteyne 
pranks, 

Whoar wid plishure I spworted, ere sorrow be- 
gan, 

I seegh, to trace onward from bwoy to the man ! 

To memory dear are aw t'days ov yen's youth, 

When enraptur'd, we luikt at each object, wi' 
truth ; 

An leyke fairies, a thousan weyld frolics we play'd 

But nowther did mischief, nor meade the bairns 
fiay'd. 



I think o' my play-mates, seave kinsfwok, leykt 

best, 
Now diveyded, leyke larks efter leaving the 

nest ! 
How we trimmelt to schuil, an wi' copy an bulk, 
Oft read our hard fate in the maister's starn luik ; 
In summer let lowse, how we brush'd thro' the 

wood. 
An meade seevy caps, wheylc we sat nar the flood ; 
Or watch'd the seap-bubbles, or ran wid the 

keyte, 
Or launcht jmper navies — how dear the deleyte I 



26 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Then Jock Smith, the Boggle, I meynd him reet 

wccl. 
We twee to Bleane's hay-loft togither wad steal ; 
An of giants, ghosts, witches, an fairies oft read. 
Till sae freetent we harleys durst creep oft to bed : 
Then in winter we'd caw out the lassies to play, 
An sing how the muin shone as breet as the day ; 
An scamper like weyld things at huntin the hare. 
Tig-touch-wood, four corners — aye twenty gams 

mair ! 

When I went to Scott's schuil, my dear niudder I 

lost, — 
What, aw this weyde warl er by tyrant Deeth 

crost ; 
A better ne'er tuik bits ov bairns on her tnee — 
When I luik at her greave, the tears run frae my 

ee ! 
Then at thurteen, my fadder, God bliss him, oft 

said, 
" Mey lad ; I mun git the' a bit ov a trade ; 
Oh ! cud I affword it, mair larnin thou'd get ! " 
Rut, peer was mey fadder, an I's unlarned ye ! 

An then mey furst sweetheart, an angel was she. 
But I nobbet meade luive thro' the tail ov mey ee ; 
I meynd, when we met, how I pantet to speak, 
But oft cuddent, for blushes wer spread owre my 

cheek, 
Wlien holidays com, fain to see her I'd gang. 
But dreemt nit sec teymes wad be neam'd in a 

sang ; 
Leyke a rwose-bud she fell to the yerth, ere her 

preyme. 
An left this weyld warl for a better, in teyme. 

At last, aw the play-things of youth thrown 

aseyde. 
Now luive, whope, an fear, still the days did 

diveyde, 
An wi' restless ambition leyfe's troubles began ; 
I seegh to trace onward, frae bwoy to the man ! 
It's sweet to reflect on the days o' yen's youth. 
If rear'd to religion, industry, an truth ; 
We spworts cud enjoy, but nae harm did to yen. 
Sec innocent teymes fwok can scearce see agen 1 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 27 

PEACE. 

Tune — " Up, WnU ! an way them a' " 

Now Crod be prais'd ! we've peace at last. 

For Nichol hes been down, 
Aa ! sec a durdem, Nichol says. 

They've hed in ev'ry town ! 
The King thowt war wad ruin aw, 

An Bonnyprat the seame ; 
What, some say teane. an some say beath, 

Hae mickle been to bleame. 



Now, monie a weyfe '11 weep fer joy, 

An monie a bairn be fain. 
To see the fadders they'd forgot. 

Come seafe an soun agean ; 
An monie a yen mun luik in vain, 

Wi' painfu whopes and fears. 
An oft thur guilty wretches bleame, 

That set fwok bv the ears. 



Mey cousin Tom went off to sea, 

.^n lost his left-han thum ; 
He tells sec teales about the feghts. 

They mek us aw sit dum ; 
He says, it is reet fearfu wark 

To aw that's fworct to see't — 
The bullets whuzzin past yen's lugs. 

An droppen down leyke sleet. 

Young Peter, our peer sarvent lad, 

Was far owre proud to work ; 
A captain suin he whopt to be, 

Wid our girt Duke of York, 
Wi' poudert heed away he marclit, 

Brong heame a wooden leg ; 
But monie a time he's rued, sin seyne. 

For now he's fworct to beg. 

Aa ! our rwose Sally, wuli be fain, 
Sud Lanty ijut com Imck ! 

Then owre the fire, in winter neets, 
We wull hev monie a crack : 



a8 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



He'll tell us aw the ins an outs — 
\^^^at, he can wrcyte an read ; 

But Sally's heart for suir mun brek, 
If he's amang the deed. 



Wer dang'rous wars aw flung aseyde, 

How happy fwok wad be ! 
But ruin's monie a Ruler's preyde, 

Throughout the warl, we see ! 
To fratch an feght's aye their deleyte, 

They leyke to crush the peer ! 
Wad they dui guid, as aw fwok sud — 

Hut ! — Ills the warl mun bear ! 



Oh ! but I us'd to wonder much, 

An think what thousans fell ; 
Now, what they've aw been feghtin for, 

Wey, deil a yen can tell ! 
But, God be prais'd ! we've peace at last, 

The news hev spread afar ; 
May Englan leyke the weyde warl, hear 

Nae mair ov murd'rous wars ! 



THE CUMMERLAN FARMER. 

Tune — " The lads o' Dunse." 

I've thowt an I've thowt, ay, agean an agean. 
Sin I was peet-heet, now I see it's queyte plain, 
We farmers er happier by far, tho' we're peer. 
Than thur they caw gentlefwok, wid aw their gear ; 
Then, why about riches, aye meake sec a fuss ? 
Gie us meat, drink, an cleedin ; it's plenty fer 

us — 
Frae prince to the plewman, ilk hes but his day ; 
An when Deeth gie's a beckon, we aw mun obey ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 29 



Our darrick's hawf-duin, ere the gentlefwok 

rise ; 
We see monie a lark dartin up to the skies ; 
An blithe as the burd sud aw honest f\vok be — 
Girt men hae their troubles, as often as we ! 
Our weyves an our dowters, we wish to leeve 

weel ; 
They tnit, darn, an kurn, or they turn rock an 

reel : 
Our sons niver grummel to toil by our seyde — 
May happiness aye the industrious beteyde ; 

Our youngest lad, Dick, I yence tuik to the to\vn, 
He keek'd at shop-windows, an sauntert aw roun, 
" Aa, Fadder," says he, " sec a bussle an noise 
May flay sair eneugh, aw us peer country bwoys !-' 
But seebem year aul, yet he daily wad work ; 
He'll sing owre to schuil, or he'll run to the kurk ; 
He lissens the parson, an brings heame the text, 
I han him the beyble, but Dick's niver vext. 



In storms, the peer beggars creep up to the fire, 
To help sec as thnr sud be ilk yen's desire ; 
They'll smuik a bit peype, an compleen ov hard 

teymes. 
Or tell teales of deevils that glory in creymes ; 
Expwos'd till aw weathers, they wheyles laugh 

an jwoke. 
Breed, tateys, or wot-meal, we put in the pwoke ; 
Tho' some are impostors, an daily to bleame, 
Frae princes to starvelins, we oft fin the seame. 



Our 'squire wid his thousans, keeps jauntin 

about, 
What, he'd give aw his gear, to get shot o' the 

gout— 
Nowther heart-ache nor gout, e'er wi' rakin hed I, 
F(jr labour brings that aw his gowd cannot buy ! 
Then, he'll say to me, " Jacep, thou whisscls an 

sings. 
Believe me, you've ten teymes mair jilishure nor 

kings ; 
I mean honest simplicity, freedom, an health ; 
Far dearer tf) man, than the trappings o' wealth I " 



30 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Can owt be mair sweet, than leyke larks in a 
mwoni, 

To rise wi' the sunslieyne, an hiik at the cworn ? 

Tlio' in winter, it's true, (hill an lang er the neets, 

Yet thro' leyfe, fwok nuin aye tek the bitters wi' 
sweets. 

When God grants us plenty, an hous'd are the 
crops. 

How we feast on cruds, collops, an guid butter- 
sops — 

Let yer feyne fwok in town brag o' denties whee 
will. 

Content an the country fer mey money still 1 



They may bwoast o' their gardens as much as 

they leyke. 
Don't flow'rs bloom as fair under onie thworn 

deyke ? 
The deil a guid beyte they wad e'er git, I trovve, 
Wer't nit fer the peer man that follows the plough. 
If we nobbet get plenty, to pay the laird's rent, 
An 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 

clowTi ! 



LUIVE DISAPPOINTED. 
Tune — " Eitrick Banks.'" 

The miiin shone breet, at nine last neet, 

When Jemmy Sharp com owre the muir 
Weel, weel I kent mey lover's fit, 

An soft he tapp'd the entry duir : 
Mey fadder started in the nuik, 

" Rin, Jenny ! see whee's that," he said, 
I whispert, " Jemmy, come to-mworn ! " 

An then a bit wheyte lee* suin meade. 

* a feigned excuse. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 31 

I went to bed, but cuddent sleep, 

This luive sae breks a body's rest ; 
The mwornin dawnt, then up I gat. 

An seeght an aye luikt towrt the west ; 
But when far off I seed the wood, 

\Vhoar he unlockt his heart to me, 
I thowt ov monie a happy hour, 

An then a tear gusht frae my ee. 

To-neet mey ladder's far frae heame, 

An wunnet come this three hours yet ; 
But — O, it pours ! an 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, mey varra leyfe ov leyfe, 

I's fain to meet, but laith to part ! 

His new girt cwot he meet fling on, 

An mount the meer, and to me reyde ; 
Wer I a lad, an luiv'd a lass, 

For hur I'd weade tliro' Eden weyde. 
Hut, shaf ! It's owre ! here fadder comes — 

I hear him coughin in the faul — 
Oh ! — Cud I throw this luive aseyde ; 

It meks but slaves o' young an aul ! 



AUL MARGET. 

Tune — " Lewie Gordon." 

Aul Marget in the faul still sits. 

An spins, an sings, an smuiks by fits, 

An weeps ; now lang she's lost her wits — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 

Yence Marget was as sweet a lass 
As e'er in summer trod the grass ; 
But fearfu changes ccjnie to pass — 

O. this weary, weary warl ! 



32 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Whene'er she gaz'd at beggars peer. 
She gev them brass, or duds to weer ; 
Now, she can nobbet give a tear, — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 

At jwokin, she cud please fwok aw. 
But ne'er yence meade a frien turn foe ; 
What pity joy e'er leads to woe — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 



Aye at the murry-neet, or fair, 

Her beauty meade the young men stare ; 

Now wrinkelt is that feace wi' care — 

O, this weary, weary warl 1 



Yence Marget she hed dowters twee, 
An bonnier lasses cuddent be ; 
Now nowther kith nor kin hes she — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 



The eldest wid a sowdger gay, 

Ran frev her heame, ae luckless day ; 

An e'en lies buried far away — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 

The youngest she did nowt but wheyne, 
An for the lads wad fret an peyne. 
Till hurried off by a decleyne — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 



Aul Andrew toil'd owre hard for breed ; 
The neet they fan him caul an deed, 
Nae wonder that turu'd Marget's heed — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 



Peer Marget ! oft I pity thee, 
Bow'd down by yage an poverty ; 
A better warl suin may thou see — 

O, this weary, weary warl ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 33 

FIRST LOVE. 

Tune — " Cold and raw." 

It's just three weeks sin' Carel Fair, 

This sixteent day o' September ; 
Theer the furst lofe ov a sweetheart I gat 

Sae, that day I'll ever remember. 
But luive meks yen stupid, aye sin-.seyne 

I's thinkin an thinkin o' Wully : 
I dung owre the tnop, an scawdert my fit. 

An cut aw mey thoum wi' the gully. 



O, how he danct, an smeylt, an talkt ! 

For mey life I cannot forget him ; 
He wad hev a kiss — I gev him a slap — 

Now, if he wer here I wad let him ; 
Said he, " Mally Maudhn, my heart is theyne ! " 

An he brong sec a seegh, I believed hmi : 
Thowt I, Wully Wintrep, thoo's welcome to meyne, 

But my heed I hung down, to deceive him. 



Twee yards o' reed ribbon, to weer for his seake, 

Forbye ledder mittens, he bowt me ; 
But when we wer thinkin o' nowt but luive. 

Mey titty, deil bin ! com an sowt me : 
Deuce tek sec wcyld clashes ! off she ran heame, 

An e'en telt my tarn'd aul mudder ; 
Ther's sec a te-dui ! but let them fratch on — 

Miss him ? — I'd ne'er git sec anudder ! 



Neist Sunday, God wullin ! we promised to meet ; 

I'll hev frae our tweesome a baitin ; 
But a lee mun patch up, be't rang or be't reet, 

For Wully he sha'not atan waitin : 
The days .seem lang, an langer the neets, 

An — Waes me ! this is but Monday ! 
I seegh an I think, an I say to mysel, 

O, that to-mworn wer but Sunday ! 



34 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

LEYLE STEEBEM. 
Tune — " Hallow Fair." 

Leyle Steebem was bworn at Kurkbanton ; 

Just live feet three inches was lie ; 
But at plewin, or niowin, or shcarin, 

His match you but seldom cud see ; 
Then at dancin, O he was a capper ! 

He'd shuffle an lowp till he swet ; 
An fer singin, he ne'er hed a marrow — 

I just think I hear his voice yet. 

An then, wid a sleate an a pencil, 

He capp'd aw the far-larnt young lairds ; 
An playt on twee jew- trumps togedder, 

An aye com off winner at cairds : 
At huntin the brock, or the otter, 

At trackin a foumert or hare. 
At pittin a cock or at shootin, 

Nae chap cud wi' Steebem compare. 

An then he wad feght leyke a fury ; 

An count fast as hops aw the stars ; 
An read aw the news i' the paper ; 

An talk about weddius an wars ; 
An then he wad drink le3'ke a Briton ; 

An give the last penny he had, 
An aw the neyce lasses about him. 

For Steebem wer runnin queyte mad. 

Our Jenny she writ him a letter. 

An monie neyce luive things she said ; 

But fadder he just gat a gliff on't, 
An faix a rare durdem he meade ; 

Then Debby, that leeves at Drumleenin, 
She wad hev him aw till hersel, 
Ae neet when he stule owre to see her, 
Wi' sugger she sweetent his keale. 

Then Judy, she darnt aw his stockins, 

An Sally, she meade him a sark. 
An Lizzy, the laird's younger dowter. 

Kens weel whca she met efter dark ; 
Aunt Ann, o' the wrang seyde o' fifty. 

E'en thowt him the flow'r o' the flock — 
Aa ! to count vgw by yen aw his sweethearts, 

Wad tek a full hour by the clock. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 35 

O but I was vext to hear tell on't ! 

When Nichol the teydins he browt, 
That Steebem was geane tor a sovvdger — 

Our Jenny she gowl'd, ay. leyke owt ! 
Sin that, we've nea spworts efter supper, 

We nowthcr get sang or a crack ; 
Our lasses sit beytin their fingers, 

Aw wishin far Steebem seafe back. 

Our Jenny sits spinnin, an wheynin, 

" O, Steebem ! dear Steebem ! " she'll cry, 
" Wer meyne hawf the Ian in the parish, 

How happy 'twad meake'thee an I ! " 
— Let's drink to our sowdgers, an sailors ; 

Their duty wi' preyde, may they de 1 
Wer aw but as bold as leyle Steebem, 

Mair teghtin we niver need see ! 



THE BASHFU WOOER. 

Tune — " Dainty Davie." 

Whene'er ye come to woo me, Tom, 
Dunnet at the window tap. 
Or cough, or hem, or gie a clap, 
To let mey ladder hear, min ; 
He's aul and feal'd, an wants his sleep, 
Sae, softly by the hallan creep ; 
Ye needn't watch, an glowre, an peep — 
I'll meet ye, niver fear, min : 
If a lassie yc wad win. 

Be chearfu iver, bashfu niver — 
Ilka Jock may get a Jen, 
If he hcs sense to try, min 

Whene'er we at the market meet, 
Dunnet luik like yen hawf daft. 
Nor talk about the caul, or heat. 
As ye wer weather-wise, min ; 
Hod up yer heed, an bauldly speak. 
An keep the blushes frae yer check. 
For, him whea hes his leale to seek. 
We lasses aw despi.se, min ! 

If a lassie, &c. 



36 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



I met ye leately, aw yer leane, 

Ye seemt leyke yen stown frae the deed, 
Yer teeth e'en chattert in yer heed. 
But ne'er a word o' hiive, min ; 
1 spak, ye hiikt aniidder way. 
Then trimmelt as yc'd got a flay, 
An owre yer shoulder, cried " Guid day," 
Nor )'ence to win me struive, min ! 

If a lassie, &c. 

Mey aunty left me fourscwore pun. 
But deil a yen ov aw the men, 
Till then wad bare-legg'd Elsy ken, 
Or care a strae for me, min ; 
Now, tiggin at me, suin an leate. 
They're cleekin at the yallow bait ; 
Yet, meynd me, Tom, I needn't wait. 

When I hae choice o' three, min ! 

If a lassie, &c. 

Theer leeves a lad owre yonder muir. 
He hes nea faut but yan — hes puir. 
Whene'er we meet, wi' kisses sweet. 
He's leyke to be mey deeth, min ; 
An theer's a lad ahint yon trees, 
Wad weade for me abuin the tnees ; 
Now, tell yer meynd ; or if ye please, 

Fareweel, wheyle we draw breath, min ! 
If a lassie, &c. 



THE AUNTY. 

Tune — By the Author. 

We've roughness amang hands, we've kye i' the 

byre. 
Come leeve wid us, lassie ! It's aw I desire ; 
I'll lig in the loft, an gie mey bed to thee. 
Nor sal owt else be wantin that guidness can de, 
Sin the last o' thy kin, thy peer aunty we've lost, 
Thou freets aw the day, an e'en luiks leyke a 

ghost. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 37 



I meynd when she sat in the nuik at her wheel. 
How she'd tweyne the slow threed, an aye counsel 

us weel, 
Then oft whisper me, thou wad meake a top 

wevfe ; 
An pray God to see thee weel sattl'd fer leyfe ; 
Then what brave funny teales she aye telt the neet 

thro'. 
An wad bliss the peer fwok if the stormy wind 

blew. 



That teyme when we sauntert owre leate at the 

town, 
'Twas the day, I weel meynd, when thoo gat thy 

chinse gown, 
The watters wer up, an pick dark grew the neet, 
An she hssen'd an cried, an thowt aw wasn't 

reet ; 
But, aa ! when you met, sec a luik she did give ! — 
I can ne'er yence forgit her as lang as I leeve. 



Weep nit fer thy Aunty, tho' now she ligs low ; 

A woman mair worthy, nae mortal e'er saw ; 

She was leyk'd by aw roun, but wad nae yen 

begueyle ; 
Mey mudder oft says, she met Deelh wid a smeyle 
It's painfu when guid fwok frae kindred are 

tworn. 
But when our turn comes, to the yearth we'll be 

bworn ! 



Keep up thy heart, lassie ! what, we've a guid 

farm , 
Let's try to leeve happy, but ne'er to dui harm — 
Mey decent aul mudder — Aa ! mess she'll be 

fain, 
An drop tears ov joy, when I've meade thee my 

ain : 
Thou's the last o' the flock, an a belter ne'er 

leev'd — 
What a i)ity guid lasses should e'er be tlcceivcdi 



38 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

How I leyke thee, dear Mary ! thou's oft hard me 

tell ; 
What, I leyke thee far better than I leyke mey- 

sel ; 
An when sorrow forseakes thee, to kurk we'll e'en 

pang, 
But thoo mnnnet sit peynin thy leane, aw day 

lang ; 
Come owre the geate, lassie, mey titty sal be 
A companion to hur that's still dearest to me ! 



THE VISIT. 
Tune — " The Suior's Doivter." 



I went to see yonng Susy — 

Bonny, teydey, blithe was she • 
I smeylin kist her churry lips. 

An mark'd the magic ov her e'e 
That ill my fancy rais'd desire 
But purer passion never burn'd 

In onie lover's bwosom ; 
An aye may sorrow wet his cheek, 

Who'd crush sae rare a blossom 



An now, the rwosy lassie, 

The cleath she laid, the teable spread 
Wi monie a dainty (juickly ; 

An monie a welcome thing she said : 
But nit sae sweet the honey-cwom. 
As Susy's temptin churry lips 

That fir'd at once my bwosom — 
O, may nae rude destroyer dare 

To crop sae fair a blossom ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 39 



An now, to greet the stranger, 

The wearied aul Iwok daunder'd heame, 
An village news recounted ; 

The guide man bade his sonsy deame 
Trim up the fire, an mek the tea : 
The gurdle-keakes as Susy turn'd, 

I mark'd her heavin bwosom ; 
An pleasure beam'd in ilka feace 

To see sae sweet a blossom ! 

An now, in com the neybors ; 

Roun went the glass, an cheerfu sang , 
1 screw'd my flute to please them ; 

The merry dance they keept up lang, 
For music aul an young can cheer ; 
In leetsome reel nin cud compaie 

Wi' hur that fir'd my bwosom j 
An ne'er may Care oppress the fair. 

Who pruives a virtuous blossom ! 



An now, to please the aul fwok, 

I play'd the tunes ov former days, 
Till neet hed drawn her curtain 

Some five hours ; proud I heard the praise 
Ov Susy, smeylm, wi' consent 
To set me out a mevle o' geate — 

I press'd her to my bwosom. 
An partin, kiss'd, an pray'd kind Heav'n 

To bless the beauteous blossom ! • 



40 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

CROGLIN WATTY. 

Tune — " The Lads o' Dunse." 

If you ax whoar I come frae, I'll say the Fell Seyde, 
Whoar fadder an mudder, an honest fwok beyde ; 
An my sweetheart, O bliss her ! she thowt nin 

leyke me 
For when we shuik hans, the tears gush'd frev 

her e'e : 
Says 1, " I mun e'en git a spot if I can ; 
But whatever beteyde me, I'll think o' thee, 

Nan ! " 

Nan was a parfit beauty, wi' twee cheeks leyke 
oodlin blossoms ; the varra seet on her meade mey 
mouth aw water. " Fares-te-weel, Watty ! " says 
she ; " thoo's a wag amang t'lasses, an I'll see thee 
nea mair ! " — " Nay, divent gowl. Nan ! " says I, 

" For mappen, er lang, I's be maister meysel ; " 
Sae, we buss'd, an I tuik a last luik at the Fell. 



On I whussel'd, an wonder'd ; my bundle I flang 
Owre my shou'der, when Cwoley he efter me 

sprang 
An howl'd, silly fellow ! an fawn'd at mey fit. 
As if to say — " W'^atty ! we munnet part yet ! " 
Suin at Carel I stuid wid a strae i' my mouth, 
An they tuik me, nae doubt, for a promisin youth. 

Aa ! the weyves com roun me in clusters. 
" What weage dus te ax, canny lad ? " says yen. 
" Wey, three pun an a croun ; an wunnet beate 
a hair o' my beard." " What can te dui, smart 
chap ? " says anudder. — " Dui ! wey, I can dui 
owt, plew, sow, mow, shear, thresh, deyke, milk, 
kurn, muck a byre, sing a song, mend car-gear, 
dance a whornpeype, nick a naig's tail, hunt a 
brock, or feght iver a yen o' mey weight in aw 
Croglin parish ! " A stowlerin hussy wid a stick 
an' clwoak, 

Aul Madgery Jackson, suin cawt me her man ; 
But that day, I may say't, aw mey sorrows began. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 41 

Furst Cwoley, peer fellow ! they hang't i' the 

street, 
An skinn'd, God forgie them ! lor shoon to their 

feet ! 
I cry'd, an they cawt me peer hawf-wittet clown, 
An oft banter'd, an foUow'd me aw up an down : 
Neest my deame she just starv'd me, — she niver 

leev'd weel, — 
Then her hard words an luiks wad hae freetent 

the deil : 

She hed a laug beard, fer awt warl leyke a billy- 
goat ; wid a kill-dried frosty feace, an hair just 
leyke stibble on t'neb en. Aa ! what the smaw- 
est leg o' mutton in aw Carel market sarrat the 
cat, me, an hur for a heale week. The bairns 
meade sad gem on us, an thundert at the rapper 
as if to waken a corp ; when I oppent the duir, 
they threw stour i' my een, an cawt me " Daft 
Watty ! " 

Sae I packt up my duds when my quarter was 

out. 
An wi' weage i' mv pocket keept sauntrin about. 



Suin mey reet han breek pocket was picktin a 

fray. 
An wi* fifteen wheyte shillin' they slipt clean 

away, 
Forbye twee lang letters frae mudder an Nan. 
Whoar they sed Carel lasses wad Watty trepan 
What, 'twad tek a lang day just to tell things I 

saw, 
How 1 sccap'd frac the gallows, the sowdgers an 

aw. 

,\a ! ther wer sf)me o' thur fworgery chaps 
bade me just seyne my ncame. " Nay, nay ! " 
says I, "What, ye've gitlcn a wrang pig by f lug. 
fer I canuil wrcyle ! " Then a fellow just leyke a 
poudert loljstcr, aw leac'd an feddert owrc, ax't 
me, "Watty, lad, wuU tc list? thoo's owther be 
meade a general or a gommrel ! " " weya, nay " 



42 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

I says, " I vvunnct, that's plain. I's content wid 
a cwot o' miulder's a wnspinnin, an heed nowt 
about fuils an feynery ! " 

Now wi' twee groats an tuppence, I'll e'en toddle 

heame. 
But ne'er be a sowdger wheyle Watty's mey 

neame. 



How my mudder '11 gowl, an my fadder '11 stare, 
When 1 tell them peer Cwoley they'll niver see 

mair , 
Then they'll bring me a stuil ;- — As fer Nan, she'll 

be fain, 
When I kiss her (God bliss her) ! agean an agean. 

Then the barn, an the byre, an the aul hollow tree, 
Will just seem leyke cronies yen's fidgin to see. 

The sheep, kye, an meer, nin o' them '11 ken 
Watty's voice now ! The peet stack we us'd to 
laike roun, ay, neet efter neet, '11 be brunt er 
this ! As fer Nan, what she'll owther be weddet 
or broken -heart et ; but sud fadder, mudder an 
aw be weel at Croglin, we'll hev toilen, lalkin, 
feastin, fiddlin, dancin, drinkin, singin, smuikin, 
laikin an laughin, wuns ! ay, till aw's blue about 
us : 

Then amang aw our neybors sec wonders I'll 

tell, 
But niver mair leave my aul friens, or the Fell. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 43 

JENNY'S COMPLAINT. 

XuNE— " Nancy's to the greenwood gam." 

O, lass ! — I've fearfu news to tell ! 

'what thinks te's come owre Jemmy ? 
The sowdgers they've e'en pickt him up, 

And sent him far, far frae me : 
To Carel he set off wi' wheat ; 

Them ill-cwoated fellows 
Suin weyl'd him in an meade him drunk ! 

— He'd better geane to th' gallows. 

The varra seet ov his cockade 

Just set us aw a cry in : 
For me, 1 fairly fentet tweyce— 

Thoo may think that was trym ! 
Mey fadder wad hae paid the smart. 

An shewt a nwote, an guinea, 
But, lack-a-day ! he'd kiss't the buik, 

Aa ! that '11 e'en kill Jenny. 

When Nichol tells about the wars, 

It's war nor deeth to hear him ; 
I oft steal out to heyde mey tears, 

An cannot, cannot bear him ; 
For aye he jeybes, an cracks his jwokes. 

An bids me nit forseake him ; 
A briggadecr, or grandydcer, 

He savs they're sure to meake him. 

If owre the stibble fiels I gang, 

I think I see him ploughin ; 
An ev'ry bit ov breed 1 eat. 

It seems >>' Jemmy's sowin : 
He led the varra cwoals we burn. 

An when the lire I's leetin, 
To think the pcets wer in his hans, 

Aye sets my heart a beatin ! 

Twee neam(s he cut upo the rail, 
Yen's meync, an his the tudder ; 

Twee fwok mair keynd nor him an me 
Ne'er Iviikt on yen anudder : 



44 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

This iieyce stampt gown, he brong frae town, 
This breest-pin tui, he gae me ; 

On Sundays aye I kiss't an wear't — 
Nae king sud coax it frae me ! 



I weht to Carel, tweyce, ay, threyce, 

In whopps to git a letter ; 
I axt an axt, but aw in vain ; 

He's met wi' some lass better : 
The fortune-teller caw'd last week, 

She sed we'd ne'er hear frev him, 
My fadder seegh't, my mudder gowl'd — 

I ne'er dar whop to hev him. 



What can T de ? I nowt can de. 

But whinge an think about him 1 
For three lang years he follow'd me. 

Now I mun leeve widout him ! 
Brek. heart, at yence ; an then it's owre- 

Leyfe's nowt widout yen's dearie ! 
I'll suin lig in my caul, caul greave — 

O lass ! ov leyfe I's weary ! 



CORP'RFX GOWDY'S LETTER. 

(Answey to Jenny's Complaint). 
Same Tune. 

O, lass thou'll be queyte fain to see 

This Letter frev thy Jemmy ; 
I meynd reet weel when we shuik hans, 

The partin kiss thou gae me : 
A grandydeer I lang hev been, 

An now I's Corp'rel Gowdy ; 
But keale an poddish weel I leyke, 

An wheyles git swops o' crowdy. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 45 

A sowdger's wark's just neest to nowt, 

If weel he tnows his duty ! 
An our reed cwoats, as monie pruive, 

Oft win beath wealth an beauty ; 
What I've hed sweethearts monie a yen, 

Rich, weel-donnt. young, an cliver ; 
But here's a heart can ne'er be 'oowt, 

It's theyne ! sae keep't for iver ! 

O, lass, in foreign lans I've fowt, 

By Frenchmen wheyles surroundit ; 
Then monie a brave chap tummelt down, 

For me, I ne'er gat woundit : 
At mountains oft I've seegh't an gaz't, 

An fancied I seed Skiddaw ; 
An ne'er forget when furst we met— 

Thoo kens 'twas in your meedow. 

When on the march frae town to town, 

I've seen neyce lasses shearin : 
I've thowt o' thee, an dropt a tear, 

Wheyle comrades oft wer sweerin. 
Wi' preyde, I weer thy neyce reed hair. 

Upon mey breest it's twistit ; 
On duly, in weyld winter neets, 

A tlkjusan teymes I've kisst it ! 

A sowdger wheyles picks up a frien ; 

I've yen, our Captain Trueman ; 
Aa, lass ! he's free, an keynd to me-- 

What, he was yence a plewman ! 
A Miss he keeps, an tudder neet 

He whispcrt me to toakc her ; 
T nearn'd theo tuH him, " Sur," says I, 

" I niver will forseake her ! 

To fadder. mcynd remember me. 

An say, I'll ne'er forget him ; 
Tell Nichnl some few ins an outs — 

To read this, dunnet lel'him ! 
Guid news ! For Carel we're to march, 

An tek the rwoard ncest Mcjnday ; 
I'll meet thee on the markcl day, 

An mek thee meync on Sunday ! 



46 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Pwoscrip. 

Wuns ! I's Lance Sargin meade to day, 

Reet fain thou'll be to hear on't — 
Our Captain's Miss lies run away 

Wid some rif-raf , we're seer on't — 
Let t' Freest to thee a leycence grant, 

If nae chap else hes won'thee, 
Frae Carel in a shay we'll reyde, 

God's blissin aye leet on thee ! 



MATTHEW MACREE. 

Tune — " The wee pickle tow." 

Sin I furst workt a sampleth at Biddy Per- 
sy the 's, 
I ne'er seed the marrow ov Matthew Macree ; 
For down his braid back hing his lang yallow 
locks, 
And he hes sec a kest wid his bonny grey e'e 
Then he meks us aw laugh, on the stuil when he 
stans, 
An acts leyke the players an gangs wid his hans. 
An talks sec hard words as nit yen understans — 
O, what a top scholar is Matthew Macree ! 

His neame fuils disleyke, but to me it souns 
sweet ; 
Frev Irelan his fadder sail'd owtc the saut sea, 
He was uobbet a weaver, but meade up ov fun, 
An wi' Martin's neyce dowter to Gratena ran 
he : 
Mey sweetheart an me wer beath bworn in ae 

year ; 
An at aw maks o' spworts sec a pair ye'U nit 

see : 
He wad e'en starve his sel, just to sarra the peer — 
O, was ev'ry chap but leyke Matthew Macree ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 47 

Twas iiobbet last Easter his cock wan the main,* 

I stuid in the ring ay rejoicin to see ; 
The bairns they aw shoutet, the lasses wer fain, 

An lads on their shouders bwore Matthew Macree : 
Then at lowpin he'll gang a full yard owre them aw. 
An at russlin. whilk o' them dar try liim a faw ? 

Then whea is't that aye carries oft the titbaw ? 
Way, the King ov aw Curnberlan, Matthew Macree. 

That teyme when he lit full twee hours at the fair, 
An lang Jemmy Smith gat a famish black e'e ; 

Peer Jemmy I yence thowt wad niver paw mair. 
An I was reet sworry ier Matthew Macree : 

Then he wad shek the bull-ring, t an brag the heale 
town. 

An to feght, run, or russle, he pat down a crown ; 

Saint Gworge, the girt champion, of fame an re- 
nown. 
Was nobbet a waffler to Matthew Macree. 

On Sundays in bonny wheyte weascoat when 
drest, 

He sings i' the kurk ; what a topper is he ! 
I hear his Strang voice far abuin aw the rest. 

My heart still beats teyme to Matthew Macree. 
Then his feyne eight-page ditties, an garlans sae 

sweet, 
They mek us aw merry the lang winter neet. 
But when he's ml amang us we niver seem reet, 

Sae fond are the lasses ov Matthew Macree. 

Mey fadder he left me a house ou the hill, 
An I'll get a bit Ian sud my aunty dee. 

Then I'll wed canny Matthew wheniver he will, 
For gear is but trash widout Matthew Macree : 

• A cock main was a pitched battle in cock fighting— in which 
a number of cocks, often 64— were paired off in sini^lu combats and 
" fought it out " until there was only one lelt surviving, which was 
said to have "won the main." Any one who wishes to know the 
"in and outs" of cock fighting will find the ni.itt.-r fully discussed 
in a learned and exhaustive paper on the subject by the late 
worshipful Chancellor I-'ergusoii mi Transactions ol Cumberland 
and Westmorland Antiquarian Society, vol IX., page 3O6, 3S2. 

t " To shake the bull-ring " was, some threescore years ago, to 
challenge the village or town or fair stead to produce a champion 
to &ght the "Shakker. " Similar to an Irishman dragging his coat 
tail through the mire for another to tread on. 



48 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

We'll trv to shew girt fwok content in a cot, 
An when in our last heame together we've got, 
May our bairns an ther neybors oft point to the spot 
Where lig honest Matthew an Jenny Macree. 



CALEP CROSBY. 

Tune — " Auld Rob M arris." 

O, Weyfe ! I wad fain see our Sukey dui reet, 
But she's out wi' the fellows, ay neet efter neet ; 
Them that's fasht wi' nae bairns iver happy mun 

be — 
We've but yen, an she's mistress o' beath thee 

an me. 

I can't for the leyfe o' me git her to wurk. 

Nor a feyne day or Sunday e'er gang to the 

kurk, 
Nor frae week en to week en ae chapter to read, 
What, the Beyble ligs stoury abuin the dure heed. 

She yence wad hae crammelt an writ her awn 

neame. 
An Sunday an warday was tej'dey at heame ; 
Now to see her whol'd stockins, her brat an her 

gown — 
She's a shem an a *byzen to aw the heaie town ! 

O wad she be gueyded, an stick till her wheel, 
Ther's nin kens how fain we wad see her dui weel ; 
For she's thy varra picture, an aw that we have — 
Her neet-warks '11 bring our grey hairs to the greave 1 

'Twas nobbet last week in weyld passion I gat. 
An gev her a trouncin, but sair I've rue't that : 
Then I bade her e'en pack up her duds an we'd 

part, — 
To streyke mey awn lassie just brak my aul heart 1 

* Byzen or Bizen (Icel bigsn u wonder and A.S. bisen an 
fMample). This word, which in the dialect means a warning or 
example, always goes with " Shem." 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 49 



Theer's that ill Calep Crosby, he's niver away, 
He's gleymin an watchin her beath neet an day ; 
Sud he come i' mey clutches, a ken-guid he's get — 
The' I's aul, leame an feeble, I'll maister him yet. 

That hav'rels sud lasses begueyle widout fear. 
Sec thowts daily bring frae yen's e'e monie a tear 
Base Caleps that aye thowtless creatures betray, 
Our king sud transpwort them to Botany Bay ! 

I'll reyde to the sea-pwort the press-gang to seek ; 
O, wan they but drag him to sea this seame 

week ! 
To kurk let him teake her, if luivers they be. 
Yet I'd rather her han to some beggar she'd gie ! 



FFXKLESS WULLY. 
Tune — " Crowdy." 

Wee Wully wuns on yonder brow, 

An Wully he hes dowters twee ; 
But nowt cud feckless Wully flui. 

To get them sweethearts weel to see. 

For Meg She luik'd beath reet an left, 
Her een they bwor'd a body thro' ; 

An Jen was deef, an dum, m daft, 
An deil a yen C(3m theer to woo. 

The neybors winkt, the neybors jeer'd, 
The neybors flyr'd at them wi scworn, 

\n monie a wicked trick they play'd 
Peer Meg an Jen, beath neet an mworn. 

As Wully went ae day to wark. 

He kickt a summct wid his shoe ; 
An Wully glowr'd, an Wully gurn'd, 

" (iueyde us " ! quo he, " What hae we now ? 

An Wully cunn'fl owre six scwore pun, 

An back he ran wi' nimmel heel ; 
An aye he owre his shoulder glcymt. 

An thowt he'd dealins wi' the deil. 



so CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

An Wully's bowt a reet snug house, 
An Wully's bowt a bit ov Ian ; 

An Meg and Jen are trig an crouse, 
Sin' he the yallow pwokie fan. 

Nae mair the neybors wink an jeer. 
But aw shek hans wi' them, I trow ; 

An ilk yen talks ov William's gear. 
For Wully's chang'd to WiUiam now. 

An some come east, an some come west, 
An some come monie a meyle to woo 

An Meg luiks streyte, an Jen hes sense, 
An we aw see what gear can dui. 

Ye rich fwok aw, ye'U aye dui reet ; 

Ye peer fwok aw, ye'U aye dui wrang 
Let wise men aw say what they leyke. 

It's money meks the meer to gang. 



THE BLECKELL MURRY-NEET. 

To a popular Tune. 

Aa, lad ! sec a Murry-neet we've hed at Blec- 
kell, 

The soun o' the fiddle yet rings i' mey ear ; 
Aw reet dipt an heel'd were the lads an the lasses, 

An monie a cliver lish huzzy was theer : 
The bettermer swort sat snug in the parlour, 

I' th' pantry the sweethearters cutter'd sae 
soft ; 
The dancers they kickt up a stour i' the kitchen ; 

At lanter the caird-lakers sat i' the loft. 

The Clogger o' Dawston's a famish top hercj. 
He bangs aw the player fwok twenty to yen ; 

He stampt wid his fit, an he shoutet an roystert, 
Till the sweet it ran off at his varra chin en : 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 51 



He held up ae han leyke the spout of a teapot 
An danc'd " cross the buckle " an " ledder te 
spatch "* 
When they cried " Bonny Bell " he lap up to the 
ceilin, 
An aye snapt his thoums fer a bit ov a fratch. 



The Hivverby lads at fair d? inkin are seypers ; 

At cockin the Dawstoners niver were bet : 
The Buckabank chaps are reet famish sweet- 
hearters, 

Their kisses just sound leyke the sneck ov a yeat ; 
The lasses ov Bleckell are sae moni angels ; 

The Cummerdale beauties aye glory in fun ; 
God help the peer fellow that gleynies at them 
dancin, 

He'll slink away heartless as suir as a gun ! 

The 'bacco was Strang an the yell it was lythey, 

An monie a ven bottomt a whart leyke a kurn ; 
Daft Fred i' the nuik, leyke a hawf-rwoasted 
deevil, 
Teh sly smutty stworie, an meade them aw 
gum ; 
Then yen sang " Tom Linton " anudder" Dick 
Walters " 
The aiil tarniers bragg'd o' their fillies an fwoals, 
Wi' jeybin an jwokin, an hotchin, an laughin 

Till some thowt it teyme to set oft to the cwoals. 

But hod ! I forgat — when the clock strack eleebem. 
The dubbler was brong in wi wheyte breed 
an brown ; 
The gully was sharp, the girt cheese was a topper, 
An lumps big a.s lapsteans the lads gobbl'd down : 
Ay the douse dapper lanleady cried " Eat and 
welcome, 
r God's neame step forret ; nay dunnet be 
hleate I " 
Our guts aw weel pang'd we buckt up fer Blin 
jenny, 
An ncest pay'd the shot on a girt pewter plate. 

• '•Lcdflfr-te-spnf<'h"— "Icathtr dispatch," is a Bhuffliiig 
dance, which wears away or "dispatches" leather. 



52 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Now full to the lliropple \vi' heed warlis an heart 
aches 

Some crap to the clcjck-kease instead o' the duir | 
Then sleepin an snworin tuik pleace o' their rwoarin ; 

An teane abuin tudder e'en laid on the fluir. 
The last o' December, lang may we remember, 

At five o' the mworn, eighteen hundred an twee : 
Here's health an rnccess to the brave Jwohnny 
Dawston.* 

An monie sec meetings may we leeve to see. 



THE DELIGHTS OF LOVE. 

Tune — " Guid nicht an joy he wi' ye a' ." 

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 ; 
The blackburd mourn'd departin day, 

An caw'd his partner to his nest. 
When I up Eden tuik my way, 

An met young Mary I luive best. 

I gaz'd upon her matchless feace. 

That fairer than the lily seem'd ; 
1 mark'd the magic ov her e'e, 

That wi' love's powerfu leetnin beam'd ; 
I saw her cheek ov breetest red, 

That blushin telt a lover's pain. 
An seiz'd a kiss — if 'twas a creyme. 

Ye Gods ! may I oft sin ageane ! 

Fast flew the hours : now ruse the muin 

An telt us it was teyme to part ; 
I saw her to her mudder's duir, 

She whisper'd low, " Thou's stown my heart I 

* At Blackwell, near Carlisle, on March 3rd, 1844, Mrs. Nancy 
Dawson died. She was the widow of the brave Jwohnny Dawson 
above mentioned. She was the landlady of the village inn for 
nearly sixty years, and was much respected.— G.C. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 5 J 

I thro' the lettice stule a glance, 

An heard her angry mudder cheyde : 
Then thowt ov aw the parent's cares, 
As frae the cottage heame I hied. 

I've teasted pleasures dearly bowt ; 

An read mankeynd in monie a page : 
But woman, woman sweetens leyfe, 

Frae giddy youth to feeble yage ! 
Ye warldlings, court coy Fortune's smeyle ; 

Ye rakes, in quest ov pleasure rove : 
Ye drunkards, drown each sense wi' weyne ; 

Be meyne the dear deleytes ol love ! 



RUTH. 

ji,itE — " The auld guidman." 

The crackcts wer cliirpin on the harth ; 

Our weyfe reel'd gairn an sat i' the nuik ; 
Queyte weary, I smuikt mey cutty black peype 

Leyle Dick, by fire-leet, ply'd his buik ; 
The youngermer bairns, at heeds an cross, 

Sat laikin merrily, in a row ; 
The wui clasht tui the entry duir ; 

An down the chimley fell the snow. 

" Oh ! " says our weyfe, then heav'd'a scegh, 

" Guidman, we sud rcet thenkfu be ! 
How monie a scwore this angry nect, 

Wad leyke to sit wi' thw an me ; 
Sae wad our dowtcr Kutii, I trowc. 

Peer luckless lass !— She deed may he ! 
For her, nae day gangs owre my heed. 

But painfu tears gush frae mcy eye ! 



54 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

" She aye was honest, an weel to see — 
1 say'l, she hed nae faut but yen ; 

She off wid a taistrel sowdger lad. 

An ne'er yence sent the screybe ov a pen : 

man ! we siid forgit an forgive ! 

The burds, beasts, for their awn '11 feel ; 
Wer meyne aw t'warl, ay, ten teymes mair, 
I'd gie't to see her alive an weel. 

" Whea kens, peer thing ! what she's endur'd, 
Sin she thy keyndness durst not claim ? 

Thoo turnt her out — it griev'd me sair, 

What, aw our neybors cried out sheame ! " 

Here stopt our weyfe an shuik her heed, 
Wheyle tears ran tricklin doun her cheek ; 

1 fan tlie truth ov what she sed. 

But deil a word cud owther speak. 

Just then the latch was lifted up, 

" Aa ! that's a boggle ! " rwoart out leyle Ann 
In bunc'd our Ruth, fell at mey feet. 
Cried, " O forgie me ! — here's mey guidman ! " 
Our dame she shriekt, an dropp'd her wark ; 

I bliss'd the pair — aw sat queyte fain — 

We talkt the stormy neet away. 

Now, God be prais'd, we've met ageane ! 



THE PECK O' PUNCH. 
Tune — " O'er Bot^ie." 

'Twas Rob an Jock, an Hal an Jack, 

An Tom an Ned forby. 
Wid Archy drank a Peck ov Punch, 

Ae neet when they wer dry ; 
They talkt, an jwok'd, an laught, an smuikt, 

An sang wi' heartfelt glee, 
" To-neet we're yen, to morrow geane, 

Seyne let us merry be ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 55 

Saint Mary's clock bumm't eight ; the hour 

When each popp'd in his heed ; 
But ere thev ruse, they'd fairly drank 

The sheame feace'd muin to bed ; 

They talkt, an jwok't, &c. 

To monie a guid an weel-shept lass. 

The fairest i' the town, 
An monie a manly wordy frien, 

The noggin glass went roun ; 

They talkt, an jwok't, &c. 

A neybor's fauts they ne'er turn'd owre, 

Nor yence conceal'd ther awn, 
Hed Care keek'd in, wi' wae-worn feace, 

He'd frae the duir been thrown ! 

They talkt, an jwok't, &c. 

Our statesmen great that sink the state, 

An fish for wealth, nit fame ; 
Thev neam'd wi' truth, an luiks o' scorn, 

An thowt them Englan's sheame. 

They talkt, an jwok't, &c. 

The daily toil — the hunter's spoil — 

The faithless foreign pow'rs. 
The Consul's fate, his owregrowTi state. 

By turns, begueylt the hours ; 

They talkt, an jwok't, &c. 

Let others cringe, an vainly praise, 

A purse-proud suniph to j^lease, 
Fate grant to me long liberty. 

To mix with men leyke these ; 
We'll talk an jwoke, an laugh an smuik. 

An sing wi' heartfelt glee, 
" To-neet we're yen, to-morrow geanc, 

Then let us merry be ! " 



S6 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE THDIRSBY WITCH. 

Tune — " John Anderson my Jo." 

We've Harraby, we've Tarraby,* 

An Wigganby beseyde ; 
We've Outerby, an Souterby,* 

An " bys " beath far an weyde ; 
Ov strappin, sonsy, rwosy queens. 

They aw can brag a few ; 
But Thuirsby for a bonny lass. 

Can cap them aw, I trow, 

Her miidder sells a swop o' drink, 

It is bcath stout an brown ; 
An Etty is the hinny-fowt 

Ov aw the country roun ; 
Frae east an west, beath rich an peer, 

A-horse, a-fit, caw in ; 
For whea can pass sae rare a lass. 

He's owther daft or blin. 

Her een er leyke twee Cursmess slees, 

But tweyce as breet, an clear ; 
The rwose cud niver match her cheek. 

That yet grew on a breer ; 
At toun, kurk, market, dance, or fair. 

She meks their hearts aw stoun. 
An conc^uers mair nor Bonnyprat, 

Whene'er she peeps aroun. 

Oft graith'd in aw their kurk-gaun gear, 

Leyke nwoble Iwords at court. 
Our lads slink in an gaze an grin, 

Nor heed their Sunday spwort ; 
If stranger leets, her een he meets. 

An fins — he can't tell how — 
To touch the glass her han lies touch'd. 

Just sets him in a lowe. 

Yence Thuirsby lads war — whea but we 

An cud hae bang't the lave ; 
But now they hing their lugs, an luik, 

Leyke fwok stown frae the greave ; 

• Names of Cumberland Villages. 

* "By" is very common in some parts of Cumberland and 
denotes a settlement or dwelling. It is Scandinavian and wherever 
the Scandinavian tribes wentand settled, the name "by" or " bo " 
went with them, It is very generally found in the place names of 
Norway. Thuirsby is perhaps the most expressive name found 
in this list as signifying •' Thor's dwelling," and the remains of a 
Temple dedicated as supposed to Thor are said to have been 
found there. 



CUMBERI-AND BALLADS. 57 

An what they ail, in heed or heart, 

Nae potticary tnows — 
The leytle glancin Thuirsby Witch, 

Is just the varra cause. 

Ov lilack-eyed Susan — Mary Scott — 

The Lass o' Peatie's Mill, 
Ov Barb'ry Allan, — Sally Gray — 

The Lass o' Richmond -hill, 
Ov Nancy Dawson — Molly Mog, 

Tho' nionie sing wi' glee, 
The Thuirsby beauty, out an out. 

Just bangs them aw to see. 



THE VILLAGE GANG. 
Tune — " Jenny dang the weaver." 

Theer's sec a gang in our town. 

The deevil cannot wrang them, 
An cud yen get them put i' print, 

Aw Englan waddent bang them ; 
Our dogs they beyte aw decent fwok, 

Our varra naigs they kick them, 
An if they nobbet ax their way, 

Our lads set on an lick them. 

Furst, wi' Dick Wiggem we'll begin, 

The leyney, greasy, wobster ; 
He's got a gob frae lug to lug, 

An neb leyke onie lobster ; 
Dick Weyfe they say was Branton bred, 

Her mudder was a howdey. 
An when puir Dick's thrang on the luim. 

She's off to Jwohnny Gowdey. 

But as fer Jwohnny, silly man ! 

He threops about the nation. 
An talks ov stocks, an Charley Fox, 

An meakcs a blusteration ; 
He reads the paper yence a week, 

The aul fwok gcape an wonder — 
Wer Jwohnny king, we'd aw be rich. 

An France mud e'en tnock under. 



58 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Lang Peel the laird's a disperl chap ; 

His weyfe's a famoxis fratclier, 
She brays the lasses, starves the lans — 

Nae bandy Ian can match her ; 
We aw ken how they gat their gear, 

But that's a fearfu stwory, 
An sud he hing on Carel Sans 

Nit yen wad e'er be sworry. 

Beanc-brekker Jwohn, we weel may neame 

He's tir'd o' wark, confound him ! 
Bv manglin lims, an streenin joints, 

He's meade aw cripples roun him : 
Mair hurt he's duin nor onie yen 

That iver sceap'd a helter : 
When sec like guffs leame decent fwok 

It's teyme some laws sud alter. 

The schuilmaister's a cunjurer, 

For when our lads are drinkin. 
Aw maks o' tricks he'll dui wi' cairds, 

An tell fwok what they're thinkin ; 
He'll glowre at maps, an spell hard words, 

For hours an hours togedder, 
An i' the muin he kens what's duin — 

Ay, he can coin the wedder. 

Then theer's the blacksmith wi' ae e'e. 

An his hawf-wittet mudder, 
'Twad mek a deed man laugh, to see 

Them gleyme at yen anudder ; 
A three-quart piggen fou o' keale, 

He'll sup, the greedy sinner. 
Then eat a cow't-lword, leyke his heed. 

Ay, onie day at dinner. 

Jack Mar, the hurplin peyper'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, an drinks Strang drink. 

An gangs weel grath'd on Sunday, 
An weel he may — a bonny fray 

Com out last Whussen-Monday.* 

' * Whit-Monday. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 59 

Our boutcher guid fat mutton sells : 

Some say he niver buys nin ; 
Our lanhvord vittrel-whiskey meakes. 

They're hilthiest fwok that tries nin ; 
Nat N'e'er-de-weel, an ill gien Tom, 

Cock-feghtin's aw their study ; 
Black Barney feghts week after week, 

Ay happiest, when queyte bloody. 



The doctor he's a parfet pleague, 

An hawf the parish puzzens ; 
The lawyer sets fwok by the lugs. 

An cheats them neest bv duzzens ; 
The parson sweers a bonny stick, 

Amang our sackless asses : 
The 'Squire's ruin'd scwores an scwores 

Ov canny country lasses. 



Theer's twenty mair, coarse as neck-beef. 

If yen hed teyme to neame them ; 
Left handed Sim, slape-finger'd Sam, 

Nae law cud iyer teame them ; 
An blue-nebb'd Wat, an ewe-chin'd Dick. 

Wee) wordy o' the gallows — 
Oh ! happy is the country seydc 

That's free frae sec leyke fellows ! 



DICKY GLENDININ. 

Tune — " As Patie cam up frae the ^len. 

My fadder was down at the mill. 
My mudder was out wid her spinnin, 

When, whea sutl slip whietly in, 
But canny lal Dicky Glcndinin ; 

He pou'd off his muckle top cwoat, 
An drew in a stuil by the hallan. 

Then fworc'd mc to sit on his tnee, 
An suin a sad teale began tellin. 



6o CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" O, Jenny ! O Jenny ! " says he, 
" Mv leykin for thee I can't smudder ; 

It nieade mc as seeck as a peet, 
To tliink thoo'd teane up wid anudder : 

What ! theer's been a bonny te-dui 
About a lang hulk ov a miller ! 

He's weyde-gobb'd, an ill-natur'd, tui, 
But ae word says aw — he hes siller ! 

" The lasses ay flyre an mek gam. 
An ax me what's got Jenny Foster ? 

The lads, when we meet i' the Iwones, 
Cry out, " Sairy Dick ! what, thoo's lost her ! 

Ill Rowley, the miller, last neet, 
I met, as we com in frae shearin — 

Hed the sickle but been our lang gun, 
I'd shot him ! ay, dead as a herrin ! 



" Aa ! hes thoo forgotten the teyme, 
Thoo sed thoo leyk'd me best ov onie ? 

An hes thoo forgotten the teyme, 
Thoo sed luive was better nor money ? 

An hes thoo forgotten the teyme, 
I markt our twee neames on a shillin ? 

Thoo promis'd to weer't neest thy heart, 
An then — to wed me thoo was willin. 



" The furst teyme you're cried i' the kurk, 
I'll step my ways up. an forbid it ; 

When caul i' mey coffin, they'll say, 
'Twcis e'en Jenny Foster that did it ! 

My ghost, the lang neet, aw in wheyte. 
Will shek thee, an gar thee aw shiver — 

The tears how they hop owre mey cheeks, 
To think, I sud Iwose thee for iver ! " 

" O, Dicky ! O, Dicky ! " say? I, 
' I nowther heed house, Ian, or siller ! 

Thoo's twenty teymes dearer to me, 
Than onie lang hulk ov a miller ! " 

A match we struck up in a crack. 
An Dicky's bowt sticks, an guid beddin — 

Mey fadder an mudder are fain, 
Then, ay for a guid merry weddin ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 6i 

THE INVASION. 
June — " Jack o' Latten." 

How fens te, Dick ?— Ther's fearfu news— 

Udsbreed ! the French er comin !. 
rhere's nowl ainun us, but parades. 

An sec a drum-drum drummin I 
The volunteers, leyke warriors neam'd, 

Are aw just mad to meet them ; 
An Englan suin may hing her heed, 

If Britons cannot beat them. 

We've here the Rangers donn'd in green. 

Commanded by Br.we Howard ; 
Ov aw his nowble kindred, neane 

Was e'er vet thowt a coward ! 
They'll pop'the Frenchmen off, leyke steyfe, 

When e'er they meet, I'll bail them ; 
Wi' men leyke Howard at their heed, 

True courage cannot fail them. 

The French er turn'd a wicked reace 

If aw be true fwok tell us. 
For whoar they've been men curse the day, 

Thev e'er beheld sec fellows ; 
They plant the tree — mock Liberty, 

An hirelins dance around it ; 
But millions wet it wi' their tears, 

An bid the deil confound it. 

Our parson says, we bang them still, 

An may sec'still be duiu, min. 
For he desarves a coward's deeth, 

That frae them e'er wad run, min : 
What feckless courts, an worn-out states, 

They've conquer'd just by kneav'ry ; 
Then may each volunteer still pruive. 

That Britons ken nae slav'ry ! 

I've sed an fhowt, sin I kent owt, 

Content's the grcalrst hlessin ! 
An he who seizes moy bit Ian 

Desarves a rough soun drissin — 
Aul Englan. tho' we count thy (auts 

Forever we'll defend thee ! 
To foreign tyrants sud we bow, 

They'd mar but niver mend thee ! 



62 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

GRIZZY. 

Tune — " The aid i^uidnian." 

The witch weyfe begg'tl in our backseyde, 

But crap away unsarrad i' th' pet ; 
Our Etty then kurn'd at e'er she kurn'd. 

But butter, the deuce a beyte cud get. 
The pez-stack fell, an f adder was crusht ; 

My mudder cowp't owre, an leam'd hersel ; 
Neest. war an war, what dud we see, 

Wey, Jenny' pet-lam drown'd i' the well. 

Aul Grizzy the witch, as some fwok say, 
Meks paddock -rud ointment, for sair een ; 

An cures the tuith-wark wid a charm 
Of hard words, ay i' the Beyble seen : 

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, 
An if she grummel, they're sure o' twee. 

I yence sweethearted Madge o' th' Mill, 

An nin sae thick as she an I ; 
Aul Whang he promis'd us tweescore pun, 

A weel-theek'd house, a bit ov a stye ; 
Ae neet we met, at our croft heed, 

Whoar Grizzy was daund'rin aw her leane, 
But scearce a week ov days wer owre 

Till Madge to kurk Wull Weir hed taen. 

When deef Dick Maudlin lost his weyfe. 

An sed, 'twas weel it was nae war ; 
When Jerry' black filly pick't the fwoai. 

When hawf-blin Calep fell owre the scar ; 
When Mantin Marget brunt her rock ; 

When smuggler Mat was lost i' the snaw ; 
When Wheezlin Wully was set i' th' stocks ; 

Aul Grizzy ay gat the weyte ov aw. 

Her feace is leyke the stump ov a yek, 

She stoops, an stowters, sheks, an walks ; 
Bleer-e'ed, an tuilhless, wid a beard ; 

She coughs, an greanes, an mumps, an talks , 
She leeves in a shill-house, burns whins an sticks 

An theer hes dealins wi' the deil — 
O wer she suin but cowpt into the greave. 

For whoar she leeves few can dui weel ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 63 

GWORDIE GILL. 
fuNE — " Andrew wi' his cutty gun." 

Ov aw the lads I see or ken. 

Thcer's yen I leyke abuin the rest : 
He's neycer in his war-day claes, 

Than others donn'd in aw their best. 
A body's heart's a body's awn, 

An they may gie't to whea they will ; 
Hed I got ten, whoar I hae neane, 

I'd gie them aw to Gwordie Gill ! 

Whea was't that brak our lanlword's garth. 

For me, when young we went to schuil r 
Whea was't durst venture mid-thie deep, 

To bring raey clog out o' the puil ? 
An when frae horseback I was flung, 

An lang, an lang I laid queyte ill, 
Whea was't gowlt owre me day an neet. 

An wisht me weel — 'Twas Gwordie Gill. 



Oft mountet on his lang-tail'd naig, 

Wr feyne new buits up till his tnee, 
The laird's daft son leets i' the faul, 

An keaves as he wad wurry me ; 
Tho' fadder, mudder, uncle, aunt. 

To wed this maz'lin, teaze me still, 
I hear them tell of aw his gear, 

But ofj steal out to Gwordie Gill. 

The strae-hat meaker i' the town. 

She sens him letters nionie a yen ; 
Sec brek-jaw words, an bits o' rheymes — 

She mun hae preyde, but sense hes neane ! 
Her letters, Gworgc reads wid a laugh. 

An shews them me, an rives them still — 
H(;d she nine teymes her weyte o' gow<l. 

It cuddent aw buy Gwordie Gitl.^ 

Frae Carel, cousin Fanny com. 

An brong her whcy-fcac'd lover down, 

Wid sark-iieck stuck abum his lugs, 
A ptiir dipt -dmmtnt frae the town : 



64 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

He miuct, an talkt, an skipt, an walkt, 
But tir'd wheylc gangin up the hill, 

An luikt just pale as onie corp, 
Compar'd wi' rwosy Gwordie Gill. 

Mey Gworge's whussle weel I ken, 

Lang ere we meet, the darkest neet. 
An when he lilts, an sings Skewball* 

Nae playhouse music's hawf sae sweet. 
OvTe earth ilk las I's heart's her awn. 

An she mav gie't to whea she will ; 
Lang-seyne I'd yen, now I hae neane, 

'Twas gien wi' joy to Gwordie Gill. 



A WEYFE PER WULLY MILLER. 

Tune — " Maggy Lauder." 

Hout ! WuUy, lad ! cock up thy heed, 

Nor fash thysel about her ; 
Nowt comes o' iiowt, sae tek nae thowt — 

Thoo's better far widout her. 
Peer man ! her fadder weel we ken, 

He's but an ass-buird meaker ; 
But she's town bred — O, silly gowk ! 

Thoo'd gi'e thy teeth to teake her. 

I'll tell thee ae thing, that's nit twee, 

I hed it frev our cousin ; 
She walks the streets, neet efter neet, 

Wid weyld chaps, monie a dozen : 
Street-walkers, WuUy, mun be bad. 

They monie kill, when courtet — 
Afwore I'd link wid sec as hur, 

I'd raider be transpwortet ! 

I've seen thee flyre an jwoke leyke'mad. 

At monie country fellows ; 
But, now thou seeghs, an luiks leyke deeth. 

Or yen gaun to the gallows — 
Thoo's sous'd owre heed an earn in luive — 

Aa ! nobbet luik at Cwoley ! 
He wags his tail, as if to say, 

" Wey, what's the matter, WuUy ? " 

• To sinp Skewball is to sing without regular time or time.— 

Dr. Prevost. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 65 



Ther's lads but few in our lang town. 

An lasses, wanters, plenty ; 
An he that fain wad teake a weyfe 

May weale yen out ov twenty : 
Theer's Tamer Toppin, — Aggy Sharp- 

An Clogger Wilkin' Tibby — 
An Greacy Gurvin, — Matty Meer, — 

An — thingumbob's lal Debby : 



Leyle Peggy sings, an fwok she'll please 
An Lanty Langkeake' dowter, 

A whom peype dances in her clogs — 
How fain the squire wad bowt her ! 

Ther's rivosy Rachel, parson says, 
'Twas mek him fain to catch her ; 

An Dinah gives ten pun a year 

To peer fwok — few can match her ! 



Then theer's Wull Guffy's dowter Nan 

At thee ay keeks an glances — 
What, thou's the apple o' their een 

At cairdin neets, an dances ; 
Mey titty, tui,ae neeght, asleep. 

Cried, " Canny WuUy Miller ! " 
I pou'd her hair, she blush't rwose reed, 

Sae, gang thy ways in, till her. 



Tell madder aw the news tou kens : 

To fadder talk o' the weather ; 
Then lilt them up a sang, or twee, 

To please tem aw thegether ; 
She'll set the' out, then speak thy meynd — 

She'll suit thee till a shevin ; 
But town-bred husseys, fwok leyke we 

Sud nivcr think worth hevvin. 



66 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE TWEE AULD MEN. 

Tune — " To an old Irish Air." 

MATTHEW. 

" What Gabrel ! come swat thy ways down on the 
sattle 
It's lang sin' we join'd in a crack ; 
Thy gran'son I sent owre the geate for some bacco ; 

The varment '11 niver come back. 
Nay, keep on thy hat — I hate aw preyde ov man- 
ners. 
What news about your en' o' th' town ? 
They say the king's badly — thur teymes gang but 
oddly — 
The warl just seems turn'd up seyde down ; 
Aa, what alterations, an out-o' th'-way fashions, 
Sin leyle todlen bodies wer we ! " 



" O, Matthew ! they've cutten the yeks, yews, an 
eshes, 
That grew owre anent the kurk waw ! 
How oft dud we laik just hke weyld things amang 
them. 
But suin we leyke them mun lig low 1 
The schuil-house is fawn, whoar we beath lam'd 
our letters — 
For thee, tou cud figure an wreyte ; 
I meynd what a monstrous hard task an a fiog- 
gin 
Tou gat, when tou fught wi' " Tom Wheyte," 
Whoarever yen ranges, the chops an the changes 
Oft meks a tear gush frae the e'e ! " 



MATTHEW, 

" Then, Gabey, tou meynd^ when we brak Dinah' 
worchet — 

Stown apples bairns aw think are sweet — 
Deuce tek this bad 'bacco ! de'il bin ; it'll draw nin, 

Yen mud as weel smuik a wet peet ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 67 



What aiil Robby Donaldson's got a lang letter, 

An some say it tells ov a peace : 
Nay that '11 nit happen i' thy teyme or mey 
teyme 
Widout we cann get a new lease 
Nere Nan ! bring some veil in gud drinkin's nae 
failin — 
Lei's moisten our clav or we dee ! " 



" Aa Matt ! what they buriet aul Glaister last 
Monday — 
Peer Jwosep I we went to ae schuol — 
He married deef Marget the Gemelsby beauty, 

A silly proud cat-wittet fuil ! 
Ae son pruiv'd a taistrel an brak up at Lunnon 

What Jwosep he gat aw to pay ; 
The tudder they say turn'd out nit queyte ovne 
honest 
Sae gat oflf to Botany Bay — 
O man ! this frost pinches an kills fwok by 
inches 
It's e'en meade a cripple o' me ! " 



MATTHEW. 

" Aa Gabey ! it's now lang sin tou marriet Ann 
Lawson — 
Tou meynds when we off leyke the win 
Frae kiirk to the yell-house what I was weel 
mountct 
An left tcm aw twee mile behin I 
Young Gabrcl thy son then my deame an I stuid 
f(jr 
A brave murry cursnin we hed ; 
We kent nowt ov tea or sec puzzen i' thar days 
But drank tweyce-brew'd yell till bawl mad : 
There w;ls Kitt an Ned Neilson an Wat an Dan 
Wilson 
They've aw geane an left thee an mc ! " 



68 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Ther's ae thing giul Matthew I've lang thowt 
ov axin, 

An that ton mun grant, if tou an : 
When I's stiff an cauld. see me decently coffin'd, 

An laid down clwose to mey weyfe Ann. 
My peer gran'son Jwosep, is hillhy an grows up 

Oh ; luik tull him, when I's low laid ! 
Meynd he gangs to the kurk, an sticks weel to his 

larnin. 

Then git him an easy bit trade ; 
Thy neybors '11 bliss the', it wunnet distress the', 

An still may he thenk thee an me ! " 



MATTHEW. 

Keep up thy heart, Gabey : nae gud come grieviu ; 

Ay laugh at the warl, if tou'd thrive ; 
I've buriet three weyves, an mun suin hev anud- 
der, 

I's queyte young an rash — eighty-five ; 
Then sec a hard drinker, a w ussier, a feghter, 

A cocker, I've been i' mey teyme ; 
An as fer a darrak, in barn, muir or meedow, 

Nin matcht me, when just i' my preyme ! 
I ne'er tRowt ov wheynin or gowlin or pey, nin — 

We're wise when we chearfu' can be. 



GABREL. 

" Nay, but neybor Matthew, when ninety lang 
winters 
Hae bent yen, an poudert the powe ; 
We greane V the nuik, wi' few friens or acquain- 
tance, 
An just fin — we cannot tell how : 
For me, I's sair fash'd wi' the cough an the gravel, 

Nit ae single tuith i' mey heed ! 
Then sin my guid son they tuik oft fer a sowdger, 

I've wisht I war nobbet weel dead ! 
The house uncle gae me, the squire's e'en ta'en 
frae me — 
Ther's nowt but the warkhouse fer me ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 69 

>rATTHEW. 

' Mey fadder, God rust him ! \vi' toilin an sea- 
vin. 
Screapt up aw the gear he cud git ; 
I've been a sad deevil, an spent gowd i' gowpens, 

Thenk God ! I've a hantel left yet : 
Come shek hans, peer Gabey ! tous hev a frien's 
keyndness. 
Mv purse, an my pantry still share ; 
We'll talk ov aul lime^, an eat, drink, an be merry : 

Thy gran'son sail git what we spare : 
Here leeght thy peype, Gabey ! ton's welcome as 
may be — 
They's ne'er mek a beggar o' thee ! " 



UNCLE WULLY. 
Tune — " Woo^d an married an a'." 

It's a comical war] this we leevo in, 

Says Calep, an Calep says reet ; 
For Matty, that's got aw the money, 

Hes e'en geane an weddet deyl'd Peet, 
He's nobbet a hedder-feac'd mazlin 

An disn't ken whusky frae yell ; — 
For hur, weel brong up an a scholar 

She's just meade a fuil ov hersel ! 

Deil bin her ! — she'd leyle to de 
To tek sec a hawflin as he 
That nowther kens A B or C — 
Aa ! what, sec a pair can ne'er 'gree I 

He ne'er hes a teale widout laitin. 

An hardley can grease his awn clogs ; 
He wed onie decent man's dowter ? 

He's fitter to lig amang hogs ! 
At the clock, fur an hour iie'U keep gleymin, 

But dc'il e'er the tcyme he can tell ; 
An mey niece, for that ae word, hu.sban, 

Hes e'en gcanc an rnuiM IktscI. 

Dc'il bill, (ic. 



JO CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Her ladder, God keep him ! mey billy, 

Ay thowt her the flow'r o' them aw ; 
An sed on his deeth-bed, " O, Wully ! 

Luik tull her, man when I lig low ! " 
I meade her beath reader an wreyter 

Nin bang't her, the maister can tell ; 
But, speyte o' beath larnin an manners, 

She's e'en meade a guff ov hersel. 

De'il bin, &c. 

When lasses get past aw adveysin, 

Our's then turns a piteous kease ; 
A gown or a shift yen may shep them. 

But aw cannot gi'e them God's greace ; 
For me, I'll e'en deeght meye hans on her, 

An this aw our neybors I'll tell ; 
She's meade a. bad bed, let her lig on't. 

An think how she's ruin'd hersel. 

De'il bin her ! she's leyle te de 

To tek sec a hawfiin as he. 

That nowther kens A, B, or C — 

Aa ! what, sec a pair ne'er can 'gree ! 



GUID STRANG YELL. 
Tune — " Farewell to Bamf." 

Our Ellik leykes fat bacon weel ; 

And havver-bannock pleases Dick ; 
A cowt-lword meks leyle Wully fain, 

But cabblish aye turns Philip seeck ; 
Our deame's fer gurdle-keakes. an tea ; 

An Betty's aw fer thick pez-keale. 
Let ilk yen fancy what they wull. 

Still mey deleyte is gud Strang yell ! 

I ne'er hed muckle ne'er kent want. 
Ne'er wrangt a neybor, frien, or kin 

Mey deame an bairns, 'buin aw I prize- 
"rher's music i' their varra din ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 71 

I labor suin, I labor leate, 

An cheerfu eat my holesome meale ; 
My weage can feed an dead us aw. 

An whelyes affwords me gud Strang yell. 

Drinkin-meks a coward bold — 
Drinkin changes neet to day — 
Drinkin turns the aul to young — 

Drinkin drives dull care away ! 
Wheyle some deleyte in punch or weyne. 

An wicked teales oft leyke te tell : 
I leyke a smuik, a harmless jwoke, 

An hilth impruive, wi' gud Strang yell. 

WTiat's aw the warl, widout content ? 

Wi' that an hilth, man can't be peer ; 
We suin slip off frae friens an foes, 

Then whee but fuils wad feght for gear : 
'Bout kings an consuls gowks may fratch ; 

For me, I scworn to vex mysel ; 
But laughs at courts, an owre-grown kneavea, 

When I've a hush o' gud Strang yell. 



BRUFF REACES.* 

Tune — " The Priest an his butts." 

O, Wully ! hed tou nobbet been at Bruff Rea- 
ces ! 
It seem'd, lad, as if aw the weyde warl wer met, 
Some went to be seen, others off for divarsion, 

An monie went thee: a lock money to bet ; 
The Cup was aw siller, an letter'd reet neycely, 
A feyne naig they'd put on't, forby my Lword's 
neame : 
It hods nar a quart— Aa ! wh.it, monie drank out 
oti't. 
An oppen'd their gills till they cuddent creep 
heame. 

• These racei took place on the 3rd of May, 1804 at Burgh a 
village 5 miles from Carlisle. The Prize, given by the Barl of 
Lonsdale, when he attained to the Earldom, was a Silver Cup value 
£50 These races were a(?ain held 40 years afterwards, in 1845. 
A Cup of Silver was again given. The event was celebrated m a 
dialect Song by Rigson.— Editor. 



72 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Ther was, " How fens te, Tommy ? " — " Wey, 

Jwosey ! I's gaily," 
" What, is there owt unket i' your country 

seyde ? " 
" Here, lanlword a noggin ! " — " Whea reydes 

the Collector ? " 
" What Meason' aul meer can bang aw far an 

weyde ! " 
Ther was snaps, yell, nuts, gingerbread, shwort- 

keakes, an brandy. 
An tents full ov ham, beef, an nowble veal- 

pye; 
An Greenup, wi' — " a reet an true list ov the 

horses. 
The neames o' the awners, an reyders, forby." 



What, monie fwok tell us, the dissnins wer skif- 
tet, 
The neet afwore startin — that cuddent be fair ! 
Queyte flayt ov a naig bein laught at by thou- 
sans — 
Nae guid sec gawvison iver sud share ! 
Then others say, cheatry niver comes speatry ; 

I wish it wer true, but owre monie think wrang 
Girt Lwords o' the nation cheat aw maks about 
tern — 
Ne'er ak ! — I mun stick to mey bit ov a sang. 



Ere they saddl'd, the gamlers peep'd sair at the 
horses ; 
Sec scrudgin ! the fwok wer just ready to brust, 
Wi' swearin, an bettin, they meade a sad hay- 
bay 
" I'll lig six to four ! " — " Done ! come, down 
wi' the dust ! " 
" What think ye ov Lawson ? " — " The fiel fer a 
guinea ! " 
" I'll mention the winner ! dar onie yen lay ! " 
Jwohn Blaylik's reed hankitcher wav'd at the 
dissnins ; 
At startin, he cried, " Yen, twee, three, put away ! ' 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 73 



Thev went off, leyke leetnin — the aul meer's a 
topper — 
She flew leyke an arrow, an shew'd tern her 
tail ; 
They hugg'd, whup't, an spurr'd, hut cud niver 
yence touch her — 
The winners they rear'd an Iwosers turnt pale ; 
Peer Lawson gat dissen'd, an sae sud the tud- 
ders ! 
Furst heat was a chease, an the neist a tek in ; 
Then some drank their winnins, but — woefu disas- 
ter ; 
It rain'd, an the lasses gat wet to the skin. 



Leyke pez in a pot, neist at Sansfiel they capert — 

The lads did the lasses sae kittle an hug ; 
Young Crosset, i' fettle, had got bran new pumps 
on, 
An brong fisher Jemmy a clink o' the lug ; 
The lasses they beldert out, " Man thysel. Jemmy " 
His cronies they poud off his cwot, weascwot. 
an sark ; 
They fit, lugg'd, an lurried, aw owre bluid an bat- 
'ter — 
The lanlword com in, an cried, " Shem o' sec 
wark ! " 



Ther wer smugglers, excisemen, horse-cowpers 
an parsons. 
Sat higglety-pigglety, — aw far'd aleyke ; 
Then mowdy-warp* Jacky — Aa, man ! it was 
funny ! — 
He meade tern aw laugh, when he stuck in a 
creyke. 
Ther was lasses frae Wigton, an Worton, an Ban- 
ton — 
Some o' them gat sweethearts, wheyle others 
gat neane ; 
An bairns yet unbworn 'U oft hear o' Bruff Reaces , 
For ne'er mun we see sec a meetin ageane ! 



The title of a Mole catcher. 



74 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

BIDDY. 

Tune — " Since love is (he plan." 

'Twas frost an thro' leet, wid a greymin ov snaw, 
When I went to see Biddy, the flow'r o' them aw ; 
To meet was agreed to, at Seymie' deyke nuik, 
Whoar I suntert wi' monie a seegh an lang luik, 
But pou'd up my spirits, an off till her heame ; 
If fwok ay mean reet, they need niver think 
sheame. 



I peep'd thro' the window, to see what was 

duin ; 
Her ladder sat whusslin, an greasin his shoon ; 
Her mudder sat darnin, an smuikin the wheyle ; 
An Biddy sat spinnin, the neet to begueyle ; 
Her threed it ay brak, she seem'd sad as cud 

be, 
A stranger sat nar her, I vext was to see ! 



I shekt leyke an esh-leaf, nae wonder, for fear ; 
When luive meks yen jilous, it's then hard to 

bear ; 
He shew'd his bit watch to the aul fwok, wi 

preyde. 
But Biddy ne'er yence flang her breet e'e aseyde ; 
He tuik out his feyfe, an he play'd a leyle tuin, 
But Biddy ne'er yence gev a smeyle, when he'd 

duin. 



He struive for a kiss, then she ruse in a crack. 
An frownin, she left him, but niver yence spak 
An suin i' the faul, wi' girt phshure we met — 

0, that happy ebemin we ne'er can forget ! 

1, kiss'd her, an bless'd her, at partin, she sed, 

" O, God bless the' Jwohnny ! nae udder I'll 
wed." 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 7 5 

DINAH DUFTON. 
Tune — " Fye gae rub her o'er wi' strae." 

Peer Dinah Dufton's e'en wi' bairn ! 

Ilk neybor at the thowt seems hurt, 
A better, bonnier, bUther lass, 

Nay niver yet fell in the durt : 
Aul Tim her f adder struck her out, 

At mid-neet, when down com the snow 
She owre the geate — what cud she de ? 

An sobb'd an gowl'd, an telt us aw. 

Mey f adder shuik his head, an seegh'd, 

But spak, an actet leyke a man ; 
" Gud lass ! " says he, ''' tou sannet want, 

Sae keep thy heart up, if tou can ; 
I've lads an lasses o' mey awn. 

An nin can tell what they may de — 
To turn thee out '.—sweet luckless girl ! 

Thy fadder e'en mun hardened be! " 

God niver meade a heartier lass, 

Blithe she wad sing for iver mair ; 
Yet, when peer fwok wer in distress. 

To hear on't — O, it hurt her sair ! 
ThLs luive, some say, heydes monie fauts— 

This war! dear Dinah, leyle she tnew. 
Hed she but lissent mey adveyce, 

Thro' leyfe sh'd hed nae cause to rue ; 

At Rosley Fair, she chanc'd to leet 

O, mangrel Wall, that wicked tuil ; 
He'd larn'd to hannel weel his feet. 

An keept a leyle bit dancin schuil : 
A fortune-teller suin he breyb'd. 

To say the match was meade abuin ; 
lint when he'd brong' his ens about, 

He laught, an frown'd, an left her suin. 

Now Dinah's apron grows queyte shwort ; 

Peer outcast, dull, to luivc a slave I 
Aw day she whinges in i^ur loft, 

Ay wishin she wer in her greave : 
111 mangrel Wull, the tuil, ne'er cawt — 

Mey fadder g<jt him thrown i' th' jail — 
Wheae'er to ruin leads a la.ss, 

Deil tek the chap that 'twad liim I)ail I 



76 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

NED CARNAUGHAN. 
Tune — " The Miller of the Dec." 

Mey muddcr was tcakin her nuin's list, 

Mey f adder was out at the hay ; 
When Ned Carnanglian com bouncin in, 

An hiik'd as he'd gotten a flay : 
" O, Sib ! " says he, " I's chiin wid thee ; 

Aye ! what, ton bhishes an stares ! 
I seed the' last neet wi' bow-hought Peat, 

But — Deil tek them that cares ! " 

I laught at Ned — " Peer fuil ! " says I, 

" What's aw this fuss about ? 
jAvohn Peat's a p,uid, wise, cheerfu lad — 

For thee, thou's a parfit lout ! 
But whea wer liggin in Barney's croft. 

An laikin leyke twea hares ? 
An whea kiss'd Suke, frae lug to lug ? 

Nay — Deil tek them that cares ! " 

Says Ned, says he. ' ' The thimmel gi' me, 

I brong the' frae Branton Fair ; 
An gi' back the broach : an true-love-tnot ; 

An lock o' mey awn black hair ! 
An pay me the tuppens I wan frae thee, 

Ae neet, at " Pops and Pairs " 
Then e'en teake on wi' whea thou leykes, 

For — Deil tek them that cares ! " 

The broach, an thimmel, I flang at his feace. 

The true-love tnot i' the fire ; 
Say I, " Thou's nobbet a hawflin bworn — 

Fash me nae mair, I desire ! 
Here, teake thy tuppens, a reape to bu5% 

But gie thysel nae mair airs ; 
Just hing as hee as Gilderoy,* 

An — Deil tek them that cares !" 

Then Ned he trimmelt, an seeght, an gowlt — 

I fan mysel aw wheyte queer : 
" O, Sibby ! " says he, "mey fauts forgie ! 

I'll wrang the' nae mair, I swear ! " 
He kiss'd an coddelt, an mcade me smeyle — 

We meet at markets an fairs, 
His breyde I'll be — sud we neer agree, 

Wey — Deil tek them that cares ! " 

* Gilderoy— a famous robber, said to have robbed Cardinal 
Richelieu. There was a Scotch robber of the same name in the 
reign of Queen Mary. Both were noted for their handsome 
persons, and both were hanged. — Editor. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. -jj 

THE COCKER O' CODBECK. 

Tune — " Patrick's day i' th' morning." 

Ther was ill meanin Jemmy, the Cocker o' Codbeck, 
He follow'd Win Leethet lass, years twee or 
three ; 
She laid in, hed twins, an was suin broken-hearted, 
For wretch-levke, he left her ; an neist off went 
he, 
To Hesket ; for money, a wcyld yen he weddet — 

Suin peer Greacy Leethet was laid in the greave : 
The last words she spak wer, "O God, forgie 
Jemmy ! 
I may rue the day, when he stule raey heart frae 
me I 
Now I's gaun to leave ye, mey innocents seave !" 
Wi' tears, she then kiss'd them ; 
An neybors aw bliss' d them — 
What pity, sweet lasses sud suffer. 



I ne'er can forgit, when the corp cross'd the 
lonnin, 
Amang aul an young, ther was scairce a dry e'e ; 
Aw whop'd she was happy ; but, peer man ! her 
fadder, 
The coffin when cover'd, aw thowt he wad dee ! 
He cried, "I've nae comfort sin I've lost dear 
Greacy ! 
O, that down aseyde her mey heed I could lay ! " 
For Jemmy, de'il bin ! he kens nowt but girt 

crosses, 
He's shunn'd by the lads, an ay hiss'd by the 
lasses — 
What Greacy's ghost haunts him, by neot an by 
day; 

Nae neybor gans near him. 
The bairns tliey aw fear him ; 
An may aw sec fellows still suffer ! 

When liggin in jail he was hated by aw maks, 
An nin iver yence cawt the hav'rel to see, 

He was scworncd by Tom Linton an felons aw 
roun him, 
Nor e'er need he whop agean happy to be ! 



78 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

The twins in the peer-house are healthy an bonny ; 
They meynd aw av Greacy, when on them they 
gaze— 
The Cocker's peer weyfe nowther health shares, nor 
money ; 
She nowther gets sarrad nor pitied by onie, 
Queyte sworry she tuik sec a fellow, she says — 
Adveyce tek, guid lasses ! 
An hate aw sec classes 
That try to mek decent fwok suffer ! 



CANNY AUL CUMMERLAN.* 

Tune — " The Humours of Glen." 

'Twas ae neet last week, wid our wark efter sup- 
per, 

We went owre the geate, cousin Isbel to see : 
Ther was Sibby frae Curthet, an lal Betty Byers, 

Deef Debby, Greace Gill, Bella Bunton, an 
me ; 
We'd scearce begun spinnin when Sib began singin 

A sang brong frae Carel, by their sarvent man ; 
'Twas aw about Cummerlan fwok an feyne pleaces, 

An, if I can think on't, ye's hear hoo it ran. 



Yer buik-larn'd wise gentry, that's seen monie 
a county. 
May wreyte, preach, palaver, an brag as they 
will, 
O' mountains, lakes, vales, rocks, woods, watters, 
rich meedows, 
But canny aul Cummerlan caps them aw still ! 

• There is probably no Ballad in the whole of this collection 
that is more varied in the different editions than this. The 
order of the Stanzas is varied, the words, though synonymous in 
meaning are very varied, and in most editions Stanzas 5 and 7 are 
not found. — Editor. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 79 

We've nae she^Tiin palaces thro' this weyde coonty, 
Nor lofty gran towers to catch the weake eye ; 

But monie aul cassles whoar fught our brave fad- 
ders, 
When Cummerlan cud onie Coonty defy. 



Furst Graystock we'll nwotish, the seat o' greet 
Norfolk, 

A neame true to Freemen an Englishmen dear ! 
Ye Cummerlan fwok, may yer sons an yer gran'sons 

Sec rare honest statesmen for iver revere ! 
Corruption's a sink that may puzzen the country 

An lead aw to slav'ry, to one its queytc plain ; 
But he that hes courage to stem the black tor- 
rent, 

True Britons sud pray for agean an agean. 



We've Corby for rocks, cells, wood, watters de- 
leytefu. 
That Eden a Paradeyse loudly proclaims , 
O that aw greet pleaces hed ay sec guid awners, 
Then monie despis'd mud be prood o' their 
neames ! 
We've Netherby tui, the gran preyde o' the bworder. 

An haws out o' number, hills, valleys, amang : 
We've rivers mair rapid than Tay, Tweed or Yar- 
row, 
An sweet woodbeyne bowers, each wordy a 
sang ! 



Gelt, Leyne, let us neame, whoar deame Nature's 
seen smeylin. 
An hills, rocks, dales, streams, are beheld wi' 
surprise — 
Whate'er man may suffer variety's charmin' 

An nature's gran scenery let nae yen despise ! 
The weyldness ov Winter to aw may pruive pleasin ; 
In Spring, the burds welcome wi' monie a sweet 
tuin ; 
An when onie gaze on smaw primrwose or daisy, 
The luik leads the meynd to the Greet Pow'r 
abuin. 



8o CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Whee that hes climb' d Skiddaw, can neame sec 
a prospec, 
Whoar fells rise ovvre fells, an in majesty vie ? 
Whee that hes seen Keswick, can count hawf it's 
beauties. 
May e'en count wid ease, hawf the stars o' the 
sky ; 
We've UUeswater, Bassenthwet. Wastwatter, Der- 
went, 
That yearly some thoosans aye travel to view ; 
The langer they gaze, still the mair they may won- 
der, 
An wonderin, foriver may fin summet new. 

We sing ov aul Cumbria, let's brag ov her farmers, 
Mair praise-wordy beins' ne'er trod owre the 
lea ! 
They toil tliro' aw seasons yet suffer greet hard- 
sliips. 
For rents just leyke taxes, are noo far owre 
hee : 
Let's bwoast o' their weyves, clean, industrious 
an cheerfu. 
Their bairns iver rearin in decency's ways ; 
O ne'er may their hands be conceal'd frae peer 
beggars. 
For guidness is iver desarvin man's praise ! 

We help yen anudder, we welcome the stranger, 

Oorsels, an oor country we'll iver defend ; 
We pay debts, tithes, taxes, wheniver we're yable, 

An pray, leyke true Britons that wars hed an 
end. 
Than Cumerlan lads, and ye lish rwosy lasses, 

Though some caw ye clownish, ye need'nt think 
shem. 
Be merry and wise ; enjoy innocent pleasures, 

An still seek for peace and contentment at yem ? 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

JEFF AND JOB. 

June — " Fye, gas rub her owre wi' strae." 

JEFF. 

" Come Job, let's talk ov weel-kent-pleaces, 

When young tearin chaps wer we : 
Noo nin er nar us, but fremm'd feaces — 

Few to sevde wi' thee an me ! 
Years ar by-geane twee an twonty, 

Sin I kent thy curly powe — 
Aye the furst at wark an spwortin, 

Wer Jeff Heyn, an Jwosep Howe ! " 

JOB. 

" Ay, Jeff ! we've lang kent yen anudder — 

Monie a teyme when chaps wer croose, 
An meade a brulliment an bodder, 

Jeff an Job hae clear t the hoose ; 
Nin leyke thee cud fling the geavelick ! 

Nin leyke me laikt at fit-baw ; 
Thoo was wi' pennystens a darter, 

T at trippet bangt tem aw. 

JEFF. 

" At dancin Job, I've kickt the ceilin. 

An at lowpin aw cud bang ; 
At russlin thoo ne'er hed a marrow, 

Aa ! leyke bairns, the chaps thoo flang, 
I wan't fut-reace, tweyce at Carel ; 

Thoo wan saddles at King-muir ; 
But the best was, when we'd money 

Ne'er unsarrad went the puir ! " 

JOB. 

" Then Jeii, I meynd at your kurn-supper 

When I furst .seed Elsy Greamc, 
I cuddent eat, mcy heart it lluttert — 

Lang T(jm I^ylle watch'd us heame, 
We wer young an beatli n\ felllc, 

He wad (eght, we e'en .set tui ; 
In the ciarly .seugli I .sent him — 

Elsy skurl'd — what cud she dui : " 



«a CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



JEFF. 

" An Job, when met at Cursmess cairdins. 

Few durst laik wi' thee an me ; 
When we'd hackt the lads aw roun us. 

Off to til' lasses' lot went we ; 
The ass-buird sarrad for a teable, 

Legs anondert claes wer laid ; 
Forby weyld laughin, kissin, jwokin, 

Monie a harmless prank we play'd." 

lOB. 

" Now Jeff, we pay fer youthfu' follies — 

Aw our happy days ar geane ; 
Too's turnt grousome, bare an dozent — 

I's just worn to skin an beane ! 
What, maister's comin in a flurry — 

Sarvents aye sud meyn their wark ; 
I mun off to deeting havver — 

Fares- te-weel, 'till efter dark ! " 



TIB AND HER MAISTER. 

To an old Scotch Tune. 



" I's tir'd wi' liggin aw mey leane ; 

This day seems fair an clear ; 
Seek t' aul grey yad, clap on the pad. 

She's duin nae wark te year : 
Furst Tib, git me mey best lin sark, 
Mey wig, an new-greas'd shoon ; 
Mey three-nuikt hat an mittens wheyte ; 
I'll hev a young weyfe suin ! 
A young weyfe fer me, Tib ! 

A young weyfe fer me ! 
She'll scart mey back whene'er it yacks. 
Sae, marriet I mun be ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 83 



" Wey, maister ! ye're hawf bliii an deef— 

The rain comes pourin doon : — 
Yer best lin sark wants beath the laps, 

Yer three-nuikt hat the croon ; 
The rattens eat yer clouted shoon ; 

The yad's unshod an leame ; 
Ye're bent wi' yage leyke onie bow, 
Sae sit content at heanie ! 
A young weyfe fer ye, man ? 

A young weyfe fer ye ? 
They'll rank ye wi' the whomed nowt 
Until the day ye dee." 

M.^ISTER. 

" O Tib ! thou aye talks leyke a full ! 

I's feal'd, but nit sae aul ; 
A young weyfe keeps yen warm i' bed. 

When neets er lang,' an caul : 
I've brass far mair nor I can coont. 

An naigs, an sheep an kye — 
A house luiks howe widoot a weyfe — 
Mey luck I'll e'en gae try ! 
A young weyfe fer me, Tib ! 

A young weyfe fer me ! 
I yet can lift twee pecks o' wots. 
The turn'd ov eighty-three ! " 

TIB. 

" Wey maister, ye mun ha'e yer way, 

An sin it sae mun be, 
I's lish an young, an stout an Strang — 

Now what think ye ov me ? 
I'll keep ye teydey, warm an clean. 

To wrang ye I wad scworn." 

MAISTER. 

" Tib ! gi'es thy han ! a bargin be't — 
We'll off to kurk to-mworu ! 
A young weyfe fer me, Tib ! 
Thoo was meatlc fer me ! 
We'll kiss an coddle aw llie ncet — 
Aw day we'll happy be I, 



84 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

JWOHNNY AND MARY. 

Tune — " Come under my plaidie." 

Young Mary was bonny an cheerfu as onie lass, 
Young Jwohnny was lusty, an weel to be seen ; 
Young Mary was aye the best dancer at murry- 
neets. 
Young Jwohnny had won monie a belt on the 
green : 
Some years they wer sweethearts, an nwotish'd 
by neybors ; 
Th' aul fwok wad bwoast o' the pair wi' greet 
glee, 
Still Jwohnny thowt nin o' the warl leyke young 
Mary, 
An Mary thowt Jwohnny aw she wish'd to see. 



A swop of guid yell pruives a peer body's com 
fort, 
But woe be to him, that drinks till blin fou ; 
Young Jwohnny ae day off wi' bigg to the market, 
An drank wid some strangers, but leytle dreemt 
how. 
His aul fadder watch'd till the black hour o' mid- 
neet, 
Widowt his dear Jwohnny the naig gallop'd 
heame. 
They sought an' they fan him that mwornin i' 
Eden, 
Amang the green busses that nod ouTe the stream. 



Oh ! sad was the fadder, relations an Mary, 

The cwose-house was crowdet by beath aul an 
young ; 
Nowt pass'd at the burryin but sorrow an weepin, 
The greave-digger seeght when the yerth doon 
he flung. 
The parson luikt dull when he read owre the sar- 
vice, 
Fwok aw say he niver was seen sae afwore. 
An ippitaph noo our larn'd schuil-maister's written. 
Yen better nae heed-stean in Englan e'er wore ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 85 

Aul Gibby he gowls, an aye talks ov lost Jwohnny. 
An sits on his greave an oft meks a sad meane ; 
Young Mary, the flow'r ov aw flow'rs i' the parish, 
Ne'er hods up her head sin dear Jwohnny is 
geane. 
The dangerous yell-house kills nionie guid fel- 
lows, 
Owre oft lur'd by gamlin, or weyld wicked 
sang — 
At fair or at market, young lads when theer 
seated. 
Remember peer Jwohnny, whee that day did 
wrang. 

THE CLAY DAUBIN.* 

Tune — " Andrew Carr." 

We went owre to Deavie's Clay Daubin, 

An faith a rare caper we had 
Wi'd eatin, an drinkin. an dancin, 

An rwoarin, an singin, leyke mad ; 
Wi'd laughin, an jwokin, an braggin. 

An fratchin, an feghtin, an aw ; 
Sec glorious fun an divarsion 
Was ne'er seen in castle or haw. 
Sing hey fer a snug clay-biggin. 

An lasses that leyke a bit spwort ! 
Wi' guid lads an plenty to gi' them, 

We'll laugh at King Gworge an his court. 

The waws wer aw finisht er darknin, 

Now, greypes, shouls, an barrows, flung by, 
Aul Deavie rwoart oot wid a hursle, 

" Od-rabbit-it ! lads, ye'U be dry — 
See deame, if we've got a swop whuskey, 

I's sworry the rum bottle's duin ! 
We'll starken oor keytes, I'll upod us — 

Come Adams, rusp up a lal tune ! " 

Sing hey, &c. 

• In the North :iiitl E.r,t of Cumberland the Cottages were 
usually built of clay, inttrsptrscd with layers of straw. It was 
necessary for the proper consolidation of the fabric th.it the 
whole of it should be built in one day. Ilcncc there was a very 
general gathering of the neighbours to assist in svich erection, and 
after the edifice was completed the day was concluded with fes- 
tivities including music and dancing. — Editor. 



86 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



When Bill kittelt up " Chips an Shevins," 

Avil Philip pou'd oot Matty Meer, 
Then nattelt his heels like a youngen, 

An caper t about the clay-fleer ; 
He deeted his gob an he busst her, 

As lish as a lad ov sixteen ; 
Cries Wull, " Od-dy ! ladder's in fettle ! 

His marrow '11 niver be seen ! " 

Sing hey, &c. 



Reet sair dud we miss Jemmy Cowplan, 

Bad crops, silly man, meade him feale ! 
Last Sunday fworenuin efter sarvice, 

r th' kurk-garth the dark caw't his seale. 
Peer Jemmy ! ov aw his bit oddments 

A shettle the bealies hae taen. 
An now he's reet fain ov a darrak, 

Fer pan, dish, or spuin he hes neane. 

Sing hey, &c. 



Wi' scons, Ledder-hungry, an whuskey, 

Aul Aggy cried, " Meake way fer me ! 
Ye men fwok eat, drink, an be murry, 

Wheyle we i' the bower git tea ! " 
The whillymer eat teugh an teasty. 

Aw ramm'd fou o' grey pez an seeds ; 
They row'd it up teane agean tudder — 

Nee denties the hungry man needs ! 

Sing hey, &c. 



Noo in com the women fwok buncin — 

Widoot them, theer's niver nae fun ; 
Wi' whusky aw weeted their wizzens. 

But suin a sad hay-bay begun ; 
For Jock the young laird, was new-weddet ; 

His aul sweetheart Jenny, luikt wae ; 
Wheyle some wer aw titt'rin an flyrin. 

The lads rubb'd her doon wi' pez-strae. 

Sing hey, &c. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 87 



Rob Lowson tuik part vA' peer Jenny, 
An brong snift'rin Gwordie a cluff : 
I' th' scufflf they learnt Lowson's mudder, 

An fain they'd ha'e stripp'd into buff : 
Neest Peter caw'd Gibby a rebel. 

An aw rwoart at that was queyte \vrang ! 
Cried Deavie, " Sheakc bans, an nee mair on't — 
I's lilt ye a bit ov a ?ang." 

Sing hey, &c. 

He mted " The King an the Tinker," 

An WuUy strack up " Robin Hood '' , 
Dick Mingins sang " Hooly an Fairly," 

An Martha " The Babs o' the Wood " ; 
Thev push't roun a glass leyke a noggin. 
An boddomt the grev-beard complete ; 
Then crack'd till the muin glowT't amang them, 
An wish'd yen anudder guid-neeght. 
Sing hev fer a snug clay-biggin, 

An lasses that leyke a bit spwort ! 
\Vi' guid lads an plenty to gi' them, 

We'll laugh at King Gworge an hi? court. 



THE FELLOWS ROUN TORKIN.* 
Tune — " Drops of Brandy." 

" We're aw feync fellows roon Torkin ; 

We're aw guif) fellows weel met ; 
We're aw wet fellow? roun Torkin, 

Sae, faikins. we mun hev a swet ! 
Let's drink to the lasses aboot us. 

Till day's braid glare bid^ us start , 
W^'U sup till the sailer be empty — 

Come, Dicky lad, boddom th? whart ! " 

• A wood covered hill, near Croftori Hall, in Cumberland. 



88 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" I'll gie ye " says Dick, " Durty Dinah, 

That's ay big wi bairn, fwok suppwose ; 
She thursts out her lip leyke a pentes, 

To kep what may drop frev her nwose : 
Leyke a hay-stack she hoists up ae shouder 

An scarts, fer she's nit varra soun : 
Wi legs thick as mill-pwosts, an greasy — 

The deevil cud uit ding her doon ! ' 

" We're aw odd fe'lows roun Torkin , 

We're aw larn'd fellows weel met ; 
V/e're aw rich fellows roon Torkin, 

Sac faikins, we mun hev a swet ! 
Let's drink to the lasses aboot us, 

Till day'"- braid glare bids us pari : 
We'll sup till the sailer be empty — 

Come, Matthew lad, boddora the whart ! ' 



" T'li gi'e ye," says Mat, " Midden Marget, 

That squints wi' the left-handet e'e 
When at other fellows she's gleymin, 

I's freetent she's luikin at me : 
She smells far strangei nor can ion. 

Her cheeks or as dark as hnng-beef, 
Her breart is as flat as a back-buird — 

'Mang sluts she's aye countet the chief 1 

" We're aw wise fellows roon Torkin ; 

We're aw neyce fellows weel met ; 
We're aw sad fdlows roon Torkin, 

Sae. faikins. we mun hev a swet ! 
Let's drink to the lasses aboot us. 

Till day's braid glare bids us start ; 
We'll sup till the sailer be empty — 

Come, Gabrel iad, boddom the whart ! '' 



" T'H gi'e ye," says Gabe, " Gcaj.in Grizzy 

\M' girt feet an marrowless legs ; 
Her reed neb wad set fire to brunston ; 

Her een er as big as duck eggs, 
She's shept leyk a sweyne i' the middle. 

Her skin's freckl'd aw leyke a gleid ; 
Her mooth's weyde as onie toon yubbem — 

We're aw flay'd she'll swally her heed ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 89 

■" We're aw Strang fellows roon Torkin ; 

We're aw lish fellows weel met ; 
We're aw top fellows roun Torkin, 

Sae faikins, we man hev a swet ! 
Let's diink to the lasses about us, 

Till d. .'•'» braid glare bids us part ; 
We'll sup till the sailer be empty — 

Come, WiiUy lad. boddora the whart ! 



" I'll gi'e ye," says Wiill, " Winkin Winny, 

That measures exact three feet eight ; 
Wi' roun-shouder Ruth an Tall Tibby, 

She'll scart, an she'll gnrn an she'll feght 
She's cruikt as an S, wid ae hip oot. 

Her feet fla'., an braid as big fluiks ; 
Her feace lang as onie bass fiddle 

An aw splattert owre wi' red pluiks ! " 



" We're aw young fellows roun Torkin ; 

We're aw teeght fellows weel met : 
We're aw brave fellows roon Torkin, 

Sae faikins, we mun hev a swet ! 
Let's drink to the lasses aboot us 

Till day's braid glare bids us start : 
We'll sup till the seller be empty — 

Come, Mwosey lad, boddom the whart ! " 

" I'll gi'e ye," says Mwose, " Mantin Matty, 

That lisps thro her black rotten teeth ; 
You can't catch five words in ten minutes : 

If gowlin, she'd flay ven to deeth : 
Her feace leyke nul Nick's nutmeg-grater, 

Her yallow ncrl< bitten wi' fleas : 
Shu's iroulil'd wi' win av at meale-teymes, 

An belshes to give hersrl ease ! " 

" We're aw cute fellows roon Torkin ; 

We're aw sharp fellows weel met ; 
We're aw rare fellows, roon Torkin, 

Sae, (aikins. wc mun hev a swet : 
I>^t's drink to the l'isse3 abocjt us, 

Til! dav':- braid glare bids us pari ; 
V p'll .lUp til' the sailei be empty — 

Come, Nathan lad, boddom the whart 1 " 



90 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" I'll gi'e ye," says Nat, " Noisy Nanny, 

Shag-bacco she chews monie a pun ; 
She cocks her belly when walkin. 

An ay liiiks doon to the grun ; 
She tawks beath sleepin an wakin. 

An crowks leyke a teade, when she speaks ; 
On her nwose-en the hair grows leyke stibble. 

An gravey drops run owre her cheeks ! " 



" We're aw tengh fellows roon Torkin ; 

We're aw rash fellows weel met ; 
We're aw queer fellows roun Torkin, 

Sae laikins, we mun hev a swet ! 
Let's drink to the lang, leame an lazy, 

Deef, dum, black, brown, bleer-e'ed an blin, 
May they suin be weel weddet an beddet. 

If lads thev can onie wheer fin 1 " 



THE DAWSTON PLAYER-FWOK. 

Tune — " Deny Down." 

Come, stur the fire Shadric ! an lissen to me ; 
I went owre to Dawston their Play-fwok to see, 
I paid mey cruikt tizzy an gat a front seat ; 
Leyke three in a bed, they wer just wedg'd that 
neet. 

Derry Down, &c. 



Furst, the ban on their hoyboys an peypes, did 

sae cruin, 
Tho' they blew sair an oft, it aye seem't the seame 

tuin : 
Aw was famish confusion ! — but when they began, 
Lack-a-day ! the Fair Penitent pruiv'd but a man 1 

Derry Down, &c. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 91 



When they chinkt a lal bell ther was yen summet 

spak, 
But he hung doon his noddle, an held up his 

back ; 
Then a picture caw'd Garrick, abuin the stage 

stuid, 
I thowt it yence laught ; an, mey faith, weel it 

mud ! 

Derry Down, &c. 



Like a hawf-wheyte-wesht sweep, yen Orashi* 

bunc'd in, 
An he tweyn'd leyke an edder, an cockt up his 

chin ; 
In his yallow plush breeks an lang black rusty 

sword, 
Wid his square gob weyde oppem — thowt I, what 

a Lword ! 

Derry Down, &c. 



He was drucken, that's sarten ! he cudden't git 

on ! 
" Loavins ! " " cried an aul woman ! " Wey, that's 

Rutson' Jwohn ! 
Mess, but he's a darter ! " "a topper!" says 1, 
" Was he doon in a meedow he'd flay aw the 

kye ! " 

Derry Down, &c. 



In bonny flow'r'd weascwot an full-bottomt wig, 
Aul Siholto he squcek'd leyke a stuck guinea 

pi« ; 

Then his dowter he fratch'd, an her sweetheart 

forby — 
Aa, man ! it was movin, an mcade the bairns 

cry. 

Derry Down, &c. 

• The manner in which they pronci'nccd the diflereiit 
names. 



92 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Yen whispert me softly, " That's Clogger Jwohn 
Bell ! " 

Says I, " Leyke eneugli ! of that chap I've hard 
tell ! " 

Noo a tweesome tawk'd lood, but nit varra dis- 
creet, 

For they jiromis' twee whoors afwore nuin they 
wad meet. 

Derry Down, &c. 



Frae tae fit to tudder, Lothari neest hopp'd 

Leyke clock-wark ; his words tui, how neycely 

he chopp'd — 
Peer body ! He waddent lig whiet when deed, 
Sae they e'en luggt him out by the heels an the 

heed. 

Derry Down, &c. 



Ther was yen wid a weast thick as onie barl-kurn, 

He pou'd up his pettikits, gev a weyld gurn, 

An luikt, as to say, " Weya, what think ye ov 

me ? " 
A lass spak the truth, "It was shockin to see." 

Derry Down, &c. 



Neest a cliver lish chap wid his feyne reed-leed 

cheeks. 
Blew his nwose wid his fingers, an hotch'd up 

his breeks ; 
Then he tuik a fresh chewe an the aul yen flang 

oot. 
An then rwoar'd " Dui be whiet ! what's aw this 

aboot ? " 

Derry Down, &c. 



The schuilmaister, gager, an twee or three mair 
Hed seen Mister Punch play his pranks at a fair ; 
Efter fratchin, an thrccpin, at last, at the Bell 
'Twas agreed nit e'en Punch cud thur heroes 
excel ! 

Derrv Down, &c 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 93 



Sec struttin an wheynin may please dwoatin 

fuils, 
Or rough-heeded fellows just driv'u off to schuils ; 
But if e'er thoo hed dreamt o' sec actin, greet 

RowE ; 
Thoo'd ne'er thowt worth wheyle to hae written 

at aw. 

Derry Down, &c. 

Stop — Doon i' the parlour when actin was duin, 
I sang " Bleckell Murry Neet " nobbet a cruin ; 
Sae pleas'd was the Clogger, he shuik hans wi' 

me, 
Clapt mey shoulder an cawt in crown-bools, twee 

or three, 

Derry Down, &c. 

Ye wise men o' Dawston, stick clwose till yer 

wark ; 
Sit at heame wi' yer weyves an yer bairns efter 

dark ; 
To be caw'd kmgs an heroes is plea.'^in, indeed ; 
But afwore ye turn Player-iwok, furst lam to 

read ! 

Derry Down. &c. 



OUR JWOHNNY. 

Tune — " Lillibulero." 

Oor Jwohnny's just chang'd tuU a parfit atomy, 
Nowther works, eats, drinks, or sleeps as he 
sud ; 
He seeglis in a ni-.ik, an fin" faut wid his poddish, 
An luiks leyke a deyl'd body spoil'd fer aw 
guid : 
He reaves in his sleep, an reads bviiks o' luive 
letters, 
Ae turn cftcr dark, nay, lic'll nit dui at aw ! 
But nobbet last neet I detarmin'd to watch him, 
An suin wid his sweetheart, oor Jwohnny I 
saw. 



94 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

I cow'r'd mey ways doon, just ahint oor young 

eshes, 
An by com the tweesome — he seem'd nit the 

seamc ; 
They laught, kisst an cuttert, newt bad pass'd 
atween them ; 
I seed what I wantet an sae crap off heame ; 
Oor lanlword' lass, Letty, his heart hes in keepin, 
To be seer she's a sarvent, but weel to be seen ; 
She's hsh. young an bonny ; an honest as onie — 
In hard workin poverty, ther's nowt that's 
mean ! 



The fadder o Jwohnny was mey tellow-sarvent ; 

God rest him ! his marrow I'se neer to see mair 1 
Aul Matthew hed gear an he foUow'd me daily, 

An cut me a lock ov his grey grizzl'd hair. 
Hed T wedded Matthew, I'd noo been a leady. 

But fourscwore, an twonty, can seldom agree — 
Dor Jwohnny may e'en try his luck an git wed- 
det. 

Stock, crop, aw I's worth, they sal then hae 
frae me ! 



KING ROGER. 
Tune — " Hallow Fair." 

" 'Twas but tudder neet, efter darknin, 

We sat owre a bleezing turf fire ; 
Oor deame she was sturrin a cow-drink, 

Oor Betty milk'd kye in the byre : 
" Aa, fadder ! " cried out oor leyle Roger, 

I wish T wer nobbet a king ! " 
" Wey, what wad te dni says I, Roger ? 

Suppwose thoo cud tek thy full swing ? 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 95 

" Furst, you sud be Iword judge, an bishop — 

Mey muddev sud hev a gold crutch — 
I'd build fer the peer fwok feyne houses, 

An gie them — ay, iver sac much ! 
Oor Betty sud wed Charley Miggins, 

An weer her stampt gown iv'ry day ; 
Sec dancin we'd hev i' the cock-loft* — 

Bill Adams the fiddler sud play." 

" A posset I'd teake to mey breakfast. 

An sup wid a bonny whom spuin ; 
For dinner, I'd hev a fat crowdy ; 

An Strang tea, at mid efternuin : 
I'd weer neyce wheyte cottinet stockins ; 

An new gambaleery clean shoes, 
Wi' jimp lively-black fustin breeches — 

Ay ! iv'ry feyne thing I cud choose. 

" I'd build monie thoosans o' shippin, 

To sail aw the weyde warl aboot ; 
I'd say to mey sowdgers, " Gang owre seas ! 

An kill the French dogs, oot an oot ! " 
On oor lang-tail'd naig, I'd keep reydin, 

Mey footmen in silver an green ; 
An when I'd seen aw foreign countries, 

I'd mek Aggy Glaister mey queen. 

" Oor meedow sud be a feyne worchet, 

An grow nowt but churries an plums — 
A schuil-house I'd build — .\s fer maister. 

We'd oft hing him up by the thunis I 
Joss Feddon sud be mey heed huntsman ; 

We'd keep tharty couple ov dogs. 
An kills aw the hares i' the kingdom — 

Mey mudder sud weer siller clogs ! 

" Then Cursmas sud last — ay, for iver ! 

An Sundays we'd hev tweyce a week ; 
The muin sufI gie leet aw the winter ; 

Oor cat and oor cwoley sud speak ; 
Peer fwok sud aw Iccve widoot wurkin, 

,\n feed on pyes, puddin an beef ; 
Then aw wad be happy fer sartcn — 

Ther nowther cud be rwogue or thief I" 

•Cock loft. The attics in Cumbcrl.ind Farm Houses were 
formerly so called as being out »f the way places in wbicli Cocirt 
were trained for battle.— liditor. 



96 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Non, thus ran on leytel King Roger, 

But suin aw his happiness fled ; 
A spark trae the fire brunt his tnockle, 

An off he crap whingin to bed' 
Thus fares it wi' beath young an aul fwok, 

Frae kings to the beggars, we see ; 
Just cross us when in fancied greetness. 

An peer wTetched creeters are we ! 



KITT CRAFFET. 

Tune — " Come under my plaidie." 

Isaac Crosset ov Shawk, a feyne heed-stan hes 
cutten, 
An just setten't up owre anent the kurk en ; 
A chubby-feac'd angel o' top on't they've put- 
ten, 
An varses as gud as e'er com frev a pen : 
It's fer anl Kitt Craffet, our wordy wise neybor ; 

God rest him ! a better man ne'er wore a heed ! 
He's nit left his marrow thro' aw the heale coon- 

*y' 

An monie peer fwok are in want noo he's deed I 



I meynd when at schuil, a top scholar was he ; 

Ov lakin or rampin nae nwotion hed he ; 
But nar the aul thworn he wad sit an keep 
mwosin. 

An caw'd it a sin just to kill a peer flee : 
A penny he ne'er let rest lang in his pocket, 

But gev't to the furst beggar body he met ; 
Then at kurk he cud follow the priest thro' the 
sarvice ; 

An as fer a tribble he niver was bet ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 97 

Tho' he wan seebem belts lang afwore he was 
twenty, 
An i' Scaleby meadow tuk off the fit baw ; 
Yet he kent aw the Beyble, Algebra, Josephus : 

An cap't the priest, maister, exciseman an aw : 
He cud talk aboot battles, balloons, burning-moun- 
tains, 
An wars, till beath young an aul trimmelt fer 
fear, 
Then he'd tell hoo they us'd the puir West Indy 
neegers, 
An stamp wid his fit, ay, an cause monie a tear. 



Oor schuilfellow, Downey, that ne'er felt for onie, 

Sail'd owre seas to Guinea an dealt in puir 
slaves ; 
OwTe rich he com heame, caw'd on Kit, gat a 
lecture — 

" I wish aw leyke thee wer flung into the waves 1 
I deal in naigs, kye, fer the guid ov my coontry ; 

An welcome ilk mortal that freedom hods dear ! 
I cud thropple aw monsters that sell fellow -creeters ! 

An suiner the deevil this day hed caw'd here ! " 



When he read aboot parliments, pleaces, an pen- 
sions, 
He fliang by the paper, an cried, " Silly stuff ! 
The OoTS wad be in, and the Ins rob their coon- 
try. 
They're nit aw togidder worth ae pinch o' snuff ! " 
His creed was, be statesmen but just, Britons 
loyal. 
As lang as our sailors reyde maisters at sea, 
We'll laugh at the threetnias ov vain Bonny- 
party 
An suin may he conquer the deevil as we". 



Then when onie neybor was fash'd by base tur- 
neys. 

It mtade him aye happy, if he cud be bail ! 
Twee thnrds ov his income he gev away yearly. 

An actually tuik peer Tom Linton frae jail. 



98 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

He was yence cross'd in luive by a guid-fer-nowt 
hnssy, 
But if onie lass by her sweetheart was wrang'd, 
He wad gie her guid coonse!, an lecture the fellow, 
An oft did he wish aw sec skeybels wer hang'd. 



He cud mek pills an plaisters as wool as cor doctor, 

An cure cholic, aga, an jaunicc forby ; 
As fer greece, or the glanders, reed-watter, or 
fellen, 
Nin o' them wa>5 leyke him amang naigs or kye : 
What, he talk'd to oor Bishop aboot agriculture ; 
An yence went to Plymouth to see the gran 
fleet ; 
As fer sailors, he sed, when dragg'd off by the 
priss-gang, 
" Sec deeds pruive a curse, an can niver be reet ! " 



He'd lost aw bis kinsfowk, exceptin three coosins ; 
Noo ilk 3'en sits doon worth twee hundert a 
year — 
He built a new schuil-house, ay, just leyke a 
chapel. 
An larnin noo costs nit ae plack to oor puir : 
His tuithless aul sarvent, what he left her plenty, 
An whopt some guid fellow wad yet change 
her neame, 
Frae mwornin to neet he sarved puir helpless 
bodies — 
O, that ivry rich man wad aye dui the seame ! 



He ne'er was a drinker, a sweerer, a lear, 

A cocker, a gamier, a fop or a full ; 
He left this sad warl just at three scwore an 
seebem, 
T' the clay house his granfadder built wi' the 
schuil. 
Oh ! monie a sad tear wuU be shed ivry Sun- 
day 
When readin the varses they've cut on his 
steane ! 
'Till watters run up-bank an trees aw grow doon- 
bank, 
We niver can luik on his marrow ageane ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 99 

ELIZABETH'S BURTH-DAY. 
Tune — " Lillihtdero." 

JENNY. 

*'Aa, Wulliam ! necst Monday's Elizabeth's burth- 
day ! 
She is a neyce lass e'en hed she nit been meyne ! 
We miin ax the Miss Dowsons, an aul Brodie's 
dowters — 
I wish I'd but seav'd a swop geuseberry weyne. 
She'll be sebeniteen — what she's got thro' her 
larnin ; 
She dances as I dud when furst I kent thee — 
As fer Tom her cruik't billy, he stumps leyke 
a cwoach-liorse — 
We'll iie'cr mek a man on him aw we can dee." 



" Hut, Jen ! hod the tongue o' thee ! praise nae 
sec varnien ! 
She won't men' a sark but reads novels, proud 
brat ! 
She dance ! what, she turns in her taes, leyke her 
mudder — 
Caw her Het, 'twas the neame her aul gran- 
mudder ga:. 
Young Tommy fer mey money, he reads his beyble. 

An hes sec a lovinly .squint wid his een ; 
He sheps as leyke me. as ne bean's leyke anudder ; 
She snurls up her neb, just a shem to be seen ! " 

JENNY. 

" Shaf ! Wull, min, that's fashion ; thoo kens 
nowt aV)oot it ; 
She's streyt as a rosh, an is reed as a rwose, 
She's sharp as a needle, an smart as a leady — 

Thoo talko, min ! a lass cannot mek her awn 
nwfjse ! 
She's dihcate meade, fit fer town or the coontry ; 
For Tom. he's tnock-tnee'd, wi' twee girt ciss- 
buird feet ; 
Go<l help them he sheps leyke ! they've leytle to 
brag on ; 
Tho' <j<jrs, I've oft thowt he was nit varra reel." 



loo CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



WULLIAM. 

" O. Jen ! thoo's run mad vvi' preyde, gossips an 
trump'ry : — 
Oor cattle, house, Ian we mun sel, I declare : 
Thoo yence seemt an angel — thoo's now turnt 
a deevil, 
Keeps teasin me daily, an causes much care ; 
This fashion an feastin brings monie to ruin, 

A room o' mey hoose they sail niver come 
in ; 
As fer Bet, if she dunnet just leeve leyke a sar- 
vent, 
I'll alter mey will an nit leave her a pin ; " 



JENNY. 

" Stop, Wull ! whee was't brong thee a fortune, 
puir gomas •* 
Just thurteen guid yacros as lig to the sun ; 
When I tuik on wi' thee, I'd lost rich Gwordy 
Glossop — 
I've rued sin the hoor to the kurk when we 
run : 
Wer thoo cauld an cofifin'd, I'd suin git a better ; 
Sae creep up to bed, nit ae word let us hear ! 
They's come, if God spare us, far mair ner I 

nwotish'd — 
Elizabeth's burth-day but comes yence a-ycar 1 " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. loi 

BORROWDALE JWOHNNY. 

Tune — By the Author. 

I's Borrowdale Jwohnny, just cumt up to Lun- 
non — 
Nay, girn nit at me. fer fear I laugh at you : 
I've seen kneaves donn'd in silks, an guid men 
gang in tatters — 
The truth we sud tell, an gie aul Nick his 
due. 
Nan Watt pruiv'd wi' bairn, what ! they cawt 
me the f adder ; 
Thinks I, shekhiim filthy ! be ofiE in a treyce ! 
Nine Carel bank nwotes mudder slipt i' mey poc- 
ket. 
An fadder neest gae me reet halesome adveyce. 



Says he, " Keep free t' lasses, an ne'er hiik ahint 
thee ! " 
" We're deep as the best o' them, fadder," sa\ -> I , 
They packt up ae sark, Sunday weascwot, twee 
neckleths, 
Wot bannick, caiid dumplin an top stannin 
pie : 
I mountet black filly, bade God bliss the aul fwok, 
Says fadder, '' Thoo's lam'd, Jwohn, an has 
nowt to fear ; 
Caw an see coosin Jacep, he's got aw the money ; 
He'll git thee some guvverment pleace, to be 
seer ! 



I stopp'd on a fell, tuik a lang luik at Skiddaw, 

An neest at the schuil-hou .e amang the esh 
trees ; 
Last thing saw the smuik rusin up frae oor chira- 
ley, 
An fan aw wheyte queer, wid a heart ill at ease : 
But summet widin me cried, " Pou up thy spirits ! 

Ther's luck, says aul Lizzy, in feacing the sun ; 
Thoo's young, lish, an Oliver, may wed a feyue 
Icady, 
An corne heamc a Nabob, ay sure as a gun I " 



102 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Tnowin manners, what, 1 doff't my hat to aw 
strangers, 
Wid ix spur on ae heel, an yek siplin in han ; 
It tnik me nine days an six hours coniin up-bank, 
At the IVhorns — ay, 'twas Highget, a chap bade 
me Stan : 
Says he, " How's all friends in the North, honest 
Jwohnny ? " 
" Odswunters ! " I says, " what, ye divvent ken 
me ! " 
I paid twee wheyte shillin', an fain was to see liim, 
Nit thinkin on t'rwoad onie 'quaintance to see. 

Neest thing, what big kurks, gilded cwoaches, 
hee houses. 
An fwok runnin thro' other, leyke Carel Fair ; 
1 axt a smart chap, whoar to fin coosin Jacep 

Says he ! " Clown, go look ' ' " Frien," says I, 
" tell me whoar ? " 
Faddor's letter to Jacep hed got nae subscription. 

Sac, when 1 was glowrin an siz'lin aboot, 
A wheyte-feac'd young lass, aw dess'd out leyke 
a leady, 
Cried, " Pray, Sir, step in ! " but 1 wish I'd 
keept oot. 

She pou'd at a bell, leyke oor kurk-bell it soon- 
det. 
In comt sarveut lass, an she wordert some 
weyne : 
Says 1, " I's nit dry : sae, pray. Madam, excuse 
me ! " 

Nay what she insisted I sud stop an deyne^ 
She meade varra free, 'twas a shem an a byzen ! 
I thowt her in lui\e wi' my parson, for sure ! 
An promis'd to caw agean : — as fer black filly, 

War! onie believ't ? — She was stown frae the 
duir ! 

Od dang't ! war ner that, when I greapt my breek 

pocket, 
I fan fadder's watch an the nwotes wer aw 

geane. 
'Twas neet, an I luikt lang an sair fer kent feaces, 
!TBut Borrowdale fwok I cud niver see neanc : 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



103 



I sleept on the Hags just ahint a knrk corner, 
A chap wid a put stick an lantern com bv, 

He cawt me peace brekker, say?- I, " Thoo's a lear 
In a pleace Ityke a sailer, he fworc'd me to lie. 



Nae caff bed er blankets fer silly pilgarlic — 

Deil a wink cud I ^^leep, nay ner yet see a steyme ; 
Neest day I was tacn to the Narrashen Offish, 

When a man in a wij^ sed I'd duin .1 sad creyme ! 
Then yen axt my neame, an he pat on his speck- 
ets, 
Says I, " Jwohnny Cruikdeyke — I's Borrowdale 
bworn ! " 
Whee think ye it pruiv'd, but mey awn coosin 
Jacep — 
He seav'd me frae t'gallows, ay, that varra 
rawom ! 



He spak to my Lword. some hard words queyte 
ootlandish, 

Then cawt fer his cwoach, an away we raid 
heame ; 
He axt varra keynd efter fadder an mudder, 

I sed they were bravely, an neesl saw his deame : 
She's aw puff an ponder ! as fer coosin Jacep, 

He's got owre much gear to teake nwotisho' me. 
Noo if onie amang ye sud want a lish sarvent, 

Just bid me a weage — I'll uphod ye, we's agree! 



104 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

LANG SEYNE. 
Tune — " Johnny's grey hreeks." 

The last new shoon oor Betty gat 

Thev pincht her feet, bat cleil may care ! 
What, she mun hao them leady-leyke 

Tho' she hes cworns fer ivermair : 
Nae black gairn stockins wviU she wear, 

They mun be wheyte, an cotton feyne ; 
This meakes me think ov udder teymes, 

The happy days ov aul lang-seyne ! 

Oor dowter, Jen, a palles* l)owt, 

A guid reed clwoak she wunnet wear ; 

An stavs, she says, spoils leadies' sheps 

O, it wad mek a parson sweer ; 

Nit ae han's turn ov wark she'll dui, 

Nay nowther milk, nor sarra t'sweyne — 

Oor coontry's puzzen'd roond wi' preyde, 
For lasses workt reet hard lang-seyne ! 

We've three guid rooms in oor clay-hoose. 

Just big enough fer sec as we ; 
They'd hev a parlour built ov bricks — 

I mud submit — what cud I dee ? 
The sattle nee?t was thrown aseyde ; 

It meeght hae sarrad me an meyne ! 
Mey mudder thowt it mens'd a house — 

But we think shem ov aul lang seyne ! 

We us'd to gang to bed at dark, 

An ruse ageane at fower er five ; 
The mworu's the only teyme fer wark 

If fwok er hilthy an wad thrive : 
Noo up we rise, — nay, God kens when ! 

An nuin's owre suin fer v.s to deyne ; 
I's hungrv or the pot's hawf-boil'd, 

An wish fer teymes leyke aul lang seyne. 

Mev deam° hes bowt n green silk veil ; 

When wi' the dowters, seyde bv seyde 
To kur.c they strut, it meks yen laugh — 

Owre monie gang thro' nowt but preyde ! 
Oor bcyble noo is seldom seen 

In onie hans exceptin meyno : 
Thar bits ov novels prood thev read, 

That mock the days of aul lang-seyne ! 

• Palles or palace— pelisse— a furred robe. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 105 



We us'd to reyde in oor blue car, 

Then monie a happy day hed I ; 
But fashion flings aseyde content — 

A gig mey deame wants me to buy : 
If e'er a gig* oor meer sal draw, 

Smaw beer mun suin gie way to weyne ; 
I's tir'd ov aw thar useless ways. 

An wish I'd nobbet leev'd laug-seyne ; 

I meynd when peer fwok far'd reet weel. 

An scearcc a beggar onie saw, 
Noo, thousans wander oot o' wark — 

What, levfe oft pruivcs a scene ov woe : 
The tradesmen brek, day efter day, 

Are flung in jail to starve an peyne, 
This preyde brings monie to decay — 

What happier days aw kent laug-seyne ! 

Deuce tek the fuil-invcnted tea ! 

For tweyce a-day we that mun hev. 
'1 hen taxes run sae' monstrous hee, 

The deil a plack yen noo can seave ! 
Ther's been nae luck throughoot the Ian, 

bin fwok wad leyke their betters sheyne 
French fasUiuns. mck us parfet fuils — 

We're calt an san to aul lang-seyne : 



THE AUL BEGGAR. 

Tune — By the Author. 

1 met the aul man wid his slarv'd grey cur nar 
him, , 

The blast owre the mountain blew caul 1 the 
vale ; 
Nae hcame to receive him, nac kent Iwok to liear 
him, 
An thin wcr his patch'd duds— he micklc did ail : 
A teaj dimm'd his e'e, his fcace fiirrow'd by sor- 
row, , 
Seein'd to say, he frae whope ml ae comlort cud 

borrow. 
An sad was the beggarman's tealc. 
• In one of hi» essays Carlyle makes " gig ••-"gentility," and 
•peaks o< humanity and tjigmanity.— Editor. 



lo6 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

" Behold," he cried, seeghin, " the spwort o' false 
Fortune ! 
■The puir wretched ootcast, the beggar you see, 
Yence boasted o' wealth, but the vvarl is unsar- 
ten, 
An friens o' my youth smeyle nae langer on 
mo ; 
I's the last o' the flock ; my weyfe Ann fer Heav'n 

It It me ; 
Ov mey only lad Tim a cur^'d war netst bereft mc ; 
My yeage's suppwort lang was he ! ' 



■'Yence in the prood city T smeyl'd an>ang plenty 
Frae easi an .rae west monie a vesse' then bwore 
To me the rich cargo— to me the fevne dentey ; 

An puir hungry bodies still shar'd o' my store : 
A storm sunk my shippin, by fause friens sur- 

roonded. 
The laugh o' the girt fwok suin meade me con- 
f oonded , 
Ilk prospec ov plishure is o'er ! 



" I creep on the moontains, but maist in the val- 
leys, 

An wi' my fond dog share a crust at the duir ; 
I shun the girt fwok an ilk house leyke a palace. 

Far sweeter to me is the meyte frae the puir ! 
At neet, when on strae, wi' my faithfn cur lyin, 
I thenk Him who meade me, fer what I's enjoyin ; 

His promise, I whope to secure ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 107 

THE BUCK O' KINGWATTER.* 

Tune — " Tlie breckans 0' Branton." 

When I was single, I rid a feyne naig 

An was cawt the Buck o' Kingwatter ; 
Noo the cwoat on my back has got but ae sleeve, 
An my breeks er aw worn till a tatter. 

Sing. — Oh ! the lasses !— the lazy lasses ! 

Keep frae the lasses o' Branton ! 
I ne'er wad hae married, that day I married, 
But I was young, feuhsh an wanton. 

I courtet a lass an angel I thowt — 

She's noo turn'd a picture ov evil ; 
She geapes, yen may coont ivry tuith in her heed, 

An bawls fit to freeten the d'eevil. 

Sing,— Oh ! the lasses, &c. 

To-day she slipt oot, some 'bacco to buy. 
An bade me meynd rock the cradle ; 

I cowpt owTe asleep, but suin she com in, 
An then brak mey heed wi' the ladle. 

Sing, — Oh ! the lasses, &c. 

I ne'er hed a heart to hnnnel a gun, 

Or I'd run away an leave her. 
She pretens to wiii purns,t but that's aw fun. 

They say she's owre keynd wi' the weaver. 

Sing, — Oil ! the lasses, &c. 

I dinnerless gang ae hawf o' the week ; 

If we get a bit cuUop on Sunday, 
She cuts me nee mair ner wad physic a sneype ; 

Then we've tateys an point, on Monday. 

Sing, — Oh ! the lasses, &c. 

Tho' weary o' leyfe, wid' a guid-fcr-nowt weyfe, 

I wish I cud git sec anudder, 
An then I cud give the decvil the teanu. 
For teakin away the t udder ! 

Sing, — Oh ! the lapses, the lazy lasses ! 

Keep Irae the la.sscs o' Branton ! 
I ne'er wad hae married, the day I married, 
But I was young, feuhsh, an want(jn. 

• The river KinR near Gilslatid. 

t Piirn— (1} a guil or Kc«U. 

(2) the yarn wound mi a Keeil. 



108 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

MARGET O' THE MILL. 
Tune — " Tom Starboard." 

Her fadder's vvhope, her mudder's preyde, 

Was bluc-ey'd Marget o' the Mill ; 
An summer day, an winter neet, 

Was happy, cheerfu, busy still : 
Aul Rafi, her fadder, oft declar'd, 

His darlin forty punds sud hev. 
The dav a partner tuik her han. 

An mair if lang he sceap'd the greave. 



The lily an the de^'ke-rwosc. beath 

Wer mixt in Marget's bonn> feace ; 
Her form wud win the cauldest heart. 

An her's was Nature's simple greace ; 
Her luik drew monie a neighb'rin laird ; 

Her een luive's piercin arrows fir'd ; 
But nae vain man cud gain the han 

O' this fair flow'r, bv aw admir'd. 



Oh ! luckness hoor ! at town ae day, 

A youth in sowdger's driss, she saw 
He stule her heart an frae that hoor, 

Peer Marget shar'd a leyfe ov woe ! 
Alas ! she shuns aw roon the mill, 

Nae langer to her bwosom dear ; 
An faded is her grief- worn feace, 

An sunk her e'e wi' monie a tear. 



Puir Marget ! yence a parent's preyde, 

Is noo widoot a parent left ; 
Desarted aw day lang she roams. 

Luive's victim, ov aw whopes bereft ! 
Ye lasses, aw seducers shun. 

An tliink ov Marget o' the Mill ; 
She crazy, wanders wid her bairn, 

A prey to luive an sorrow still. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 109 

MADAM JANE. 
Tone — " Buy bruim besoms." 

Money meks yen merry ; 

Money meks yen glad ; 
Bf ??he aul or ugly, 

Money brings a lad ! 



When I'd ne'er a penny, 

Deil a lad hed 1 ; 
Pointin aye at Jenny, 

Laughin they flew by. 
Money causes flat fry ; 

Money meks us vain ; 
Money changes aw things — 

Noo I'm Madam Jane ! 

Sin' aul Robin left me 

Hooses, fields nit few, 
Lnds thrang roon i' clusters- 

I'm a beauty noo ! 
Money meks yen handsome. 

Money meks yen bra' ; 
Money gits us sweethearts, 

That's the best of aw ! 

I hev fat an slender ; 

I hev shwort an t ill ; 
I hev rakes an misers ; 

I despise them all I 
Money they're aw seekin ; 

Money they'll git neanc ; 
Money sen ; them sneakin 

Efter Madam Jane ' 

Ther's an'- puir an baslifu 

I keej) i' mey c'e ; 
He's git han an siller, 

Hm he fancies me I 
Money meks yen merry ; 

Money meks yen glad ; 
Be she leame an crazv, 

Mf>ney brmgs a lad ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

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, man ! 
A clean-heel'd lass, a wiel-spok lass. 
A buik-larn'd lass, a kurk-gaun lass, 
I watna hoo it com to pass, 

She's meade a fuil o' nie, man. 

I's tir'd o' workin, plewin. sowin, 

Deetin. deykin. threshin, mowin ; 

Seeghin. greanin, niver tniwin 
Whai I'l gaun to de, man ! 

I met her — ay, 'twas this day week ; 
Od die ! thowt I, I'll try to speak ! 
But tried in vain the teale to seek — 

Oh, sec a lass is she, man ! 
Her jet-black hair hawf-heydes her broo, 
Her een just ihurl* yen thro' an thro' ! 
But, O ! her cheeks an churry mou 

Are far owre sweet to see, man ! 
I's tir'd o' workin, &c. 

Oh ! cud I put her in a sang ! 

To hear her praise the heale day lang. 

She mud consent to kurk to gang ; 

There's puirer fwok than me, man ! 
But I can nowther rheyme ner reave, 
Luive meks yen sec a coward sleave ; 
I'd better far sleep in the greave, 

But yet, that munnet be, man ! 

I's tired o' workin, &c. 

To Carel market I gang doon, 
An hunt fer Susy, roon an roon ; 
Then see the beauties ov the toon, 

But nin sae fair as she, man ! 
They're stiff as buckrem, Susy says, 
Thur female dandies widoot stays ; 
Toon-fwok leyke oor fwok, hae their ways 

An sae it aye mun be, man ! 

I's tired o' workin, &c. 
• Thurl or thirl=pierce. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

That flay-crow, Robby o' the Faul, 
Deef, tuiihless, knaggy, leame, an aul — 
Whene'er we meet he'll glowr an scaul- 

His breyde he says, she's be, man 1 
He'll sh k his stick, or cleek a stowre, 
An' lain he'd try to knock me owre : 
I'll feght wi' nin that's fifty fower, 

\Miat'er may happen me, man! 

I's lir'd o' workin, &c. 

In summer when fwok work at hay, 
I towrts their meedows steal away. 
An thro' the t!eyke gaze hawf the day. 

Her witchin feace to see, man 1 
Tho' Susy be a sarvent puir, 
An I's worth thre.scwore pun a year ; 
She's niver want thro' leyfe, I sweer. 

If she'll to kurk wi' me, man ! 
I's tir'd o' workin. plewin, sowin, 
Deetin, deykin, threshin, mowin, 
Seeghin, greanin, niver tnowin 

What Is gaun to de, man ! 



REED ROBIN. 

Tune — To an Old Irish Air. 

Come into mey cabin, Heed Robin ! 

Threyce welcome blithe warbler, to me ! 
No<; Skiddaw hrs thrown a wheyte cap on, 

Agenn I'll gic shelter to thee : 
Comu, freely Imp into iiiey pantrey ; 

Partake o' mey puir holesome fare ; 
Tho' SL'klom 1 bwoast ov a dcnty, 

Yet meyne, man or burd sal aye share I 

Noo five years fire b\-geanc Reed Robin ! 

Sin' furst tho . com trcmlin to mc ; 
Alas! lioo I'm changed, leytle Robin, 

Sin' iurst I bade welcome to thee ; 
I then lied a bonny young 1 !.ssie ; 

Aw;iy wi' anudder she s i^eanc ; 
Then frit-ns daily ciw'd on me. smcylin, 

Noo dowie, 1 scegh aw my leane I 



112 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Wi' plishure I view thee, Reed Robin, 

Yet gaze oft wi' pity on thee ; 
Tiiy luik seems to say like owre monie, 

Ov hunger puir Robin mun dee ! 
To think o' thy fate, hoosi less neamesake, 

Just brings to meynd what I mun bear ; 
1 meet wi' fause friens in ilk corner, 

An bow to the warl in despair ! 

The' sweet are thy weyld nwotes, Reed Robin, 

They draw monie a tear tr e my ce ; 
They caw to mey meynd youthfu plishures. 

When Marv sang sweetly to me : 
But plishure 'aft gies way to sorrow, 

An plishuie leads millions to pain ; 
Frae hope nae delights can I borrow, 

Leyfe's comforts I wish for in vain ! 

where is thy sweetheart, Reed Robin ? 
Gae bring her frae hoosel' 'p, or tree ; 

I'll bid her be true to sweet Robin, 

For fause was a fav'rite to me ! 
You'll share ev'ry crum i' mey cabin — 

We'll sing the weyld winter away — 

1 winna deceive ye puir burdies ! 
Let mortals use me as they may. 



REED ROBIN'S ANSWER. 

O thanks for thy keyndness, frien Robin ; 

True frienship yen seldom can see, 
Noo Winter owre moontains is frownin, 

Leyke monie hawf starv'd I mun be ! 
Hoo plcas'd I'll hop into thy pantry : 

Hoo prood thy broon crums I will share 
Nae glutton — I'll covet nae denty — 

But sing away sorrow an care ! 

I've lost monie partners, frien Robin ! 

Sin hunger furst brong me to thee ; 
In men, beasts an burds, we fin tyrants, 

That torture weak warblers leyke me ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 113 



Hoo oft on the skirts ov the meedow, 

I've leev'd wi' a sweetheart, queyte blest ; 

We've welcom'd the mworn, but or evenin 
Wer rob'd ov our burds, an the nest ! 

If sweet are my weyld-notes, frien Robin ! 

Ne'er let them a tear draw frae thee ; 
May mortals share health an true plishure, 

Who wish man, beast, burd may leeve free ! 
To some leyfe's a lang scene ov sorrow 

Unshelter'd frae caul win or rain ; 
I daily hear beggars queyte helpless, 

Of rich folk ax pity in vain I 

Wheyle plenty I'm pickin, frien Robin ! 

Thy pen at the paper I see, 
To paint the true Cummerlan manners, 

An aye affword innocent glee ; 
We burds chaunt to please yen anudder. 

An mortals sud aye dui the seame ; 
Gie praise to ilk weel-meanin brother. 

An try to mek monie think sheame ; 

O choose a guid partner, frien Robin ! 

True luive a sweet comfort mun be ; 
An lang may ye smeyle on ilk udder. 

Till Deeth frae aw care sets ye free ! 
I'll sing thee thy keyndness, dear neamesake ! 

Till Spring wi' green leaves decks the spra>' t 
An pray for i'ace aw the blithe Summer, 

Let Hawks freeten me as they may ! 



THREESCWORE AND NINETEEN. 
Tune — By the Author. 

Ay, ay ! — I's feeble grown 

An feckless — wcel I may ! 
I's threescwore an nineteen 

Ay just this varra day ! 
I hae nac teeth mcy meat to chowe, 

But leyle on't sarras me ! 
The best thing 1 e'er eat or drink 

Is — wheyles a cup o' tea ! 



114 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Ay ay ! — The bairns mek gam, 

An pleague me suin an leate ; 
Men-fwok I leyke i' mey heart, 

But bairns an lasses hate ! 
This gown o' meyne's lang in the weast 

Anl-fashion'd i' the sleeve ; 
It meakes me luik leyke fourscwore 

I varrily believe ! 

Ay ay ! — Vhat I's deef, 

Mey heahn's queyte geane ; 
I's fasht wi' that sad cough aw nect. 

An ileep I oft git neane : 
I smuik a bit, an cough a bit ; 

An then I try to spin ; 
An then I daddle to the duir. 

An then — I daddle in ! 



Ay ay ! — I wonder much 

How women can git men ! 
I've tried for threescwore years an mair, 

Rut never cud git yen — 
Deil tek the cat ! — What is she at ? 

Lie whiet on the fluir ; 
I thowt it e'en was Daniel Strang 

Tnock-tnockin at the duir ! 

Ay ay ! — I've bed, an box, 

An kist, an clock, an wheel, 
An tub, an rock, an stuil, an pan. 

An chair, an dish, an reel ; 
An luikin-glass, an coffee-pot. 

An bottles fer smaw beer ; 
A morse-trap, sawt-box, kettle, an — 

That's Danny sure, I hear ! 

Ay ay ! — He's young enough, 

But, — O, a neyce tall man ! 
An I wad ne'er be cauld in bed. 

Cud I but marry Dan ! 
Deuce tek that cough ! that weary cough ! 

It never lets me be ! 
I's kilt wi' that an gravel beath — 

Oh ! — Daniel, come to me ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 115 

SILLY ANDREW. 

Tune — " Wandering Willy " 

" O, hoo can I git a bit weyfe ? " says lang Andrew, 
" Shadry, come tell me lad, what I mun de ; 
Thoo kens I's just twenty, 
Hae booses, laus, plenty, 
A partner I want, ay, 
But nin '11 hae me ! 

.' Twas furst blue-eyed Betty that meade my 
mooth watter. 
She darnt mey aul stockins, my crivet an aw ; 
Last harvest when shearin, 
Wid jeybin an jeerin. 
She fworc't me to swearin — 
Bett, nae mair I saw ! 

" Neest reed-heeded Hannah to me seem'd an 
angel, 
An com to our hoose, monie a neet wid her wark : 
I yencc axt to set her ; 
She sed. she kent better ! 
Whao thinks-te can git her ? 
Way, dalt Seymie Clark ! 

«' Then smaw-weastet Winny meade goons fer our 
Jenny ; 
" Andrew, min ! stick tull her ! " muddcr oft sed ; 
" She hcs feyne sense, an money, 
Young, lish, blithe, an bonny, 
Is a match, — ay fer onie ! " 
But she's fer Black Ned ! 



Then hoo can I git a bit weyfe ? — Tell me, Shad- 

Thoo mun be rect happy, they're aw fond o 
thee I 

Ive follow'd Nan, Tibby, 

Sail, Mall, I-an, an Sibby, 

Ett, Lett, Doll, an Debby ; 
But nin '11 hae me I 



n6 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

AUL ROBBY MILLER. 

Tune — " Gin I had a wee house." 

Oh ! cud I but see the bUthe days I hae seen, 
When I was a hsh laughin lass ov sixteen ! 
Then lads lap aroon an sed, nin was leyke me ; 
Noo they're aw flown away, fer I's turnt thurty 
three. 
A single Icyfe's a comfortless leyfe. 
It souns unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe ; 
To catch a bit partner I've tried aw I can — 
O pity, some lasses can ne'er git a man ! 



When day-leet's aw geane, an I sit doon to spin, 
I wish some young fellow wad onl}^ step in ; 
At the market I saunter an dress at the fair. 
But nin at peer Keatey a luik'U e'er spare. 
A single leyfe's but a weary dull leyfe. 
It souns unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe ; 
In vain a puir lass may try ivry odd plan — 
Caw her rich, an I'll venture she'll suin git a man ! 



Theer's aul Robby Miller, wi' his siller hair. 
Bent double, an sauntrin about, to kill care ; 
The' steane-deef, an tuithless, an bleer-e'ed 

an aw. 
He hes gear, an I's thinkin to gie him a caw ! 
A single leyfe's a heart-brekkin leyfe. 
It souns unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe ; 
I'll cwom his thin locks, an aye dui what I can — 
Ther's monie young lasses wad tek an aul man ! 

He leeves aw his leane, but he's seerly to bleame, 
When a wanter leyke me, may be hed sae nar 

heame : 
Wer we weddet to-morrow he'd nit be lang here, 
Then I'd buy me a youngen in less nor a year ; 

A single leyfe's but a sorrowfu leyfe ; 

It souns unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe ; 
I'll away to aul Robby ! — Ay, that's the best 

plan, 
Kiss, coax him, an wed him, the canny aul man. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 117 

NANNY PEAL. 
Tune — By ike Author. 

Eyes there are that niver weep : 

Hearts there are that cannot feel ; 
God keep them that can dui baith ; 

An sec was yence sweet Nanny Peel. 
Tom Feddon was a sailor lad. 

Yen better niver crost the sea ; 
The dang'rous rocks an sans he kent — 

The captain's fav'rite aye was he. 



When cot, an cronies drank er sang, 

Er danc'd the whompe\^e, jig, er reel, 
Puir Tom wad sit him on the yard, 

An fondly think o' Nanny Peal. 
For, Oh, she was a hartsome lass, 

A sweeter feace man ne'er cud see ; 
An luive lurk'd in her twee breet een, 

An innocence itsel was she ! 



Oft in the kurk, the neighb'rin lads, 

At her a bashfu luik wad steal ; 
Oft at the market stare, an point, 

An whisper — " See ! that's Nanny Peal ! 
But Tom was aw her heart's deleyte. 

All efter voy'ges twee or three. 
In which he wad fcyne prisents bring, 

Bcath fondl}' whop'd they'd married be. 

An noo this teyde they quit the pwort ; 

Tom wid a kiss his faith did seal ; 
They wept an seegh'd, whop'd suin to meet- 

"Twas hard to part wid Nanny Peal ! 
The sea was cawm, the sky was clear, 

The ship she watch'd wheyle eye cud see ; 
" The voy'ge is shwort ! " she tremlin .sed, 

" God sen him s'iafe an suin to me ! " 

Afwore her puir aul mudder's duir. 

She sang an thowt, an turnt her wheel ; 
But when that neet the .storm com on, 

Chang'd was the heart ov Nanny Peal ! 



ii8 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



An sad was she, tlie next lang day ; 

The thurd day. still, still warse grew she 
Alas ! the fowerlh day brong the news, 
That ship an crew wer lost at sea I 

She heard, she fentet on the fluir ; 

Much did her puir aul mudder feel ; 
The neybors roou beath aul an young, 

Dropt monie a tear fer Nanny Peal. 
Sin that, she wanders aw day lang, 

An gazes weyldly on the sea ; 
Fled is her rwosy bluim of hilth, 

An ragged, wretched, noo is she. 

In fancy, on the wheyte-top waves 

She sees puir Tom oft towrts her steal ; 

An then she laughs an caws aloud, 
" O come, O come, to Nanny Peal ! " 

God keep the helpless, luckless lass ! 
On earth she ne'er may happy be ; 

Her leyfe seems weerin to a clwose — 

She suin in Heaven her Tom may see 



ANDREW'S YOUNGEST DOWTER. 

Tune — By the Author. 

Wheer Irthing mourns* to Eden's streams, 

Thro' meedows sweetly stealin, 
Owre-hung by rocks, hawf-hid by trees. 

Is seen a lonely dwellin. 
An theer's a lass wi' peerless feace. 

Her luik to aw gies plishure, 
A rwose bud hid frae pryin een. 

The lads' deleyte an treasure ; 
When furst I saw her aw her leane, 

I mair than mortal thowt her. 
An stuid amaz'd, an silent gaz'd 

On Andrew's youngest dowter. 

» "Mourns" in some other editions is "rows."' I have the 
original MSS. of this song, and there it is " mourns."— T.B. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 119 



Her luik a captive meade my heart, 

How matchless seem'd ilk feature ! 
The sun in aw his yearly course, 

Shcynes on nae fairer creature ! 
I watch'd her thro' the daisied howmes, 

An pray'd quick her retumin ; 
And trac'd her foot-marks through the wood, 

Mey raptur'd bwosom burnin : 
I^uive led me on ; but when at last 

In fancy, mcyne I thowt her, 
1 saw her lover, happy youth ! 

Meet Andrew's youngest dowter. 



Sing sweet ye weyld burds i' the glens. 

Where'er young Lizzy wanders ; 
Ye streams ov Irthin please her meynd, 

Ilk day wi' weyld meanders ; 
An thoo, the dearest to her heart. 

Caress tins luively blossom — 
O, niver may the thwom o' care 

Gie pain to sec a bwosom ! 
Had I been king o' this weyde warl. 

An kingdoms cud hae bowt her, 

I'd freely gien them aw wi preyde. 

For Andrew's yoimgest dowter ; 



SOLDIER YEDDY. 

Tune — " The widow can hake." 

Puir Ycddy was brong up a faddcrless bairn, 

His j.ickel blue duffle, his stockins coarse gairn ; 

His mudder, sad greacclcss I leev'd nai' Talkiu 

Tairn, 

But scearce did a t\irn for her Yeddy. 



Weel-shejjl an fair feac'd, wid a hoiuiy blue e'e. 
Honest hearted, aye merry, an modist, w;us he ; 
But nac larmn hcd gotten, nor kenl A B C — 
Ther's owre monie leyke silly Yeddy. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Suin tir'd o' the cwoal-pit, an drivin the car ; 
Won by fedders, cockades, an the fuil'ries o' War, 
He'd see aw feyne fwok an gran toons far an nar. 
This weyd warl was aw new to leyle Yeddy. 



Hoc temptin the lekker, an bonny bank nwote ! 
Hoo temptin the pouder, sash, gun, an reed cwoat 1 
The Frenchmen, od-die them ! I'll kill the heale 
twote ! " 
These, these wer his thowts, honest Yeddy. 



A wheylc mid his cronies he'll smuik, laugh, an 

sing. 
Tell ov wonders, an brag ov his country an king, 
An swagger, an larn ov new woaths a sad string, 
These leytle avail simple Yeddy ! 



For suin may he sing till anudder-guess tuin, 
His billet a bad yen, his kelter aw duin ; 
An faint at his pwost by the pale wjntermuin — 
Few comforts await luckless Yeddy. 



When Teyme steals his colour, an turns his powe 

grey, 
May he tell merry stwories, nor yence rue the 

day 
When he wandert, puir lad ! frae the fell-seyde 

away ; 
This, this is mey wish fer young Yeddy. 



Of lads sec as him, may we ne'er be in want ; 

An the brave sowdger's pocket of brass ne'er be 

scant, 
Nae brags o' prood Frenchmen aul' Englan sud 

daunt, 
When we've plenty leyke guid sowdger Yeddy ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 12 

THE DAWTIE. 

Tune — " Vm omre young to marry yet." 

Jenny. 

" Tho' weel I leyke ye, Jwohnny lad, 

I cannot, munnet marry yet ! 
Mey puir aul mudder's unco bad, 

Sae we a wheyle mun tarry yet ; 
For ease or comfort she hes neane — 
Leyfe's just a lang, dull day ov pain ; 
I munnet leave her aw her leane. 

An wunnet, wunnet marry yet ! " 

JWOHHNY. 

" O Jenny ! dunnet brek this heart. 
Or say, we munnet marry yet ; 
Thoo cannot act a jillet's part — 

Why sud we tarry, tarry yet ? 
Think, lass, ov aw the pangs I feel ; 
I've lui'd thee lang. nin kens hoc weel ! 
For thee, I'd feight the varra deil — 

O say not, we mun tarry yet I " 

JENNY. 

" A weddet leyfe's oft dearly bowt — 
I cannot, munnet marry yet 1 
Ye hae but leyle an I hae nowt, 

Sae, we a wheyle mun tarry yet I 
My heart's ycr awn ye needent fear 
But let us wait anudder year. 
An luive, an toil, an gedder gear — 

We'rc'owre young to marry yet ! 

Was but last neet, mey mudder sed, 

O, Dawtic ! dunnet marry yet I 
I'll suin lig in mey last caul bed — 

Thoo's aw nicy comfort ! tarry yet ! " 
Whene'er I steal oot ov her sect. 
She seeghs, an sobs, an nowt gans reet — 
Hark I — tliat's her feeble voice — guid neet I 
We munnet, munnet marry yet I " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE CODBECK WEDDIN. 

Tune — " Andrew Carr." 



True is the song, tho' lowly seems the strain ! " 



They sing of a Weddin at Worton, 

Whoar aw was feght, fratchin an fun ; 
Feegh ! sec a yen we've hed at Codbeck 

As niver was under the sun ; 
The breydegruim was weaver Joe Bewley, 

He com frev aboot Lowthet Green ; 
The breyde Jwohnny Dalton's lish dowter. 

An Betty was wecl to be seen' 

Sec weshin, an bleachin, an starchin, 

An patchin an darnin aul duds ; 
Some lasses thowt lang to the weddin ; 

Unax'd, udders sat i' the suds, 
Ther wer tweescwore an seebem inveytet, 

God speed them ! 'geane Cursenmas day ; 
" Dobson' lads, tui, what they mun come bidder, 

— I think they wer better away. 

Furst thing, Oggle Willy, the fiddler 

Cawt in, wid aul Jonathan Strang ; 
Neest stiff an stout, shwort, lang, leame, lazy, 

Frev aw parts com in wid a bang ; 
Frae Brocklebank, Fuilduir's, an Newlaus, 

Frae Hesket, Burkheeds, an the Heet, 
Frae Warnell, Starnmire, Nether Welton, 

Ay, aw t'way frev Eytonfield Street. 

Furst aul Jwohnny Dawton we'll nwotish. 

An Mary, his canny douse deame ; 
Son WuUy, an Mally his sister ; 

Goffet' weyfe, niuckle Nanny by neame ; 
WuUy Sinclair, Smith Leytle, Jwohn Atchin. 

Tom Ridley, Joe Sim, Peter Weir, 
Gworge Goffet, Jwohn Bell, Miller Dyer, 

joe Heed an Ned Bulraan wer theer* 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 123 



We'd hay-cruiks, an hen-tails, an hanniels, 

An nattlers that fuddle far nowt ; 
We'd sceape-greaces, skeybells, an sruffins, 

An maffs better fed far nor towt ; 
We'd lads that wad eat fer a weager, 

Er feeght, ay, 'till bluid to the tnees ; 
Fell-seyders an Sowerby riff-raffs, 

That deil a bum-beahe dar seize ! 

The breyde hung her heed an luikt sheepish. 

The breydegruim as wheyte as a clout ; 
The bairns aw glowT't thro' the kurk windows ; 

The parson was varra devout ! 
The ring was lost out ov her pocket. 

The breyde made a bonny te-de ; 
Cries Goffet' weyfe " Meyne's meade o' pinch beck 

An — la ye ! — It fits till a tee ! " 

Noo buckelt, wi' fiddlers afwore them, 

They gev Michael Crosby a caw ; 
Up spak canny Bewley the breydegruim, 

" Git slockent, lads ! fadder pays aw ! " 
We drank till aw seem'd blue aboot us, 

We're aye murry deeviis, tho' puir ; 
Michael' weyfe says, " Widoot onie leein, 

A duck mud hae swam on the fluir." 



Noo aw 'bacco'd owre, an hawf-drucken. 

The nien-fwok wad needs kiss the breyde ; 
Joe Heed, that's aye reckont best spoksman, 

Whop'd " guid wad the couple beteyde." 
Says Michael, " I's roet glad to see ye, 

Suppwosin I git ne'er a plack ! " 
Cries t' weyfe, " That'll nowther pay't brewer, 

Ner git bits ov sarks to yen's back ! " 

The breyde wad dance " Coddle mc, Cuddy," 

A threesome ncest capert Scotch reels ; 
Peter Weir cleek't up aul Mary Dalton, 

Leyke a cock rouii a hen ncest he steals ; 
Jwohn Hell yclpt out " Sowerby Lasses ; " 

Young Jwosep, " a lang country dance," 
He'd got bran new pumps, Smithson meade hira. 

An fain wad shew hoo lie cud ])ranco. 



124 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

To march roun the tf)wn and keep swober. 

The women-fwok thowt wad be reet ; 
" Be wise ! dui, for yence," says Jwohn Dyer ; 

The breydegruim mud reyde shoulder-heet ; 
The youngermak hirriet ahint them, 

'Till efter them Bell meade a brek ; 
Tom Ridley was aw baizt wi' drinkin, 

An cowpt ofi the steps i' the beck. 

To Hudless's neest off they sizell'd, 

An theer gat far mair nor eneugh ; 
Miller Hodgson suin brunt the punch ladle, 

An fuU'd ivry glass wid his leuf ; 
He thowt he was teakin his mouter, 

An deil a bit conscience hes he ; 
They preymt him wi' stiff punch an joUep, 

'Till Sally Scott thowt he wad dee. 

Joe Sim rwoart oot, " Bin, we've duin wonders f 

Oor Mally's turn'd howe i' the weame ! " 
Wi' three strings atweeu them, the fiddlers 

Strack up, an they reel'd towerts heame 
Meyner Leytle wad noo hoist a standard, 

Puir man ! he cud nit daddle far, 
But stuck in a pant 'buin the middle. 

An yen tuik him heame in a car. 

Fer diiiner we'd stewt-geuse an haggish, 

Cow't-leady, an hot bacon pie, 
Boil'd fluiks, tatey-hash, beastin-puddin, 

Saut salmon, an cabbish, forbj'e ; 
Pork, pancakes, black-puddins, sheep-trotters. 

An custert, an muster t. an veal ; 
Grey-pez-keale, an lang apple-dumplins, — 

I wish ivry yen far'd as weel, ' ! 

The breyde geavin aw roon aboot her. 

Cried, " Wuns ! we forgat butter sops ! " 
The breydegruim fan nea teyme fer tawkiu, 

But wd' standin-pie grcas'd his chops ; 
We'd loppert-milk, skimm'd milk, an kurn-milk, 

Well-watter, smaw-bcer, aw at yence ; 
" Shaff ; bring yell i' piggens," rwoars Dalton, 

" Deil bin them e'er cares fer expense ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 125 

Noo aw cut an cleek'd frae their neybors, 

'Twas even cloon thump, pull an haul ; 
Joe Heed gat a geuse aw tegidder, 

An off he crap into the faul ; 
Muckle Nanny cried " Shem o' sec weastry ! " 

The ladle she brak o\vre ill Bell — 
Tom Dalton sat thrang in a corner, 

An eat nar the weyte ov his sel ! 

A hillibuloo was noo started, 

Twas, " Rannigal ! whee cares for tee ? " 
Stop, Tommy — whee's weyfe was i' th' carras ? 

Thoo'd ne'er been a man, but fer me ! " 
Od dang the' ! to jail I cud send the' ! " 

" Puir scrafiles ! thy Ian grows nae gurse ! " 
Ne'er ak ! it's mey awn, an it's paid fer I 

But whee was't stuil aul Tim Jwohn's purse ?" 

Ned Bulman wad feight wi' Gworge Goffet ; 

Puir Gwordy ! he nobbut stript thin, 
An luikt leyke a cock oot ov fedder, 

But suin gat a weel-bleakent slcin ! 
Neest, Sanderson fratcht wid a hay-stack. 

An Deavison fught wi' the whins ; 
Smith Ley tie fell out wi' the cobbles. 

An peel'd aw the bark off his shins. 

The hay-bay was noo somewhat seydet. 

An young fwok the music-men misst. 
They'd drucken leyke fiddlers in common, 

An fawn owre ayont an aul kist ; 
Some mair fwok that ncet wer a-missin. 

Than Willy, and Jonathan Strang — 
But decency whispers,'" Nae matter ! 

Thoo munnet put them i' thy sang." 

The fiddlers gat Icyle fer hard labour — 

Yen Peg punijjt her ship i' the fire — 
A tweesome poud cajxs frae ilk udder — 

Neest mworn we fan Belt i' the byre ; 
At Michael's slie flaiig twee an tuppena, 

An bade us nit nwotish her ncame — 
What aw maks tek breybes in aw coontries ; 

To lig in a byre is nae shcm ) 



126 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Aul Dalton thowt he was at Carel, 

Says he, " Jaccp ! see what's to pay ! 
Come, wosler ! heaste, git oot the horses ! 

We'll e'en tek the rwoad, an awaj' ! " 
He cowpt off his stuil leyke a san-bag, 

Tom Ridley beel'd oot, " Deil niav care ! " 
For a whart o' het yel an a stick in't, 

Dick Simson '11 tell ye far mair. 



What ! breyde forgat flingin the stockin, 

An swory she fan the neest day ; 
Let's whop she'll hev twee twins i' nae teyme. 

An cursnins, widoot onie fray ! 
Sec heed-warks, an heart-aches, an greypins, 

Leam'd hips, an clease cover'd wi' glwore, 
Bluidy-nebs, bleakent-een, brokken-feaces, 

Nin iver hard tell on afwore ! 



Let's bumper the Cummerlan lasses. 

Their marrows can seldom be seen ; 
An he that won't feght to defend them, 

I wish he may ne'er want black een ! 
May oor murry-neets, clay-daubins, reaces, 

An weddins, aye, finish wi' glee ; 
An when owt's amang us worth nwotish, 

May I wheyles be prizent to see. 

While this edition was passing through the Press I have been 
favoured with the following interesting note from Mr. R. Greenup. 
Beckstones Farm, Caldbeck. 

The Codbcck Wedding. — Joseph and Betty Bewley, maiden 
name Daltou (she signs Betty) were married after Banns in 
Caldbeck Church, December 25th, 1804, by Rev. Joseph 
Rogerson, Curate for Brown Grisedale, D.D., Rector from 1789 
to 1814. 

The Burials are recorded in the same Register as having taken 
place, Betty, Feby. i4fh, 1865, age 81 — and Joe, July i8th, 1869. 
age 89. "and so," adds my informant, "they both sleep within 
the shadow of our old grey ivy mantled church, within which their 
nuptials were celebrated." — T.E. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 127 

THE PEET-CADGER. 

Tune — " Hey tutty fatty." 

Mey bonny black racer's deed ! 
The thovvt's e'eu leyke to turn ray heed ; 
She led the peets, an gat me breed ; 
But what wuU I dui noo ? 

She was bworn when Jwohn was bworn — 
Just nineteen years last Thuirsday mworn — • 
Puir beast ! hed she got locks o' cworn, 
She'd been alive, I trowe ! 

Ov Echpse, I've hard monie tell ; 
Aboot Skewball chaps leyke to yell ; 
I seed Dubskelper. yence ray-sell, 
When oor gowd cup he wan. 

Naigs er leyke men-fwok hee an low ; 
They raun submit, when Deeth sal caw ; 
But what er reacers ? — Nowt at aw, 
Compar'd wi' mey Black Nan ! 

When young, just leyke the dell she ran ; 
The car-gear at Durdar she wan ; 
That day seed me a happy man, 
Noo tears gush frae my een. 

For she's geane I — Mey weyfe's geane, 
Jwohn's a sowdger — 1 hae neane ! 
Brokken ! — deylt ! — left my leane, 
Theer's nin to comfort me ! 

When wheyles I moonted on my yad, 
I niver reade leyke yen stark mad ; 
We toddelt on, an beath wer glad 
To see oor sonsie deame ! 

The weyfc, the neebors weel she tnew, 
An aw the deyke backs whoar gurse grew ; 
Then, when slie'd pang'd her belly fou, 
Huw tow'rtiy she com hcamc ! 

Nae pampert beasts e'er heeded we, 
Nae win or wcet e'er dreeded we ; 
I niver cried woah, hop, or jcc, 
She kent, ay, iv'ry turn ! 



128 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



An wheyles I gat her teals ov hay, 
An gev her wattcr tweyce a day, 
She's deed ! — she's deed ! I's wac to say ; 
O, hoo can I but mourn ? 

Frae Tindal-fell twelve pecks she'd bring- 
She was a yaud fit for a king ! 
I niver strack her, silly thing ! 
'Twas hard we twae sud part ! 

I's aul, an feal'd an ragg'd, an puir. 
An canna raise anudder meer ; 
But canna leeve anudder year ! 
The loss wuU brek my heart ! 



THE ILL-GIEN WEYFE. 

AN OWRE TRUE PICTURE O' MONIE. 

Tune — " My wife has taen the gee." 

A toilsome leyfe for tharty year, 

I patiently hev spent. 
As onie yen ov onie rank, 

r this weyde warl e'er kent ; 
For when at heame, or when away, 

Nae peace ther is for me ; 
I's pestert wid an Ill-Gien Weyfe, 

That niver lets me be ; 
Ay teazin, — ne'er ceasin 

Leyke an angry sea — 
Nae kurk-bell e'er hed sec a tongue. 

An oft it deefens me ! 

When furst I saw her mealy feace, 

'Twas pented up sae fine, 
I thowt her e'en fit for a queen — 

She wan this heart o' meyne ; 
But sin' that hoor, that sworry boor, 

We ne'er cud yence agree. 
An oft I curse the luckless day 

I pawn'd my liberty ; 
Care an sorrow, then tomorrow 

Ay the seame mun be ; 
Oh ! hed I coffm'd been, that day 

I lost my liberty ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 129 



When young, I wish'd fer weyfe an bairn?;, 

But noo the thowt I scworn ; 
Thank Heav'n, a bairn ov owther sex 

To me she ne'er hes bworn ! 
Leyke fuils we wish our youth away, 

When happy we mud be — 
Aw ye that's pleagued wi' scauldin weyves 

I wish ye suin set free ! 
Grin, grinnin I — din, dinnin ! 

Toil an misery ! 
Better feed the kurk-yard wurms. 

Than leeve sec slaves as we ! 



I's past aw wark, it's hard to want, 

An aul an peer am I ; 
But happiness i' this weyde warl, 

Nae gear cud iver buy ; 
O wer 1 on some owre-sea Ian, 
Nae woman nar to see. 
At prcyde an grandeur I wad smeyle, 
An thenks to Heav'n wad gie : 
O, woman ! — foe to man ! 

A blessin thoo sud be ; 
But wae to him that wears thy chain. 

Peer wretch unble?,t leyke me ! 



When wintery blasts blaw lood an keen, 

I's fain tt) slink frae heame ! 
An raider feacc the angry storm, 

Than her 1 hate to neame : 
Wheyle she wi' sland'rous cronies met. 

Sits hatchin monic a Ice ; 
The sect wad flay aul Nick away, 

Or vex a saint to see. 
Puff, puffin ! — snuff, snulfin ; 

Ne'er frae mischief free ; 
How waik is Iworldly V)<)astin man 

On sec U) kest an cc ! 

If to a ncebor's boose I steal, 

'l"o crack a wheyle at neet. 
She hurries to me leyke the deil 

An Hays the (wok to see't ; 
Whate'er I dui, whate'er I say, 

Wi' her a faut iiuin be ; 



I30 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

I freet an freel beath neet an day, 
But seldom clwose an e'e : 

Wake, wakin ! — shake, shakin ! 
Then she tcks the gee ; 

He's happy that Uves aw his leane, 
Compar'd wi' chaps leyke me. 

To stop the never-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 heed, 

Off to the duir she'll flee 
An snarls leyke onie angry cat. 

Oh ! sair it vexes me ! 
Noo fratchin ! neest scratchin ! 

Oft wi' bleaken'd e'e, 
I pray aul Nick hed sec a deame, 

I trow he vex'd wad be ! 

Hoo blithe man meets the keenest ills, 

In this shwort voy'ge o' leyfe. 
An thinks nae palace leyke his heame. 

Blest wi' a keyndly weyfe : 
But sure the greatest curse hard fate 

To onie man can gie, 
Is sec a filthy slut as meyne 

That ne'er yence comforts me ! 
Lads jeerin ! — lasses sneerin ! 

Cuckel, some caw me ; 
I scart an aul grey achin pow. 

But dar not say they lee. 

They're happv that hae teydey weyves. 

To keep peer bodies clean ; 
But meyne's a freetfu lump ov filth, 

Her marra ne'er was seen : 
Ilk dud she wears upon her back 

Is puzzen to the e'e ; 
Her shift's leyke aul Nick's nuttin bag- 

The deil a wurd I lee ! 
Dour an' durty ! — house aw clarty ! — 

See her set at tea. 
Her feace defies beath seape an san 

To mek't just fit to see ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 131 

Ae beyte ov 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 an neet, if oot o' seet. 

Seafe frae this canker'd she, 
I pray, an pray, vvid aw my heart, 

Deeth suin tek her, or me ! 
Fleyte, fleytin ! — feght, feghtin ! 

Hoo her luik I dree ! 
Come, tyrant, rid me o' this curse, 

Deeth, tek her ! I'll thenk thee ! 



THE BEGGAR AND KEATE. 
Tune — " O'tv the muir umang the heather." 

KEATIE 

" Whee's rap rappin at the duir, 
Noo, when oor aul fwok are sleepin ? 

ThfK)'ll git nowt here if thoo's puir — 
Owrc the hills thoo'd best be creepin ! 

When sec flaysome fuils we see. 
Decent fwnk may start, an shudder, 

I'll nit move the duir to thee — 
Vagrant-leyke, thoo's nowt but boddcr ! 



" Oh I guid lassie, let me in I 
I've nac money, meat or cleedin ; 

St.irv't wi' this caul angry win ; 
Aul an lieli)lcss, dectli aye (Jreedin. 

Let me lig in barn or byre ; 
Ae broon crusl '11 pruivc a dentey ; — 

Dui, sweet lass ! what I desire, 
If thoo whop'st for peace an plenty ! ' 



132 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Beggars yen may weal despise — 
To the sweyne-huU hie, an swat the' ; 

Rap nae mair if thoo be wise — 
Here's a dog wad fain be at the' : 

Sec leyke hawf-wits, far an weyde, 
Beggin breed, an meal an money, 

Some may help, to shew their preyde- 
I'll ne'er lift mey han to onie ! " 



" Move the duir to sec as me. 
Lift thy han to fwok when starvin ! 

Meynd, er lang, thoo peer may be ; 
Pity beggars, when desarvin ! 

Nobbet lissen to the storm ; 
Think hoo monie noo miin suffer ; 

Let me in, thur lims to warm. 
An wi' preyde, due thenks I'll offer ! " 



KEATIE. 

" I've a sweetheart, sud he caw. 
Monstrous vex'd I'd be to see him ; 

He helps beggars yen an aw, 
Levke a fuil ; nae guid 'twill de him ! 

He hes gear ; I'll ne'er be peer — 
Say nowt mair, or Snap sal beyte the' ; 

Noisy sumph 1 what, oor fwok hear 
Thy crazy voice — Be off ! Od-wheyte-the' ! 



" Keate, it's teyme to change my voice — 
Heartless wretch — they weel may caw the '; 

Fain I meade the' aye mey choice. 
Sin that hoor when furst I saw the' ; 

Lang thy sweetheart I hae been ; 
Thowt thee guid, an lish an cliver — 

Ne'er will I wi' thee be seen. 
Come what will ! — Fareweel for iver ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 133 

THE HAPPY COUPLE. 
Tlne — " Ettrick Banks." 

Come. Mary, let's up Eden seyde, 

An chat the ebeniu hours away ; 
Tho' hard we toil leyke millions mair, 

Industrious fwok sud aw be gay ! 
Far frae the sland'rous noisy toon, 

It's sweet the murm'rin streams to hear, 
An share the joys o' peace an luive, 

Wheyle some buy j>lishure far owre dear. 

Just mark that peer bit freetent hare, 

Noo neet draws on, frae heame she'll steal ; 
The weyld burds sing, in deyke or wood, 

Noo bid the sinkin sun far'weel ; 
They joyfu sing the sang o' thenks 

On rock, on meedow, bush or tree ; 
Nor try their partners to deceive — 

O that ilk mortal sae wad be ! 

That savage hawk owtp hill an glen. 

Seeks some waik warbler to destroy , 
True emblem o' the tyrant man. 

To crush the peer oft gies him joy : 
The burds rejoice an hae their toil 

I'nshelterd biithe thi- blasts they beyde ; 
Wlieyte oft, wi' plenty man compleens. 

Snug, seated by his aw.i fire-seyd.;. 

Cor sons come runnin, Dick an Ned, 

Twee better niver went to schuil ; 
I'd suincr see them coffni'd low 

Than owthcr turn a fop er fuil ; 
The maister says Dick's fit fer kurk : 

.\n Ned in law may monie seavc : 
What, juflge an bishop, they may sit. 

When tee an me lig 1' the grcave. 

Whene'er I thro' the kurk yard gang, 

Still, Mary, it affects mey moynd, 
Wi' secglis our aul fwok aye I see 

In fancy ; nin e'er leev'd mair keynd ; 



134 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

A rwosy orphan thoo was left, 

An fadder, mudder, scearce e'er saw ; 

Beath lost at sea ! — Nay, dunnet gowl ! 
A better warl let's whop they tnaw ! 

Sweet hloom'd aw roon, that summer mworn, 

I carv'tl oor neanies, noo pleas'd we see ; 
Leyke us the tree was in its preyme, 

But noo it withers, sae dui we ! 
Sworn foes to streyfe, the joys ov 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 1 



CAREL FAIR. 

Tune — " IVoo'd and married and a' " 

Mey neame's Jurry Jurden frae Threlket ; 

Just swat doon an lissen my sang ; 
I'll mappen afiword some divarsion. 

An tell ye hoo monie things gang. 

Crop's ov aw males er gnid ; tateys lang as 
lapstens, an dry as meal. Teymes er nobbet 
sae-sae now-a-days ; fer the thin-chopp'd, hawf- 
neak'd trimlin beggars aye flock to oor hoose 
leyke bees to t' hive ; an oor Cwoley bit sae 
monie, I just tuck'd him up i' th' worchet. Mud- 
der boils them a tnop ov Lunnen Duns iv'ry 
day; an fadder gies them t' barn to lig in. If 
onie be yabel to work, wey he pays them reet 
weel. Fwok sud aw dui as they'd be duin tui ; 
an it's naturable to beg raider nor starve or 
steal ; efter aw the rattle ! 

Some threep et the teymes '11 git better ; 

An laugh to see onie repeyne : 
I's nae pollytishin, that's sarten. 

But Englan seems in a decleyne I 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 135 

I roose a f wore three tiidder mwornin, 

An went o\vre to see Carel Fair ; 
I'd hard monie teales o' thur dandies — 

Odswinge ! hoo they mek the fwok stare ! 

Thar fiav-craws weer lasses' stays ; an buy my 
Lword Wellinten's buits ; cokert but nit snoot- 
bandet."* Mey sartey ! sec a laugh I gat, to see a 
bit ov a tarrier meakin watter on yen o' their legs ! 
They're seerly mangrels, hawf-monkey breed : 
shept for aw t' warl leyke wasps, smaw i' t' middle. 
To see them paut-pautin aboot puts me t' meynd 
ov oor aul gander ; an if they meet a canny lass, 
they darnt turn aboot to luik at her ! Theer's varra 
bonny seynes in aw nuiks o' Carel ; but a Dandy 
wad be far mair comical ; efter aw the rattle ! 

Hut ! shaff o' sec odd trinkun-trankums ! 

Thur hawf-witted varmen bang aw ; 
They'd freeten aul Nick, sud they meet him — 

A dandy's just fit fer a show ! 

Aa ! Shows, they'd aw maks nar the Court 
Hoose, 

Far mair ner a body can neame ; 
Whorns, hoy-boys, barl-worgens an trumpets, 

Sawt-boxes an thivels — O, sheame ! 

They'd heaps ov monstrous bonny pictures I 
What, theer was a giant lang as an esh-tree ; an 
twee dwarfs et cuddent reach his breek tnec ! Then 
thar Boxers frae Lunnon, sad chaps ! feghtin wi' 
girt ghiivcs on ; the sect o' them meade me aw 
trimmcl ; I tiiik a keck at a wheyte blakky-muir ; 
l<javins ! thinks 1 to meyscl, the chap's nobbet 
pentet. Tlien I seed Punch an Toby singin 
" Twang-a-rang ! twang-a-rang ! " an " Jeydey- 
thcdy, big-bow wow ! " " Valk in ! ladies and 
shenticmcus ! " says yen, " Derc you'll see all do 
vonders of de vorld ! Vild be;istesses from all de 
quarters ! de laughin lion ! dc actin elephant ! 
de kangarew dat tells all purty girls der fortunes ; 

• Snout-ban otherwise neb-plate. Tbc iron plate of the toe 
of a clog. — Page 144— " Cumcatch kickt roun in his snout-ban 
clogs." 



136 CUMBERLAND RAT.LADS. 



an de nameless animal widoot eider body, head, 
neck, legs, or tail ! " Odsbobs ! thinks I to 
meysel, what the deuce, this weyld warld's nobbet 
a show ; efter aw the rattle ! 

What, jugglers er noo aw queyte common, 

Yen hears o' them day efter day : 
We've show-fwok in iv'ry bit Village — 

Ay ! laugh at them, faith weel we may ! 

I neest tuik a glowr' 'mang the boutchers. 
An gleymt at their lumps o' fat meat ; 

They've aw maks the gully can dive at — 
It meks peer fwok hungry to see't. 

" What d'ye buy ? what d'ye buy ? " — " Weya, 
boucher, wult 'ta be oot at oor en o' t' coontry, 
suin ? we've a famish fat bull, nobbet eleebem 
year aul ; twee braid-backt tips, an a bonny sew ! " 
— " Hut min ! nca bulls, tips er sweyne fer me, 
fuil ! " — " Hes te gotten onie caw^ves heeds to sell, 
boutcher," says anudder ! — " Wa, nay. nay. Tom- 
my ! but thoo hes yen atop o' thy awn shooders ! 
Come, what d'ye buy ? what d'ye buy ? here's 
pork fer a prince ! mutton fer a markiss ; veal fer a 
vycoont ! lam fer a Iword ! an beef fer a barnct ! 
Let tyrants tek treype ; here's fat an lean, fit 
fer a queen ! aw sworts fer aw maks ; hee an low 
nowt et aw : it's nobbet seebempence-hawpenny 
a pun ; efter aw the rattle ! " 

Wheyle peer fwok wer starin aboot them. 
Up hobbles an aul chap, an begs — 

O wad oor girt heeds o' the nation, 
just set the peer fwok on their legs ! 

An odd seet I saw, 'twas naig-market, 

Whoar aw wer as busy as bees ; 
Sec lurryan, an trottin, an scamprin — 

Lord help them ; they're mcade up o' lees ! 

" Try a canter. Deavie." — " Whoar gat te t' 
powny, Tim ? " — " Wey at Stegshe." — " That's a 
bluid meer," says aul Breakshe, " She was git- 
ten by Shrimp, an oot of Madam Wagtail ; what, 
she wan t' King's plate at Dongkister, tudder 
year." — " Wan the deevil ! " says yen tul him 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. i37 

" thoo means f breydle at Kinginuir, min ! "— 
" Here's a naig sur ! nobbet just nwotish his een ! 
What he can see thro' a nine inch waw ! Fuils 
teU o' fortifications ; what he hes a breest leyke 
a fiftification ! Dud ye iver see yen cock sec a 
tail v^-idoot a peppercworn ? "— " What dus te ax 
for liim, canny man ? "— " Wey he s weel ^vorth 
twonty pun ; but I'll teake ae hawf. — Iwoiity 
deevUs ! I'll gie the' twonty shiUin, ram ; etter 
aw the rattle ! " 

What, aw trades er bad as horse-cowpers ; 

They mek the best bargain they can ; 
Fwok say it's the seame in aw countries — 

Man leykes to draw kelter frae man ! 

Neest daunderin doon to the Coo Fair, 

A famish rough rumpess I saw : 
For Rickergeate Iwoses her charter, 
Sud theer be nae feghtin at aw. 

Aa ! what a hav-bay ! it 'twas just leyke the 
battl'- ov Watterlew. Men an women, young 
an atil, ran hev a^^ quarters. Theer was sec 
shootin, thrustin, pushin, an squeezin ; they 
tnockt dowu staws ; an brak shop windows 
aw to flinders ! Thur leed-heedet whups dui 
oft mucklc mischief, tui ! a peer sairy beggar 
eat a bluidv nwose an broken teeth, i' the fray . 
Hill-top Jom, an Low-gill Dick, the twee feght- 
in rap.scalUons, wer lug't oil to my Iword May- 
or's offish by twea bealies, an thrussen into tlie 
black whol. I whop they'll lig theer, for its 
weel nea leyves wer lost ; efter aw the rattle ! 

Shem o* them ! thur peer country hanniels 

That slink into Carel to fcght ; 
Deil bin them ! when free frae hard labour. 

True plishure sud be their deleyte. 

Theer was geapin an starin. 'mang aw »naks— 
" Aa 1 gies the' fist, Ellik !— hoo's thoo 1 

Wey, nobbet greypt, tharsty an qucensh ; 
" Wr'll tck a sup gud mountain dew." 



138 CrMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Ay, ay, Ivllik ! that's a famish fleem cutter ! 
Sees te, theer's t' puir-luikin chay) et meks aw t' 
bits o' Cummc'land Ballets ! — " The deevil it is ! 
Fie, Jobby ! lets otl, fer fear he scribbles aboot 
us ! " — " Here's yer whillynier cheese ; lank an 
lean, but cheep an clean ! " says yen. " Buy a 
pair o' elegant shun, yoong gentleman ! " cries a 
dandy snob. " they wer meade fer Justice Grunt ; 
weages er hee, an ledder's dear ; but they're nob- 
bet twelve .shillin." Then a fat chap stuid up wid 
liis hammer an selt beds, clocks, kits, drores, 
cubberts, teables, chairs, stuils, pots an pans 
fer nowt at aw ! What, I seed mey fadder talkni 
to t' lawyer, an I gowl'd tul my een wer sair ; but 
nae mischief was iluin ; efter aw the rattle ! 



Then peer bits o' hawf brokken farmers 

In leggins keept struttin aboot ; 
Wer teymes gud they'd aw become dandies — 

We'll ne'er leeve to see that, 1 doobt ! 



Sec screapin, an squeekin 'mang t' fiddlers ; 

1 crap up the stairs, to be seer ; 
But suin trottet doon by the waiter ; 

For de'il a bit cap'rin was theer ! 



Nea, nea ! Lads and lasses er far owre prood 
to dance noo-a-days ! I stowtert ahint yen 
des-.'d cot just leyke a gingerbreed queen, an 
when I gat a glifi at her, whee sud it be but 
Jenny Murthet, mey cann^ bonny sweetheart ! 
1 tried Ut give her a l)uss, but cuddent touch her 
muzzle, fer she wore yen o' thar meal-scowp 
bonnets ; furst worn by women to heyde their 
fiays ome feaces ! Jenny was a manty-mekker, 
but hoo some rise i' the warl ! she's noo a driss- 
meaker ; an ax'd me to buy her a parry-swol ; 
sae we off till a dandy-shop an I gat her yen. 
forby a ridiculous ; an a lamberelly fer mysel. 
She'll hev a nioontain o' money ; an mey stars, 
she's a wallopei ! just leyke a hoose en ! As fer 
me. Shaft ! I's nobbet a peer lillypru.shen ; but 
she'll be meyne ; efter aw the rattle ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 139 



We linkt, an we laught, an we chattert ; 

Few lasses leyke Jenny, ye'll see ; 
O hed we but geane oft to Gratena, 

Niu wad been mair happy than we ! 

We went thro' the big kurk* an cassel ; 

An neest tuik a rammel thro' t' streets : 
\\liat Card's the pleace fer feyne hooses, 

But monie a peer body yen meets ! 

Ay ! yen in tatters, wi' ae e'e, bawlt oot ; 
' Here's the last speech, confession, an deein 
words ov Martha Mumps ; she was hangt fer 
committin a reape on — " Hut shaff ! I forgit his 
neame ! Anudder tatterdemaUion says, " Come 
buy a full chinse Indy muslin ; nobbet sixpence 
hawpenny a yerd ! " I gat yen fer Jenny ; but 
mey stars, it was rotten cis muck ! — Then ther 
was daft bits o' cheats, wi' powneys an cuddies, 
rwoarin up the lanes, " Bleng-ki-ship cwoals 1 
Tawkin-fell cwoals ! " others bawUn, " Peats ! 
Peats ! black an lang, guid an Strang ! cheap as 
enny, thcirty fer a penny ! " an aul chaps cawin 
" Wat-ter ! wat-ter ! " ay, ay ! it mun be that 
meks t' yell sae smaw !' They sel puzzen fer 
whusky noo ; what, it hes sec a grip o' the gob, 
it's leyke to set fire to the thrwoat, an varra 
nar meks fwok shek their heeds off ! They han- 
nel brass an silver, but yen sees leyle gowd i' 
Carel. — Sec cheatin, stealin, leein, wheedlin, 
struttin, squeezin, starin, vexin, rwoarin, sweer- 
ni, drinkin a:i fe^htin, meks Fairs nowt-et-dowe , 
efter aw the rattle 1 



Thro' Icyfe we hev aw maks amang us ; 

Sad changes ilk body mun share : 
To-day we're just puzzen'd wi' phshure ; 

To-morrow bent double wi' care ! 



Big Kurk— Carlisle Cathedral. 



I40 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE STRANGER. 
Tune — " Jolimiy' s Grey B reeks." 

The wintry win blew lood an caul, 

Neet owre the earth her curtain threw ; 
' Twa^ then a stranger crossM tlie muir, 

And tow'rts a clay built cottage drew : 
He saw a helpless worn-oot pair, 

The blazin fire sit bendin nar ; 
He thro' the brokken window star'd, 

And hard what gev his meynd a scar. 

" O, deame ! I'll ne'er forgit the day, 

When furst thoo wore that neyce stampt goon 
Now twonty years hae flown away, 

An sworry changes Time brings roon ! 
We then cud bwoast a weel stock'd farm, 

An neebors then fan prood to caw ; 
Now leyke owre monie, aul an puir, 

We're thrown ascyde by yen an aw ! 

"Thro' summer, winter, hard we toil'd, 

Nor struive a neebor e'er to wrang ; 
An when puir beggars cross'd the faul, 

Unsarrad, Jwohn ne'er let them gang ; 
That lad we reart as aw fwok sud, 

We gev him larnin, cled him weel ; 
But noo he wanders — God kens whoar ! 

Lets whop, leyke us, he ne'er may feel ! 

" When won by sowdgers i' the toon, 

'Twas war than deeth to thee an me ; 
Whejie tears bespak his meynd oppress'd. 

He flang his boonty on thy tnee ; 
They shipt him owre to Indy suin — 

O, cud we hear ov Jwohnny's neame ! 
For thee thoo's cheerfu, God be prais'd, 

In whops he'll come a nabob heame. 

" His sweetheart caws day efter day ; 

A better lass, he ne'er seed j'en ; 
She talks aboot him, then she freets, 

Alas ! she's worn to sk-in an bcane ! 
Oor squire wi' aw his wealth an preyde 

The luive o' Jenny ne'er can buy ; 
O, wer she nobbet Jwohnny's breyde 

Hoo happy 'twad meake thee an I ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 141 

• 'We've hed fower bairns an burried three, 

The fowerth may noo rest in his greave — 
Let's freet nae mair— God's will be duin ! 

Nowt frae grim Deeth mankeynd can seave ! 
Like thee wert t'lasseb : Jwohnny seem'd 

His fadder's picture, neebors sed ; 
That ])icture we may leeve to see — 

Dear weyfe ! mair tears let nowther shed ! 

• 'lust nwotish Spot, liis fav'rite dog, 

He wags his tail, as if to say, 
Tho' we're aw puir, mey maister's near ; 

Let's aw be merry ! weel we may ! " 
" Yes ! merry be "! the stranger cried. 
The duir flew open, in he ran ; 
He scizt his mudder, weept for joy. 

His fadder, tremlin, catch'd his han. 

" O, parent-; ! change from woe to joy ! 

Tho' forc'd in foreign climes to roam, 
I've scrv'd my coontry oft with sighs. 

But health and wealth have noo brought home. 
The farm you held shall suin be yours ; 

And Jane my partner suin shall be ; 
We'll serve the poor, who call each 'oor — 

Deeth shall but part her, you. and me ! " 



PEGGY PEN. 

Tune — " Miss Forbes' Farewell." 

The nniin shone brect the tudder neet : 

The kyc were milkt, aw wark was duin ; 
I shav'd mvscl, an cwomt my hair, 

ihrcw off my clogs, pat on grcas'd shoon 
The clock struck eight as oot i stiile ; 

The rwoad I tuik reel wcel I ken ; 
1 crf)sst the wattcr. clam the hill 

In whops to meet wi' Peggy Pen. 



142 CUMBERLAXD BALLADS. 

When i' the wood I hard some talk ; 

They cutter'd on, but varra low ; 
I hid myscl ahint the yek, 

An Peggy wid a chap suin saw : 
He smackt her Ups, she cried, " Give owre ! 

We lasses aw er pkagued wi' men ! " 
1 tremlin stuid but dursent speak, 

Tho' dearly I luiv'd Peggy Pen ! 



He cawt her Marget, someteymes Miss ; 

He spak queyte feyne, an kisst her han ; 
He bragt ov aw his fadder hed — 

I seeght : for we've nae iioose or Ian : 
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 I " 



She drew her han, an turn'd her roon, 

" Let's hae nae mair sec talk," says she ; 
" Tho' Gwordie Muir be nobbet pair. 

He's dearer nor a prince to me ! 
Mey fadder scauls, mworn, nnin, an 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 creatcher spoke to me, 

I'd quickly knock the booby down ! " 
" Come on ! " says I, " thy strength e'en try 

Av heed owre heels sec chaps I'd sen ; 
Lug ofl thy cwoat I'll feght aw neet, 

Wi' three, leyke thee, fer Peggy Pen ! " 

Away he flew ; mey airms I threw 

About her weast, an heame we went ; 
I axt her if she durst be nieyne ; 

She squeez'd my han an gov consent : 
We talkt an jwokt, as lovers sud ; 

We parted at their awn barn en ; 
An ere anudder month be owre 

She'll change to Muir, frae Peggy Pen ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 143 

CURSMESS EVE. 

Tune — " The young May Moon." 

" What, Jwosep ! hoo go ? " — " Wey, bliiitert, an 
baizt. 
We've hed a meast tarrible rig, ye tnow ; 
I's thin as a lat, greypt, tharsty, an seeck. 
Per ye, ye're as fat as a pig, ye tnow : 
I thowt to mysel this mworn as I ruse. 

It's a monstrous warl this we're in, ye tnow ; 
For nine out o' ten, beath women an men, 
Er peer silly taistrels, we fin, ye tnow ! 



" Last neet efter dark'nin, 'twas Cursmess 
Eve, 
1 walkt up towert Naig's Heed, ye tnow ; 
Theer whee sud I see, but Sweyne Sam an Rutf 
Rob, 
Treype Tom, Smiddy Dick, an Deef Keid, ye 
tnow : 
Ther was Limpin Lanty, an Bottlenwos't Jack, 

Mug Matthew, an Kursty Cumcatch, ye tnow ; 
.\ul VVry-gobb'd Squire, an Turn-cwoat Jemmy — 
Thowt I, we mun suin hev a fratch, ye tnow. 



" What, they'd laik at lanter : the cairils wer 
Ijrong in ; 
Iliuy grew up, drank, crackt, an jwok't, ye 
tnow ; 
It's best to sit whiet, thinks 1 to meysel, 

Sae I crap nar the chimley, an smuikt, ye 
tnow." 
" Come ! down wi' yer lanters ! Ruff Robm wan 
hist "— 
" Whee deals ? " — " Prod, shuffle an cut, ye 
tnow " — 
" inuck roon, I've nowt " — " Here's « deuce an 
twee trays ! " — 
" Wey, that's nobbut a han fer putt, ye tnow ! " 



144 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Mug Matthew just yen an three-hopence lost, 

For Turn-cwoat was aye a big cheat, j'e tnow ; 
What, he hid king an queen anonder his tnee — 

Sec gamUn can niver be reet, ye tnow ! 
" Buck up ! What's trumps ? " — " That's meyne ! 
— " Nay meyne ! " 

Cries Turn-cwoat, " Ye heath tell a lee ye tnow ! 
They seed him lug out the king an the queen — 

Mug Matthew suin bleakent his e'e, ye tnow. 



" Sec cleekin at brass ! — What, the teable they 
splat, — 

An kickt up a row in a crack, ye tnow ; 
Sweyne Sam tnockt oot puir Treype Tom's teeth, 

Ruff Rob felt Bottlenwos't Jack, ye tnow ; 
Deef Reid an Lanty, leyke twea bull dogs, 

They splattert aboot here an theer, ye tnow ; 
Cumcatch kickt roon in his snoot ban clogs,* 

'Till Smiddy laid him on the fluir, ye tnow ! 



" Noo we5rves an dowters com bouncin in ; 

Bet Bottlenwose brong in a crutch, yc tnow ; 
She aimt at Ruff Rob, but the lanleady hat — 

Puir Meable was leamt varra much, ye tnow ; 
The lanlword saw't, an he cleekt up t' por, 

His silly aul dcame to seave. ye tnow ; 
An swore, if onie yen clinch t a fist, 

" Od-rot him ! he's lig in his greave, ye tnow ! " 



" Aul Wry-gobb'd Seymie neest meade a lang 
speech. 
Bade them drop aw their fratchin an speyte, ye 
tnow ; 
" What, neebors ! " says he, " ye'd far better 
'gree. 
Nor fer lawyers an doctors thus feght, ye tnow ! 
It's best to sit whiet, an laugh at ilk riot : 

Let's whop better teymes '11 suin come, ye tnow ! " 
The hay-bay noo ceast, what, he spak leyke a 
priest. 
An cawt fer a bottle ov rum. ye tnow. 

♦ Snoot ban, see page 135. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 145 

" They swattet them doon, tuik't weyves on the 
tnee — 

Treype Tom gev a Cummerlan sang, ye tnow ; 
They crackt an jwokt they chowt an smuikt, 

An some thowt 'twas teyme fer to gang, ye 
tnow : 
The clock strack yen or ae hawf wer geane, 

What, udders the hoose waddent leave ye tnow : 
They drank, they rwoart, they sleept, they snwoart — 

Sae muckle fer Cursmess Eve, ye tnow ! " 



JACK SPANG. 
Tune — " Fie, let us a' to the Bridal." 

Stop. Etty ! — Thoo's nit gan nae farder 

Till we've a bit crack fer a weyle ; 
It's owre siiin i' t' mwornin fer niilkin, 

Sae swat the' ways doon on the steyle : 
The summer-floocrs bonny er bloomin ; 

The burds sing a cheerfu' sweet sang ; 
An 1 cud sing yen. tui, foriver, 

Aboot whee ? — Wey canny Jack Spang ! 



His teeth er as weyte as peerl buttons ; 

Nae rwose wid his cheek can compare ; 
His een er as black as a reaven — 

Nae wonder the lasses aw stare ; 
.\i plewin, at mowin, at shearin, 

He caps aw ; he's lusty an Strang ; 
At runnin, at russlin, at lowpin. 

They're nobbut leyke bairns to Jack Spang I 



At readin, at wreytin, at coontin, 
He's just fit to oppem a schuil ; 

Aa, hiss ! I ne'er answer his letters 
For fear he sud think me a fuil : 



146 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

His fadder hed yence heaps ov money, 
But bon'ship throws monie fwok wrang 

Ne'er ak ! mey aul fadder hes plenty, 
An hawf on't he'll gie to Jack Spang. 



When duin wid his darrik in winter, 

He weades thro' the snaw owre the muir ; 
I aye ken his fit an liis whussle, 

Lang, lang or he gits to oor duir : 
Ke jwokes, an oor aul fwok er merry ; 

He lilts monie a Cummerlan sang ; 
In clogs he can dance leyke a maister, 

A whornpeype we've hed frae Jack Spang. 



Theer's Luke the lang laird o' Drumleenin, 

Aye brags ov his sel an his gear ! 
But ne'er sal he caw me his Nanny, 

Nay, nit fer five hundert a year ! 
Wi' yen widoot twee groats an tuppens, 

To kurk I this mwornin wad gang ; 
What, money to mis'ry leads monie ; 

Mey fav'rite thoo kens is Jack Spang. 



Oor Ellik caws Jack a rapscallion, 

We meynd they'd a bit ov a feght ; 
But fadder an mudder scaul Ellik, 

An bid him drop aw sec puir speyte ; 
Come owre an teake tea agean Sunday, 

Neest mworn to the fair we'll aw gang ; 
Thoo's seer ov a treat frev oor Ellik, 

As I's ov a kiss frae Jack Spang. 



Thur luivers owre oft pruive pretenders, 

An that decent lasses aye feynd ; 
In Ellik thoo's got a true sweetheart, 

An tudder's the lad to mey meynd. 
O, wer we but weddet ! if beggars, 

I'd daut on him aw the day lang — 
Odsbreed, lass ! be off to thy milkin ! 

Just luik — whee conies laughin ? — Jack Spang! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 147 

CALEP AN WATTY. 
Tune — " Aul lang, beytie."' 

CALEP. 

" What, Watty ? It's lang sin we met ; 
■ Come swat doon i' the nuik ; 
An gies thy cracks aboot this warl — 

Furst fou that peype an smuik. 
When thee an me were bwoys at schiiil. 

E'en winter days seemt lang ; 
An scwores o' tey'mes I gat the taws ; 

For thee, thoo ne'er did wrang ! " 

WATTY. 

" When thy weyfe Dabby furst we saw, 

Tbe storm in meade us steal ; 
She smeylt an spun, but when thoo spak, 

She scearce cud turn the wheel : 
Thoo mov'd thy hat an smackt her hps— 

Aa I lain was 1 to see't. 
An monie a glass an jwoke we hed, 

Alv/ore we bade giiid-neet." 



" O, Watty ! when she left this warl, 

It cost me monie a tear ; 
What, she wad sarra neebors roon. 

An aye to aw was dear ! 
I see her greave day efter day. 

An turn me nxm an cry ; 
An whop in Heebem suin we'll meet, 

p'or aul thoo kens am I." 

WATTY. 

" What Calep ! thoo sud reyde to Shawk, 

An Isaac Crosset see ; 
A hced-stcan git fer yen sae guid, 

A lesson it may \)C : 
A churreb hev, wi' weyde-spread wings 

Just pleac'd o' top o' t' steanc, 
A bonnier lass, a better weyfe 

The sun ne'er sheyn'd on neane I " 



148 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Ay, Watty ! I'll t' rwoan filly moont, 

An off to Shawk to-mworn ; 
I'll pay him wee! — A steaiie thoo's git 

For hiir that pruiv'd thy scworn — 
Here, teakc a glass ov stiff Strang punch, 

Wi' me be merry still ; 
Caw when thoo may, day efter day. 

To sarra thee's mey will ! " 



" O, Calep ! luive an gear thoo won, 

Wi' mey weyfe neane I gat. 
But tuik a brumsten gien to drink, 

An offen I've rued that ; 
When young, when aul, we plishure seek. 

An whop fer joys thro' leyfe ; 
But efter aw, man's greatest curse. 

Is aye an ill-gien weyfe ! " 



" Aul cronie ! I hev monie farms. 

An yen thoo's welcome tui ; 
Thcer's fifty yacre o' guid Ian, 

An mair ner that I'll dui ; 
I'll hire the' sarvents, naigs I'll buv. 

An coos, an sheep, an sweyne ; 
For ne'er till deeth can I forgit 

The days ov aul lang-seyne ! " 



WATTY. 

' Nay, Calep ! keyndness gangs owre far, 

But here's mey han to thee ! 
I canna manish farms or owt — 

T's mair ner eighty twee ! 
I hear the Beyljle read queyte fain, 

But niver see the muin ; 
I's tuithless, puir, hawf-blin an leame ; 

Ne'er ak ! God's will be duin ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 149 



" Here, Watty ! teake a purse queyte fou 

Thy leyfe it lang may seave ; 
Thoo ne'er sal want, sud I nit leeve 

To see thee in the greave ! 
Thoo's aul, hawf-bUn, an double bent, 

Be wise an dunuet freet ; 
Let's whop that in a better warl, 

Sec twee aul freens may meet ! " 



" Thenks. Calep ! — Sec a hivvy purse ! 

What I mun hobble heame ; 
For thee I'll pray beath neet an day, 

Ner e'er forgit thy neame ! 
God bliss aw fwok, be thee they will, 

Sae fain to help the puir ! 
Leyfc's comforts aw mey they enjoy 

'Til Deetli taps at the duir ! " 



THE FLOW'R O' THE VILLAGE. 
Tune — " Hallow Fair." 

The Flow'r o' the Village is Mary ; 

A rwose-bud surroonded by thworns ; 

Sh(! nowther kens preyde or ambition ; 

Aw gaudy donnt creatures she scworns 
She's sweet as the breeze o' the mwornin, 

An blithe as the lam on the lea ; 
She causes nae care but gies plishure — 

.\ better nae mortal can see. 

The miser may worship his money, 

An swap his contentment for wealth ; 
Be poverty welcom'd for iver. 

If blest but wi' Mary ,m health ! 
Tho' I iiir IS my heart's dearest treasure, 

Her form hovers roon me aw day ; 
An lang is the neet, for nae slumbers 

Can chiise the sweet flow'ret away I 



I50 CUMBERLAiNU BALLADS. 

Ou Pett'ril's green banks oft we wander, 

Whoar nature blooms sweetly to view ; 
A neebor we ne'er wish to slander, 

Aye prood to gie aw fwok their due : 
Let aul an young wish fer true plishure, 

But mortals ne'er try to deceive ; 
Whea seeks to betray man or woman, 

Mun sorrow endure ere life's eve ! 

\Vlien wintry wins howl owre the valleys. 

We meet, the dull hours to begueyle ; 
I sing a luivc sang to my dearie, 

An Mary thanks me with a smeyle ; 
But ere the wej'ld winter's returnin, 

A ring on her finger sal be ; 
Leyfe free frae veyce, discord, or sorrow, 

A summer sal i:)ruive to the twee ! 



KIT CAPSTICK. 
Tune — " Jack o' Latlcn." 

Aa, Greace ! I's sworry thy leame leg 

Keept thee frae last neet's party ; 
Just seebem cawt on me, wi' wark, 

Weel donn'd, young, neyce, an hearty ; 
Kit Capstick suin com bouncin in — 

What, thoo'd hev Sam aseyde the' ; 
Tek mey advevce, wed m a treyce, 

Then'guid luck will beteyde the' ; 

Noo heaps o' treagle chaps brong in,* 

An tafiey suin they meade us ; 
Wi' speyce an juice 'twas niixt reet weel, 

An ilk yen's share they laid us ; 
Kit Capstick carv't a famish feace, 

Nin e'er seed ow't sae chver ; 
He stule a kiss, then gev't to me — 

Aa, lass ! I'll keep't fer iver ! 

• The description is of what in the last century used to be 
called in Cumberland " a taffy join." 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 151 

We'd sangs an guesses monie a yen, 

What, nin can e'er forget them ; 
The kiss o' luive they wad gie roon, 

Nowt cud we dui but let them ; 
Kit mockt the swe\aie, an cats, an dogs, 

Til! Cwolev ran to beyte him ; 
He cleek'd the th\'^'el, strack owre hard 

An leam'd him sair — Od-weyte him ; 

Kit telt oor fortunes, neest, wi' cairds, 

Nae chap was e'er seen leyke him ; 
He sed bad luck wad niek him meyne. 

The lasses bade me streyke him ; 
He nieade some laugh, some heyde the feace. 

An monie fain to hear on't ; 
He luikt queyte serous : aw we hard 

Will suir be true, nae fear on't ! 

At blin-man's buff aw scamper'd roon, 

Tom's feace wi' bluid gat pentet ; 
Pnir Mally fell an crush'd hersel. 

Then in Dick's airms she fentet : 
I catcht Kit Capstick roon the weast, 

An set them aw a (lyrin ; 
Jack twore his sweetheart Dolly's goon, 

He'd been sae oft admirin. 

Kit Capstick noo his fcyfe lugg'd oot ; 

Aw J£nglan cannot match him ! 
He play'd an dance' t a jig wi' me — 

I'd gie the wad to catch him ! 
Ben caper'd neest in stockin feet. 

An Jenny's bonnet pat on ; 
But Kit suin meade aw lit to brust, 

Mcy pattens when he sat on. 

I brong a lK)wster m at last, 

.\n monie laugh'd an cheated , 
The droi) went roon ; on sweethearts' tnees. 

The lasses snug wcr seated. 
The cock suin craw' I ; iiway they llevv, 

Aw linkt wid yen anudder • 
Fuils brag o' murry-neets — «"C stuff ! 

Ihey're nowt but preyde an boilder ! 



152 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

OUR LANLWORD AN LANLEADY. 
Tune — " The Campbells are coming." 

Our Lanhvord worth thoosans, hes lower'd ilk 

rent ; 
God bless aw that try to moake others content ! 
In vain farmers toil, noo the grain gits sac low — 
War tevmes honest farmers or lab'rers ne'er saw I 
WTiiat, inonie yence happy are whopeless an puir, 
Widoot owther furniture, stock, crop, or gear ; 
Wheyle deames an the bairns the sad changes 

bewail. 
The weal-meanin plewman's oft flung into jail. 



Oor lanlword's a pattern queyte free frev aw preyde, 

He'll crack wid his tenants an walk seyde by seyde ; 

He sits in oor kitchens — still merry is he ; 

An dantels the bairns monie an 'oor on his tnee ; 

Then yen reads a lesson to others at wurk ; 

He'll ax what the priest sed last Sunday at kurk : 

Widoot liv'ry sarvents, aroon aw he'll gang. 

But sair it aye grieves him if tenants dui wrang. 

Oor lanlword oft joins in a plain humble meal, 
An wheyles, efter preezin, he'll teaste a swop yell. 
The paper he reads, an oft seeghs when he says, 
His mem'ry but meynds him ov far better days ! 
If a weddin teks pleace, nar the breyde he'll aye 

sit, 
An leykes fwok when merry, but hates wicked 

vni ; 
Then if onie lad a young lass sud deceive, 
He lectures him freely an oft meks him grieve! 

Oor lanlword aw day ne'er yence clwoses his duir. 
But if they be honest he helps weel the puir ; 
To ax efter seeek fwok he reydes roon an roon, 
An sens fer the docter awt way frae the toon ; 
His leady fins cleedin, bulks, physic, forby 
She teakes to the labourin puir that are nigh ; 
Then bids them be merry, an keep the hoosc clean — 
Thro' aw the heale coontv her marra's scearce 
seen ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 153 

Oor lanleady gev puir aul Isbel a coo, 

An gurse, hay in plenty she gits the year thro' : 

When Laidley gat leam'd she e'en tuik him a 

nwoie, 
Hoo monie far richer, wad nit give a grwoat ! 
Then Primmers an Spelhn-buiks, day efter day, 
She gies to HI scholars that tro\vin ne'er play ; 
If onie amang them e'er feght, sweer, or lee. 
Sec varraen in that schuil nae langer mun be. 



At Cursmess. they beath aw their tenant inveyte 
To spen the neet wi' them, an share ilk deleyte ; 
The parson, his weyfe, an twee dowters attend. 
They're guid an hev pruiv'd monie a puir body's 

friend ; 
We eat an we drink, till the clock it streykes fower, 
An that's seerly teyme for aw spwort to give owre ; 
We've sweet heartin, dancin, an singin, leyke owt ; 
Sec famish divarsion can seldom be bowt ! 



Ye Iworcls, knights, an squires, that can leave at 

yer ease ; 
Remember yer duty, guid tenants to please ; 
To comfort the puir an the worthy to seave, 
Will mek men wi' happiness bow to the greave. 
To copy oor lanlword, an lanleady, tui. 
May gain ye true plishure that preyde canna dui ! 
He's wi.sest tiiat gives what he aye can affword — 
To give to the puir, is to len to the Iword ! 



154 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

JWHONNY AN JENNY. 
Tune — " Hand nwa' frae tve, Donald." 

JWHONNY. 

" What ! Nichol says, Dick Mosscrop noo, 

Can lead the' whoar he will, Jenny, 
Ye women fwok er leyke the win. 

Aye changin, changin still, Jenny I 
Wliate'er Nick says we mun believe, 

He ne'er yence tells a lee, Jenny ; 
Sin me thy sweetheart, thoo'll deceive. 

Nae mair I'll follow thee, Jenny I " 

JENNY. 

•' Thoo's young an hilthy, fit fer wark, 

An nowt thro' leyfe need fear, Jwohnny 
I wish thou suin may teake a weyfe. 

That iver will be dear, Jwohnny ! 
If yen I luive, nae harm I dui ; 

That yen I's fain to see, Jwohnny : 
I'll think o' teymes we twee hae spent. 

An daily pray fer thee, Jwhonny ! " 

JWHONNY. 

" Last week a paintet valenteyne, 

For thee in to\vn I bowt, Jenny ; 
But, when I hard I'd lost thy luive 

I seeght an sobb't, leyke owt, Jenny ! 
The win an weet, the snaw an sleet. 

Cud niver yence stop me, Jenny 
Thro' mud an mire, owre bog an brier. 

I've flown at neets to thee, Jenny ! " 

JENNY. 

" The last teyme I aul Nichol met, 

He stonisht me, nae fear, Jwhonny : 

Sed wood-leggt Debby was thy choice. 
Cause she hes heaps o' gear, Jwhonny : 
He sed thoo met her in the faul. 
An gev her kisses three, Jwhonny ; 

To kiss an crack wi' young or aul. 

If guid nae harm can de, Jwhonny ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 155 



JWHONNY. 

' The last teyme Nichol swol'd mey shoon ; 

He telt what caus'd surprise, Jenny ; 
Dick Mosscrop at the Fair, for thee, 

By feghtin gat black eyes, Jenny ; 
1 ne'er hard wood-leggt Debby's voice ; 

Her gear end nit win me, Jenny ; 
If black-ee'd Dick mun pruive thy choice,^ ^ 

Mev greave suin may thoo see, Jenny ! " 

JENNY. 

" What we hev hard, wer telt as jwokes'^; 

Why snd we mepid aul Nick, Jwhonny, 
The rwose hes left thy cheek queyte pale — 

I ne'er yence spak to Dick, Jwhonny ! 
Rud women diii what guid they can, 

Thur wicked tuils '1! lee, Jwhonny, 
Tho' monie a man wad tek this han, 

I'll gie't to nin but thee, Jwohnny ! " 

JWHONNY. 

' O try dear lass ! this feyne gowd ring, 

I browt for thee frae toon, Jenny ; 
Tho' furst he axt a guinea preyce, 

I gat it for a crown, Jenny. 
Thoo sees the kurk on yonder hill, 

Theer weddet suin we'll be, Jenny ! 
Ther's Nichols in aw pleaces still — 

I'll luive the' till I dee, Jenny ! " 



THE SAILOR. 
Tune — " Miss Forbes' farewell to Banf." 

Oh ! Hetty ! — Hoo thoo's chang'd of leate, 

RtTt blithe th'K luik'd the tudder day ; 
But noo, thoo secghs an hings thy heed. 

An aw the colour's flown away ; 
Mev only l)airn, keep up thy heart ! 

'fliat varra luik gies pain to me ; 
Th(K>'s risUfSs grown heath day an neet, 

An aw fer ffminv. far at sea. 



156 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Last week, queyte murry leyke a lark, 

Thoo sang ; the weather then was clear ; 
Noo when the angry win blavvs lood. 

Ae single wi>rcl I seldom hear ; 
Think, think fer storms as well as cawms, 

Aw guid fwok Slid reel thenkfu be : 
The howlin wins nae sailors flay. 

When on the deep far, far at sea. 

Thv puir aul fadder, forty years 

Crosst nionie a roUin moontain wave, 
Ave leetsome ; weel thoo meynds the teyme, 

A fever tuik him to the greave ; 
At partin ne'er shed he a tear. 

But bade us ever cheer fu be — 
I'd worn this day anudder luik. 
If he'd been leevin far at sea ! 

Thy Jemmy's guid an murry still ; 

His mudder fifty years I've tnown, 
She's rich an lies nae mair nor him. 

An leykes thee as thoo' been her awn ; 
The win hes fawn ! just mark the sun, 

Hoo sweet he sheynes on hill an tree — 

change that luik ! an whop guid news 
We'll hear ov Jemmy, far at sea ! 

The ship that nar oor ceilin hings, 
Thy een er fixt on day an neet ; 

'Twas meade by Jemmy when at schuil. 
An for his seake I's fain to see't. 

Thur bonny pictures roun our room 
He drew when young, an aw fer thee— 

1 seed him i' mey dream last neet, 

An heard him sing fareweel to sea ! 

He pleac'd a rwose-bud i' thy breest ; 

Just luik hoo sweet it bluims an grows ! 
He kiss'd thee threyce ; shuik hans wi' me ! 

An thus he spack wi' manly vows ; 
" Oor voy'ge is shwort, nae mair I'll try. 

But monie a present brings to thee ; 
God bliss thee, Bess ! thoo' 11 suin be meyne ; 

I'll view thee still when far at sea ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 157 

Just thro' the window teake a keek ; 

Yen daily sees the shippin sail — 
Aa, lass ! I's fain to see thee smeyle ; 

What, Jemmy's comin, I'il be bail ; 
You lasses ne'er sud weep or wheyne, 

But whop an pray, an murry be — 
The Pow'r that claims oor thenks on Ian, 

Can seave yer sweethearts, far at sea ! 



JEAN. 

Tune — " Gin a body meet a body" 

Ye wardly bodies, screape up wealth 

An aye gean peer fwok rail ; 
Leyke them, yer bloomin rwose o' health 

Suin turns a lily pale ; 
Can riches gie content to ye ? 

O, that's owre seldom seen ! 
Tho' my lot's humble poverty. 

I'm aye content wi' Jean ! 



Ye that on frienship oft depend. 

Nor dream o' man's base art ; 
Know, int'rest meks pretended friend 

Oft play deceiver's part : 
If Fortune's shy, they'll frae ye fly 

As keynd ye ne'er hcd been : 
False friens an fortune I defy — 

Leyfe's comfort's aye my Jean ! 



Ye, that in flowin bowls deleyte. 

An swober chaps aye scworn ; 
Know he that drinks till fou at neet, 

Mun sorrow sup neest mworn ; 
Tek ye yer gl.uss. gie mo mcy lass 

To crack an 'oor at e'en ; 
For sweet an fleet the minutes pass 

When teymc's begueyl'd by Jean ! 



I5« CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

I'\e lang toil'd hnrd to gccUler gear, 

That oft (lislurl)'(l my mcynd ; 
I've thowt him wheyles a frien sincere. 

That oft hcs pruiv'd unkeynd ; 
I've drank till fou, owre oft I trowe, 

An blush it sac hcs been ; 
For happiness I only knew, 

When teyme was spent wi' Jean 1 



AW THE WARL'S A STAGE. 

Tune — " Lang-seyne." 

Hoo fen ye aw ? — Nay, what yc stare ! 

Let's whop I've nit duin \vrang ; 
Leyke monie mair just fling by care, 

An hear a leyle bit sang ! 

I's nee singer ; nobbet yen o' th' player-fwok ; 
yer feyne .silk-donn'd leadies an puir bits o' 
lasses wi' worn-out duds, er just the seame. 
WTiat ! oor girt parliment men owre offen pruive 
thersels impudent actors ; sae are lawyers in 
goons an poodert wigs ; then some parsons 
weer lang feaces, an prey leyke wolves in sheep's 
cleeden — Ay, ay ! in aw coontries ! — Just so ! 

A sang can vex, a sang can charm ; 

WTiej'le hard, nit understuid, 
Sangs just leyke plays, owre oft dui harm — 

What pity owther sud ! 

Dukes, beggars, tradesmen, gypsies, Iwords, 

Ay aw maks fwok e'er saw, 
We act, wi' dress, wi' deeds, an words, 

In scenes of fun an woe ! 

Wey, leyfe's nobbet a play, ye ken ! Leyke us 
far owre monie, aul an young, er fworc't at aw 
teymes to act fer brass ; but wheyles they git 
nin ! What yen cannot treed the streets ov onie 
toon or village, widoot seein wad-be heroes, 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 159 

gentry, madmen, cloons an slaves ; in trage- 
dies, comedies, farces an pantemeynes. Hut, 
shaft ! I's warn ye, it's just the seame in aw 
coontries ! Just so ! 

We censure veyce, we virtue praise, 

An lash the sons ov preyde — 
Guid lessons fwok may larn frae pla} 1. 

Yet fuils the best dereyde. 

Aul fwok an young, the rich an puir, 

Ilk mortal plays a part ; 
Some act, to screape up heaps o' gear, 

An some to win a heart : 

Aa ! kings an cobblers, fops an fuils, er famish 
actors in luive scenes ; then theer's duchesses, 
dulcincys, douce deames an deylt donnets ; the 
girt swort er monstrous cliver at masqueradins. 
an caper away at ball room waltzes — the lower 
mak gi' whornpeyps, jigs, an reels at murry- 
neets. Sec leyfe oft sarras to steal hearts fra yen 
anudder — Ay ! in aw coontries ! — Just so ! 

Some, decent parts can play wi' ease, 

Wheyle monie niver can ; 
It's best'to act thro' leyfe to please — 

That aye sal be iney plan ! 

Some fain wad act the wedding day, 

An honey-muin, nae doot : 
Aw in the wrang, but thoosans plav. 

An Much-a-dui 'boot nowt ; 

What iv'ry yen hes his faut ! ye'vc aw seen Hee 
leyfe below stairs — The warl in a village — The agree 
able surprise — The schuil fer scandal — an The 
rwoad to ruin ? As fer Peer Gentlemen — Peer 
sowdgers — Mod; doctors — Murry mourners — Busy 
bodies — Desarters — Leears — Rivals — an Romps — 
thur are queylu common as durt, I's warn ye ! — 
Ay ! in aw countries ! — Just so ! 

Nae matter, Aw the warld's a stage, 

Ther's strowlers in ilk loon — 
Hooe'er thro' leyfe I may engage. 

Your keyndncss let me own ! 



i6o CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

SARVENT NED. 
Tune — " Hallow Fair." 

The lassie wi' yilenty ov siller 

May aye git a man, we aw see ; 
East, west, north an sooth '11 run till her, 

Tho' Icame, cross an ugly she be ; 
They'll bliss her, caress her and priss her, 

An sweer her the bonniest she ; 
But yence fairly buckelt, he's wearied — 

Deil keep sec pretenders frae me ! 



Lang Hannah hed yence heaps ov money, 

Noo into the puir-hoose, she's geane ; 
Tho' nowther weel-shept, wise or bonny, 

Yet sweethearts she gat monie a yen : 
Dick tuik her, oft struck her, forsuik her ; 

Away wi' her money ran he — 
Oh ! hed he been taen to the gallows ! 

— Sec rif-rafs sal niver catch me ! 



I meynd weel oor awn sarvent, Jenny, 

When I was a leyle todlin bairn ; 
A better lass, few hev seen enny. 

An guidness she aye sowt to larn ; 
Rich Durthet ; Laird Murthct, of Curthet. 

They fit for her — shemf a to see ! 
She tuik a puir lad ; they leeve happy. 

An guid adveyce daily gie me. 



Tho' I's nit a puir coontry lassie, 

I keep a puir lad i' mey e'e ; 
Tho' decency suddent be saucy. 

To the Bishop a weyfe Td nit be ! 
Base wooers — pursuers — undoers, 

Frae sec I's resolv'd to keep free ; 
Wer ilk hair o' mey heed a gowd guinea, 

Oor puir sarvent Ned sud hae me ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. i6i 

JURRY'S CURSNIN. 
Tune — " Up an war them a'." 

" Luik Dinah, if the keake's eneuf, 

They'll suin come back frae kurk, 
Deil bin the' ! turn't, girt lazy guff ! 

Thoo's far owre prood to work ! 
Mek hesiste, set cups an saucers oot ; 

I's sworry we've got nae trays ; 
Gar kettles beath boil, an wesh thysel, 

But furst come leace mey stays." 

" It's just six month, ay this varra day, 

Sin I was brong to bed ; 
Lai Jurry mun hae the cow-pox suin — 

Thenk God, he's varra weel cled ! 
"What they're aw coniin ! aa, doon the broo ! 

Wi' t' ill-gien priest a-heed ; 
A neycer party i' the aul kurk, 

I's seer he niver yence seed ! 

" What Mistress Creake hes on silk goon, 

But nae sec rieedin hev I ; 
An Martha Miredrum's leady leyke — 

Oor Squire them claes mud buy ; 
The ear-rings, palles, umbrell, fwok say 

He bowt, an bade her to weer ; 
Ther's bairns in Lunnon, nit married bred, 

Som o' them er liurs I'd sweer ! 

" Come parson, teake the airmin-chair " — 

" Here, give thy Jurry a souk " — 
" Guidman, han ev'ry yen a glass — 

What meks mey darlin puke ? " 
" Here's health to all ; " — " Thenks thenks, 
guid sur ! " 

" Hoo's your ncyce sousy deamc ? " 
" She's purty well ! " — " Pow'r oot the tea ; 

Meynd fwok, yer aw at heame ! " 

" Reel weel carvt, them neycc siller spuins " — 
" Slap-bason han owre this way " — 

" The lasses gat kisses ahint kurk duir " — 
" Ther's nee harm i' that, fwok say ; " 



l62 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

" Dick, git thy clogs an sarra the pigs ; 

Frien Gworge, ye eat nowt et dowe I 
" Frank Wood gat weddct last week at Bruff " 

" Wey, Frank's but gitten a frowe ! " 

" Paul Burthcm they've laid up i' the jail " — 

" Ay ! — he'll be hangt, I's warn ! " 
" Aa Meggy ! mess, thoos grown monstrous fat" 

" To carry twee twins she mun larn " — 
" Tell Tim his fortune in his cup " — 

" I wull, but lees I scworn ; 
Tim's ef ter Elsy, but nobbet aw luik, 

She'll git a far better to-mworn ! " 
" I teake nee cream " — " Hoo Jurry he gowlt 

When parson but wet his feace ; 
Peer bairn it laughs ! " — " Cap's far owre big "— 

" That's famish bonny neyce leace ! " 
" O, Mistress Creake ! some trouble teake ; 

Han roon the twoast an cheese ! 
Put in mair tea ! — fer guidness de ! 

Leace't roon wi' rum, if ye please ! " 

" When Ephrem, I christened, three years old, 

Queyte vex'd he struck mf, the priest ; 
Tum'd roond to fadder, " aa deddy ! " says he, 

" I ken it's thy awn turn neest ! " 
" Mess, Parson, that's a reet guid jwoke ; 

It's meade them aw laugh roon ; 
A better man ne'er in pulpot stuid ; 

Nay, dunnet turn tea-cup doon ! " 

" No more, no more ! I've drank twee cups " — 

" That's nowt, what I've tean fower ! " 
" Just luik, hoo Jurry his boilies sups ; 

At goddy he leykes to glowre ! " 
" Nav, parson, sit ! fie, Dinah, heaste ; 

The bow! an glasses bring in ; 
Theer's what fwok caw West-indy rum, 

An guid Strang Irish gin ! " 

" Leyle Anthony hed a feght last neet. 

He whackt lang Roger Bell ; 
He hed a steane in ilka neef ; 

Oor Parson's mebby hard tell " — 
" Yes, fools will fight : it's their delight ! " 

" Han parson owre a snufE " — 
" What, trade's queyle brisk i' Carel grown " — 

" Hut. shaff ! that's aw silly stuff ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 163 

" Come here's good health, long life to the king !" 

" Aa parson ! that's just queyte reet : " 
" I wish you peace, and all good-night ! " 

" Guid neet ! " — " Guid sur, guid-night ! " 
" He's off ! " — " Humph ! prood hard-hearted fuil, 

He nowther can preach nur pray ! 
Whene'er the beggars gang nar his duir. 

He'll scaul, an push them away ! " 

" Let's drink lal Jurry, lang mey he thrive, 

When we're cowpt into t' greave ; 
Whee kens but he Iword-bishop may be. 

An peer fwok try to seave " — 
" What's cumt o' Nichol ? " — " He's better away, 

At leein he caps the warl ! " 
" Aa, Archy ! Suke an thee seem keynd ' — 

" Nay ! she'il dui nowt but narl ! " 

" What's got Bill Adams, that hawf-bhn guft ? " 

" O hed we the Carel ban ! 
A shillin a-piece I's suir, they'd git 

.\n punch, wheyle onie cud stan ! " 
" Theer's Peter Proudfit plays the feyfe " — 

" Wey, nay ! 1 play nin noo ; 
Mey weyfe last week brak't owre mey heed 

Cause I'd gitten far owro fou." 

" We'll hev a bit sang " — " Thoo sant git a kiss! 

Od wheyte te ! I'll box thy lug ! " 
" Aboot wid a smack leyke a waggoner's crack, 

Young chaps the lasses may hug " — 
" Fou Mistress Tnowles a clean wheyte peype, 

Ay. pig-iail bacco smuiks best ; 
Han owre the barra-cwot for mey bairn " — 

" Aye we mun aw heame an to rest." 

" Nay I nee niair punch I what I's blin drunk I " 

" Spring up an 111 whussle a jig " — 
"Weel duin ! noo buss her; lurst weype thy 
gob"- 

" Aul .Mirem lies lost hi'^ wig ! " 
" The clock stans still " — " It's far owre leate ! " 

" Tlic Muin's just risen, I sec I " 
They kisst n cuddelt, pat on their clwoaks : 

A coonlry cursnin far me! 



i64 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

TO JWOHNNY. 

Tune — " Hey howe." 

" Hey howe ! — Jwohnny lad, 

Ye'tp. l1i^ sa" keynd' . ye sud hae been 
Oft did ye praise mey sense an worth, 

An caw me fit to be a queen ; 
But noo ye've stown this gueyless heart, 

An monie a tear faws frae iney e e. 
The Ijng'rin day T peyne an think. 

Ye' re nit what ilka yen sud be ! 



You coort Daft Nan ov Howket Hill, 

But ne'er a thowt o' me ye ware ; 
She's ill-gien, petted, fou ov preyde — 

Ye thowt me leately guid an fair, 
But she hes gear an I hae n^ane ; 

E'en fni's may ken what gear can de ; 
Thinki glowrin on her freetfu' feace, 

Ye're nit what ilka yen sud be ! 



Hoo nionir; a teyme by Cauda seyde. 

Queyte pleased ye sang aboot mey neame 
An monie a letter oft I've read 

Ye sent wi' praise when far frae heame ; 
An here's the diamont ring ye brong. 

An swore a breyde 'twad suin mek me ; 
I'll weer't when coffint — Think ! O, think 

Ye're nit what ilka yen sud be 1 



Mey fadder cries, " Keep up thy heart ! " 

Mey mudder wonders what I ail ; 
When robb'd o' that we lang hae priz'd 

The rwosy cheek may weel grow pale ; 
Pause luive hes raeade me tir'd o leyre. 

The greave's a wish-d-for heame to me — 
O, thmk if e'er to kurk you gang. 

Ye're nit what ilka yen sud be ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 165 

LEYLE DEAVIE. 
Tune — " Loch Enoch seyde " 

O. mudder hear a leyle bit sang, 
Frae yen ye're sworry e'er dis wrang ; 
But oft yer airms aboot'him flang, 
Aye wishin weel for Deavie ! 

Leyke larks I rise, an welcome day, 
An in the garden work or play ; 
An sing aw treyfiin cares away — 
Ther's few sac blithe as Deavie ! 

Hoc monie seem on mischief bent. 
An catch at aw, widoot content ; 
But when owre leate they may repent. 
An wish they'd duin leyke Deavie ! 

I seldom frae oor cottage Siray. 
But feast an plenty, neet an day ; 
An oft I hear oor necbors say, 

" My blissin on thee, Deavie ! " 

When breakfast's owre I trot to schuil. 
An ply the beyble on mey stuil ; 
Let's whop I ne'er may play the fuil, 
V/hate'er may happen, Deavie ! 

The trowin some ofc leyke to play. 
An then git floggt wi' tasks to say ; 
Oor maislcr froons on some a.v> day. 
But aye he'sfond o' Deavie ! 

Then when let lowse, reet weel I tnow 
Their luive fcr gamlin, sec an low ; 
Cairds, pitch an toss, aw leyke to shew, 
Exceptin your leyle Deavie I 

Oft at fit-baw they weyldly play, 

At russlin some git Icam'd they say — 

I'd raider ply mey buik aw day, 

'Twill dui mair guid fcr Dim vie I 



166 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



O, miulder ! just ae wish I hev ; 
When you are tott'rin to the grea\c, 
Then may the thowts o' what you gev. 
Aye warm the heart o' Deavie ! 

But far, far distant be that day ! 
Lang may ve Iceve, in health an gay ! 
But sud misfortune cross yer way, 
Ne'er may ve blush fer Deavie ! 



ADVEYCE TO NANNY. 

Tune — " Croivdy." 

Hut, Nanny ! scworn this selfish warl. 

For praise aw maks er laith to gie ; 
They mun be e'en a wicke'! reace. 

That e'er cud censure yen leyke thee ! 
For thoo art cheerfu', guid an fair, 

Industrious as the hinny bee ; 
O Nanny ! scworn this selfish warl, 

True praise aw maks er laith to gie ! 

Few joys the wale o' peer fwok ken, 

Efter they quit the mudder's tnee ; 
We've gleams o' comfort noo an then, 

But want meks monie a wat'ry e'e ; 
Noo fortune smeyles, we've fawning friens 

She froons, they tire, away they flee ; 
Sae Nanny scworn this selfish warl, 

True praise aw maks er laith to gie 1 

Hed we been bworn in lux'ry's lap 

Mankeynd hed boo'd to thee an me — 
Whee dar caw poverty a creyme ? 

Let's aye dui reet an merry be ; 
An seek content in leyfe's low glen. 

Sin wealth an puirtith ne'er agree ; 
Then Nanny, scworn this selfish warl, 

True praise aw maks er laith to gie ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 167 

I've hard thee read the best o' bulks, 

That monie ne'er yence wish'd to see ; 
I've seen thee sarra aul an young — 

Wae to them aw that slander thee ! 
Keep up thy heart, it adds to hilth ; 

It's wise to leeve in peace an glee — 
O Nanny ! scorn thus selfish warl, 

True praise aw maks er laith to gie ! 



GILSDEN SPAW. 

Tune — " / am a Voting Fellow" 

Fuils brag o' their nonsense, an bits o' weyld wrey- 
tins ; 
Whativer may happem, I'll ne'er bwoast o' 
meyne ; 
I wheyles try a ballad to cheer fwok aroon me. 

But ne'er yence will whop amang Poets to sheyne : 
In toon, or in coontry, wid aw maks aboot us, 
I'll aye wish frae Nature a picture to draw ; 
Fairs, Clay-daubins, Murry-neets, Weddins an 
Reaces. 
I've gien to the warl ; noo I'll try Gilsden Spaw. 

Thur rocks, woods, walks, wutters, hills, valleys 
er bonny ; 
They here draw some thoosans, what pleace 
can dui mair ? 
Lang, lang may^ the Spring pruive a blissin to 
monie, 
For Health and Contentment aye welcome 
them here : 
I.words, squires, doctors, priests, lawyers, far- 
mers an beggars, 
Aul. young, cloons, fuils, beauties, ay dandies 
an aw ; 
Pale, heart-brokken, peer-things tiiat caw forth 
yen's pity. 
Arc daily seen stowt'hn doon to the spaw. 



l68 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

We've here fortune-hunters, aye glowrin at leadies ; 
Wae wait on sec hypocreytes, be whee they 
may ! 
Guid lasses ! be cowshious an shun aw sec 
creeters ; 
They lead but tu sorrow, till leyfe's clowsin 
day 1 
Ay study man's meynd, yer reet han ne'er gi' 
tremlin, 
Ner heed his palaver, luik, cleedin, or shew; 
Sec fellows just bring varteous lasses to ruin — 
O pity ! what pity, they're seen at a Spaw 1 



Ov aw I've experienc'd nowt yields me sec plis- 
hure 
As lasses to praise when they're what thev sud 
be ; 
To wed yen o' thur aye pruives leyfe's dearest 
treasure, 
An better nor English nae mortal can see 1 
Yet weyldness in woman drives peace an whops 
frae man, 
A glance hes owre offen led thoosans to woe ; 
They shworten his days an grim deeth caws, queyte 
welcome — 
Thenk God, sec as thur I ne'er seed at the 
Spaw ! 



A famish feyne Librey is here ever oppem, 

Wi' warks o' thur wreyters aw gud fwok ad- 
mire ; 
Religion, Wars, Hlst'ry, Plays, Inceclopeedy, 

Pomes, Sarmens, Romantics ;•• whee mair can 
desire ? 
O wer't ilk yen's study to read when they're 
yaebel, 
An choose the good subjects that aw fwok sud 
tnow ; 
O wert ilk ven's study that spens teyme at Gils- 
den, 
To read but the buiks that er kept nar the 
Spaw ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 169 

The Billear-room's oppem, fer strangers frev aw 
spots, 
Nee gamlin teks pleace ; it's amusement, nowt 
mair ; 
May rich, peer, aul, young, honest, happy, an 
■ hilthy. 

Sec pleasin divarsions thro' leyfe ever share ! 
The Spa\\'s afford plenty ov ev'ry rich denty, 
A hoose neycely fittet for hee an for low. 
Sec sarvents as mud be, whoar decent fwok sud 
be— 
Think, tliink o' the phshure enjoy'd at the Spaw ! 



Here's music for ever — Aa, loavins ! they're cliver ! 

On t' worgan, peanny, musicianers play ; 
Walses, Minnywhits, Reels, Jigs, Cotillons, Whad- 
reels, 
Sweet music drives aw care an sorrow away : 
A Currier frae Lunnou. a Pairit frae Carel, 

Aye tell o' peace, plenty, Iwords, commons an 
aw ; 
Now ye that hae gear, if ye're nobbet peer miserts, 
Just think what >e'll hear, see an git at the 
Spaw ! 



Here's dancin, mang t' quality ; wuns but it's 
wondrous ! 
I step up an gleyme at them neet ef ter neet ; 
They pass yen anudder leyke bees in het sum- 
mer. 
To see fwok sae hearty, affwords yen a treat : 
Then sarvents, queyte merry, lish, cliver an bonny. 
Will whcylcs teake a caper, an please yen an 
aw ; 
Whoare'cr I mun wander, still, still wuU I ponder, 
An think, wi' deleyte, on the joy? o' the Spaw. 



Here wretched git plenty, er tret as they sud be ; 

Wi' tears the gud fwok they er oft heard t» 
bliss ; 
They'll aye be regarded an weel be rewarded, 

That fin daily plishure in soothin distress I 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



What pity sae monie sud ne'er nwotish onie, 

But strut thro' the warl, preyde an folly to 
shew ! 
Let hawf-wits cariss thcni and bad yens aye bliss 
them, 
Sec unfeelin brutes snd be driv'n frae ilk Spaw ! 



Here's lasses frae Cumbria, Durham, Northum- 
bria. 
On neycer nae chap i\ er yet kest an e'e ; 
Here's lads hilthv, cheerfu', ov nowt iver fear- 
fu', 
An blithe as the larks in a mworn owre the lea ; 
Ye strangers to Robin that sneer at his rheymin, 

Ne'er, ne'er will ye fin him to mortal a foe ; 
Lang, lang may the fwok that aye sarra ilk udder, 
Health, peace, an contentment ay meet at the 
Spaw ! 



ON PARTING. 

Tune — " Joy be wi' you a." 

O thoo art bonny, guid an young, 

An aw are pleas'd whae gaze on thee ; 
Sweet as a buddin rwose in June, 

Industrious as the loilin bee : 
But dreams nit, mid' youth's flatterin joys, 

Ov wardly ills sae monie pruive — 
Niver yence may cares disturb thy mind, 

Save the soft cares that spring frae luive ! 

Furst Envy, wid a ranc'rous sting. 

Will puzzen monie a heart-felt joy ; 
An Scandal, V'irtue's jaundic'd foe. 

The foul fause teale will oft employ' ; 
Sweet lass ! just what thy sex sud be, 

When Teyme thy beauty sal remove. 
Then may reflection yield new joys. 

An leyfe be spent in peace an luive ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 171 



Methinks I see thee bworue afar, 

Frae luive an friendship, fond an true ; 

But ^vhen frae Cumbria's dearest scenes. 
The tears will oft thy een bedew : 

Where'er thro' leyfe tho' fworc'd to stray, 

The warlds true keyndness may thoo pruive ; 

WTien fades that rwose. an locks grow grey. 
Be theyne the joys ov peace an luive. 



THE RWOSE IN JUNE. 

Tune — " Roy's Wife." 

I luive a lass I maunna ncame, 
Nae mortal e'er admir'd yen sweeter ; 
Her shep, her guidness, winnin luik. 
Meakes me for ever pray to meet her. 

Tho' bonnv is the rwose in June, 
An fair in May the hawthorn blossom ; 
Yet neane can e'er a tlower compare 
Wi' her that's dearest to mey bwosem. 

For her, I'd toil the langest day. 
Nor e'er complcen tho' faint an weary, 

Happy aye when neet steals on, 
Widin mev airms to press my dearie ! 

Tho' bonny is the rwose, Sec. 

Thro' stibble fields the spwortsmap. roves, 
Rejoic'd, his harmless prey pursuin ; 

The lass I Uiive but miinnet chase, 
Suin, suin, alas ! may pruive mey ruin ! 
Tho' bonny is the rwose, ike. 

Hlaw loo<l thoo an^ry winter blast, 
.<\n wear thy gloomy luik, December ; 

I sceghin'wish for spring's return. 
An k'vfe's luive-srem-s mun aye remember, 
Tho' bonnv is the rwose, &c. 



172 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Tis hard to leeve a slave to luive, 
When wealth, a younthfu pair can sunder — 

Hcav'n grant mc her I darna neame, 
Or let me rest the green turf under ! 

Tho' bonny is the rwose in June, 
An fair in May the hawthorn blossom. 
Yet neane can e'er a flower compare 
Wi' her that's dearest to mey bwosom. 



BE MERRY TO-DAY. 

To an old and nameless Tune. 

Hey for merriment, sang, jwoke, an jolUty ! 
Sorrow dis nae yen gud — Why sal we peyne ? 

Aul Care's a deceiver, 

Meks leyfe but a fever — 
We've bumper'd thy rwosey lass ; I'll twoast 
meyne. 
Luive, true luive, is leyfes dearest blessin ; 
Its sweets let's pruive, nor think them distressin ; 

Sin' Tej'me steals away, 
An health we enjoy, what owre monie destroy 

Let's be merry to day ! 

Here's to mey Mary, wi' dimpl'd chin, churry 

cheeks. 
Magic e'en, iv'ry teeth, lips ov. dew ; 
Her luik is deleytin — 
Her voice is inveytin — 
Nae mortal I envy when she's in view. 

Luive, true luive, &c. 



Needy lank misers may worship a money-bag ; 
Statesmen may hunt fer the shadow caw'd fame. 
Be gudness our riches. 
The heart it betwiches — 
Whate'er pruives our study, the warl will blame. 
Luive, true luive, &c. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 173 

We'll bottom a glass to the true friends ov liberty 
Freedom's a blessin ilk mortal sud prize ; 
By wealth, preyde, an kneav'ry, 
Baith sexes to slavry 
Are boo'd doon — Oppressors let aw despise. 
Luive, true luive, &c, 

Let's pray fer the virtuous, an help the puir 

beggar- fowk, 
Nor heed the crazy-grown cuifs we oft see ; 
Ay scworn melancholy. 
Nor e'er stoop to folly ; 
Then ne'er can grim Deeth freeten theo or me, 
Luive, true luive, &c. 



YOUTH. 

Tune — " The hinnours o'Glen." 

Shut up leyke a pri.s'ner, pain'd, waak, seeck an 
crippelt, 
Noo teymes niek peer bodies hawf hungert an 
bare ; 
On youth I reflect, aw its sports, joys an troubles 
Thro' leyfe, young an aul fwok mun aw boo to 
care ; 
E'en then we luik forrot, but Whop oft deceives 
us ; 
We dream o' the pli-liures that ne'er yence 
appear ; 
We're led by weyld Folly to pale Melancholy — 
In aw scenes o' leyfc we buy plishure owre 
dear. 

O, whoar .ixc mcy cronies I fond was to .spwort 
wid. 

Or creep off to schnil wi the buik an the pen ? 
I yet mar!- their frolics ; I yet ken their feaccs 

An thir.k <>' them daily, but seldom see yen. 



174 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



On Eden's green banks as in summer I wan- 
der, 
A tear will oft faw, at the thowts o' the past — 
Leyke monie peer comrades I siun may lig 
cuffin'd ; 
This hour o' reflection may e'en priuve mey 
last ! 

In spring we'd seek nests, oft the peer burds 
pursuin' 
I ne'er seed yen harryt, but sair it vext me ; 
In summer, noo doukin ; noo catchin Tom- 
Beagles* — 
O, sheame, that young creeters thus cruel sud 
be! 
In harvest we'd brummel-keytes, when it grew 
frosty 
Crabs, choups, haws, nuts, bleaberries, sleeas 
for by ; 
In winter the spwort daily wish'd for, was sley- 
din, 
Tho', shiv'rin' we oft gat a sad penny-pie. 

Neest, caught by a blossom, luive oft fires the 
bwosom, 
An seeghs, dreams an valenteynes rest oft 
destroys ; 
"What, she's got a none-such ! an he's tean an 
angel ! " 
" Aye ! luive's the foundation o' leyfe's purest 
joys ! " 
The' plishure noo greets them, yet luive offen 
cheats them 
An leads some to mis'ry, ambition, an preyde ; 
Mey dear ! an, mey darlin ! oft changes to snar- 
lin— 
Queyte happy if Deeth wad the couple diveyde. 

Oh ! lasses, be merry ! — But iver be wary ! 

Think weel ere ye venture to hand oot a han ! 
Oh ! lads, aye be cheerfu' ! but noo and then 
fearfu'. 
For reed cheeks an feyn'ry a heart can tra- 
pan ! 

• Tom-Beagle=The Cockchafer. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 175 



By gudness or beauty, if won dui yer duty ; 

Ave seek to gain mortals by feelin an truth, 
If wealthy an healthy ; bent duble by truble, 

We aw mun reflect on the sweet days o' youth 



THE XONE-SUCH. 
Tune — " The colliers bonny dowter." 

Ther com a Lass to oor toon, 

Yung, cheerfu. lish an bonny ; 
The lads they aw thrang roun' her- - 

She hes her choice ov onie : 
Whea knows her mun adore her, 

This maisterpiece o' nature ; 
Wi' sec a ieace an sec a greace, 

She seems nac mortal creatuie. 

Her lips aye cry, "Come, kiss me !' 

Her cheeks ne'er hed marrows ; 
Her dimpl'd chin a saint meeght win, 

Her een are Cupid's arrows: 
Haud up a rnsh-leeght to the sun ; 

Sae seems our greatest beauty, 
Conipar'd wi' her th it meks us aw 

Forgetfu ov oor duty. 

Her voice is harmony complete : 

Her sangs aye nail the senses ; 
The envy ov aw lasses roun, 

She prui\es whene'er she dance.-, ; 
To sing the praise o' yen unmatch'd, 

Is spwortin wi' Jove's thunder, 
For Nature swcrc at Kitty's birth 

She'd shew the warld a wonder. 

Ye lasses feync thro' Cumliria, 

('•ae heyde yer comnKjn feaces ! 
It's oft yf)ur art that wins a heart, 

Wi' mcnie wanton greaces. 
Ye merry chaps thro' Cumbria, 

If here yo come b- wary, 
A single hijk will tliirl \e thro ; 

A single word ensnare ye 1 



176 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE CRAM; OR, NICHOL AN CUDDY. 
Tune — " The night before Larry was stretch'd." 

" Come, Cuddy ! swat doon, teake a whiff ; 
I seed thee creep up the geate, hobbUn ; 

Thoo's rich tho' bent double wi' yage ; 
I's peer, day an neet mun sit cobblin ; 

Ye aul fwok ;.y leyke to hear news — 
They've hed a grau Ball, fer peer bodies ; 

'Twas held at Lword Bultrout's new Lodge, 
Ther was Blues, Yellows, wise-men an noddies. 

"Aa Cuddy! It beggars aw description! The 
barn (I merai the spacious salloon) was worne- 
mented leyke a palace ; hung roun wi' picters 
ov dandies, feghtin, russlin, lowpin, an this 
that an tudder ; wi' she-dandies, leyke a string 
ov pokers weerin ass-buird bonnets an heaps o' 
flow'rs, sec as niver grew on the weyde lap ov 
aul nature. Pentet by heelanmen, Welshmen, an 
manksmen ; oor far-fam'd, silly-brated daubers 
o' the canvass. For fear feyne neb.^ sud be 
suffycated wi't smell o' vulgar tallow, the shan- 
delerios wer stuck wid the scented luminaries ; 
forby festoons o' blue, purple, and yellow lamps, 
big as fuz-baws. The silk an velvet carpet was 
duin by an engenivus chap, efter studdyin fower- 
teen years at Bot'ny Bay. Teables, chairs an furms 
wer aw meade ov pa'ttent-kest-metal-mahogany : 
as fer fenders, tengs an pors, they wer aw gran gowd 
an siller, brong frae — Naebody kens whoar 1 " — 

"Aye, aye, Nick! Monstrous gran wark ! It 
wad be a famish doui ! — Gang on ! trot on ! 
gallop on 1 " 

" Hut, Cuddy ! this warl's but a show 
Whoar ha wf- wits er wheedclt by kneav'ry — 

What's grandeur an preyde ? — Nowt at aw 1 
Just meent to fling fuils into slavery ! " 

Peer bodies hf>v offen queer neames ; 
Kings, yerls, bishops, nit mickle better ; 

Nee wonder they change them sae oft. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 177 



An noo an then leek in a letter ! 

We're cawt efter men, beasts and biirds, 
Fish, insecs, toons, streets, woods an watters, 

Rocks, mountains, hills, meedows an glens. 
Barns, byres — Fwok may laugh at sec matters ! 

" Aa, Cuddy ! Beseydes aw maks ov no\ybles, 
theer was reet an left honorables. Nobbet lissen. 
Judge Sumph and the twee Miss Judges ; Guverner 
Gobblemuck an Leadv Killgrief ; General Gossip 
an Madam Brekshins ; 'Cornel Wagstaft an Mistress 
Maypowl ; Major Meyte an Miss Shrimp ; Captain 
Flaycrow an Miss Wasp ; Comodore CoUop an 
Miss JoUop ; Alderman Turtle an Miss Pancake ; 
then theer was Lawyer Botherum. Doctor Duinee- 
gud. Parson Tytheaw ; Justice Muckworm, Squire 
Brainless, Obadiah Breadebrim, the whaker ; Ben- 
j^Tnin Backsleyder the methody. Mistress Hogsflesh, 
the mountain o' fat ; Widow Thunderbum, the 
she-giant ; Miss Nettle wid her gimlick e'e ; 
Miss Dockin, nobbet fourscwore an seebcm ; Mister 
Walloper an Miss Hedgehog ; Maister Bucktuith 
an Teadeatcr ; Miss Cowscairn, Miss Miredrum, 
Miss Durtygutter and Miss Catoninetails : — hoo 
monie mair — Nay what — ncabody kens ! ' ' 

" Aye, aye, Nick ! Monstrous girt fwok, an 
bonny sweet neames ! — Gang on ! trot on ! gal- 
lop on ! " 

"ShafE, Cuddy ! this warl's but a show ! &c." 

Aye music this weyde warl can please ; 
Leyke talkiu foriver it varies ; 

Scotch Bullocks, weyM l)casts it can charm, 
Peer hawf-wits an larn'd flegmagaries : 

It meakes monie laugh, others cry ; 
It 's music some say, when yen's gowling ; 

Qucyte sweet to hear fellows' sharp saws ; 
Deleytefu to lissen storms howlin 1 

"Aa, Cuddy I what they'd nae scartin onf 
Scotch'fiddle : nea, nea I it's owre common, weel 
th'io kens. Theer was cow-whorns an jew-trumps, 



i7« CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



narrow-bcanes an cleaviis ; keale pots an la- 
dles ; sant-boxes an thivels ; pewder-plates an 
trenchers ; burd-cage an fork ; tengs an sailer- 
key ; forby barrel an mcllet. — They played, 
Frev a craddle tull a craddle ; Priscilla wid her 
speckets on ; Cuckol, come oot o' the amrie ; Archy 
let the lasses aleane ; Whor mun oor gudman lie ; 
Shins aboot the tire-seyde ; Cleanin oot the back- 
seyde ; Be wliiet else I'll bray thee; Judy git thee 
beard shav'd ; Absalem hingin by his hair ; The 
left-handet sleater ; The priest an his buits ; 
The wheyte blackmuir ; Salmon an dumplin ; 
Pow'rs o' buttermilk ; Lumps o' puddin ; Bran- 
dy poddinh ; Teane abiiin tudder ; Heytey tey- 
tey ; Wallop away ; liabbermenab ; Durty gully ; 
an — Nay what — neabody kens ! " 

" Aye, aye, Nick ! monstrous neyce music ! 
Carel Ban niver cud play sec ! Gang on ! trot 
on ! gallop on ! " 

Wey, Cuddy ; this warl's but a show, &c. 

Now dancin's the hick -shew ov preyde 
That havrels are iver pursuin ; 

'Twer wise just to set it aseyde 
It's brong monie thoosans to ruin ; 

The warl's but a weyl country dance, 
Whoar aw caper teane ageane tudder — 

Girt Newton an chaps gud as him, 
Nae wonder they laugh at sec bodder ! 



"Aa, Cuddy! They'd ji{<s, reels, liings, strath- 
speys, whorn-pepes, cwotilons, minnyvvhits, coun- 
try dances, dandy-vvalses, an whadreels. Sec 
steps, min ! yen-twee-tliree, habbety-nabbety, 
ledder-te-patch, heel an tae, cross the buckle, 
gie me thy daddle, roun-roun-roun, seydlin- 
seydlin, an kiss an coddle. Aul Squire Gout 
an a wood-leggt statesman kil off the ball in im- 
itation of Catty baw Indians, to the tune o' 
"The Savage Dance. Wuns 1 sec a caper ne'er 
was seen, sni fadder Adam shekt his cleuts wid 
his owre-bearin rib m the garden. Our clod- 
powls, on kitchen ;;n barn fleer>, move leyke 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 179 

tips ia tedders, or houns at faut ; wheyle pantin 
hussevs scamper an put yen i' meynd ov scared 
coos in a meadow. Sairy things ! owre muckle 
wark in bjTes an sweyne-huUs, peet mosses an 
muck middens. Girt grandees, reart on het-beds 
ov fashion can lo\vp leyke larks ; whur roun 
leyke Tom TuUy's an dui owt ; what they're aw 
Donises, Hebys, Venuses — Nay what neabody kens 
whee ! ' ' 

" Aye, aye ! Monstrous feyne fidgin ! nimbnel 
as fleas ! I'll hod a pciny WuUy Haw cuddent 
hop leyke them ! — Gang on ! trot on ! gallop on! " 

"Shaf, Cuddy ! this warl's but a show," &c. 

Neest, singin leyke monie things else, 
Frae hee an low, care it oft cheases ; 

True pictures aw sangsters sud pent — 
Owre monie puir scribblers disgreaces : 

Thro' preyde, luive, gain, ignorance, meade. 
They cause a laugh, fun an vexation ; 

Wer sangs but leyke weather, still gud. 
How hcij.pv 'twad pruive to the nation ! 

"Aa, Cuddy! What they'd recitativos, cranzin- 
ettos, fandangios, allegrettos, affettuosos, duettos, 
roratorios, uprorios, rondos, trios, solos, airios an 
polackios ; then ther was sangs. glees, catches, 
ditties, rigniarowls, lamentations, burleskews, vol- 
enteynes, ippitaphs, 'nigmas, rebuses, an riddles ; 
but nin o' thur aul eight-page ditties et hugger- 
muggerers sec as us tr fworc'd to lissen tui. 
When upstart pinUs o' fashion wi pentet chops 
an far fetch'd cleedin, sing noo-a days, fwok hear 
the crunin ; but deil a word ! Yen sang sae low 
he cuddent l)e heard. .\nu(lder rwoar'd sae hee 
he splat the ceilin ! Senior Kockatoo wid his 
famisn fire-works brunt the heale onset, but did 
nea mi.schief. — Mynhe<r Van Seyper the dutch 
Juggler, luggt out the .sword worn by Bonny 
when lie left Ivygpt ; he danct on't an cut a 
squire's heed off. Squire laught an bade him 
cla{)'t on ageane : wcy, he did sae in far less 
nor nae tcyme ! Sec tilings er duin — Nay what — 
Deabody kens lioo!" 



i8o CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



"Aye, aye, Nick! Monstrous feyne tricks an 
sangs. — Sec wonders wad draw girt flocks to the 
Carel Play hoose ! — Gang on ! trot on ! gallop on ! " 

"Aye, Cuddy! the warl's but a show," &c. 



Nae glo\\Tin or grumblin was theer ; 
Nae dunchin or fratchin or feghtin, 

Nae nasty san<:;s, codlen an stuff, 
Owre monie teake daily deleyte in : 

Stampt rules wer hung up at the duir ; 
Our lanhvords '11 hae them, nae fear on't! 

How rauckle they geddert for't puir 
Just caw to-mworn-neet an thoo's hear on't ! 



Aa, Cuddy ! Rule the ist says, Nowther dogs or 
Liv'rey Sarvents wer to be admitted into l-word 
Bultrout's Lodge ! — 2nd Ladies smiiikin or chowin 
owther pig-tail or shag-'bacco, wer to be sent off 
to Coventry! — 3rd Gentlemen wer to boo the 
heed, widin hawf a fit o' the carpet, an to meynd 
an screape wi' beath feel togidder I — 4th Ladies 
curcheyin, wer just to lowp a yard hee, or else 
hae their gaytcrs poud off! — 5th to prevent 
wickedness, aw wer to leave their sweerrin tackle 
at heame, or be feyn'd a soveriegn an kickt 
out ! — 6th Onie yen givin annudcr the lee nine 
teymes in a minute, lo hev just as monie tnock- 
doon blows ! — 7th Onie yen yawnin wi' t' jaws 
nine inches asunder or mair, to be doukt in the 
horse pon, an lig theer nine hours ! — 8th Onie yen 
stealin weyne, cordials, piggin bottoms or owt 
else, to be advertised, as queyte unfit fer poleyte 
society ! — 9th Onie yen talkin about politics (except 
he wer nobbet dum), to be expwosed to guver- 
ment ! — loth Onie yen eatin the weyte ov his sel 
or drinking far mair than eneugh, to abeyde by 
the consequences I — nth Aw Leadies to com be- 
weshed — be-cwom'd — be-ringleted — be-beaded — be- 
scented — an be-locketed ; feaces to be be-smuir'd 
wi' cream o' violets, an tnockles be-plaister'd wid 
oil ov marcury ! — Noo, Cuddy, ther may be monie 
mair sec Balls ; but nay what — neabcdy kens 
when ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. i8i 

" Aye, aye Nick ! Monstrous gud rules ! what 
they wad gedder a sheaf o' nwotes big as a hay 
stack, fer the pair fwok I whop ! — Gang on ! trot 
on ! gallop on ! " 

" Nay, Cuddy ! this warl's but a show ; 
Whoar hawf-wits are wheedelt by kneav'ry ; 

What's grandeur an preyde ? — Nowt at aw. 
Just meent to fling fuils into slav'ry ! 



LUIVE-LWORN BESS. 
Tune — •' Ettrick Banks." 

O, Jenny ! partner ov ilk joy, 

Thoo ne'er did yence my trust betray ; 
On thee, sweet lass ! I can rely. 

Then lissen mcy sad teale o' wae ; 
An share the grief o' luive-lworn Bess — 

The tears noo frae my een oft start ; 
But friendship soon may sooth distress, 

An pity heal the paintu' heart. 

Oft thee an me, sae fond and true, 

Hao join'd in spworts beath far an near ; 
When lads and lasses met, nae few. 

An to the lave we aye wer dear ; 
I happy leev'd in oi r low cot, 

Mey puir aul muddcr fain to please ; 
But noo. O lass ! false luivu's mey lot, 

Nae mair I whop fer joy or ease. 

'Twas nit young Jemmv's boose an Ian 

1 hat wan this gueyklcss hoart o' meyne 
His smcylin luik nin cud withstan — 

1 o luivc, owre nionie ;iyc mcleync ! 
'Twas here, we nionie l( yme wad meet, 

To see me, O, he sef-m'd queytc fain ! 
Sweet flew the hours by day or neet, 

Hnt yen mair rich he now lies taen I 



i82 CUMBERLAND BALI.ADS. 



Nae mair will I be heard to sing ; 

Nae mair thro' leyfe e'er cheerfu' pruive ; 
For whoTi to me nae joys can bring, 

Tir'd o' this warl sin cro.ss'd in luive ; 
I d:iily leeve mey mudder's cot, 

An weepin sit aneath this tree ; 
Ilk fawin' leaf aye paints mey lot — 

Ilk seegh forbodes ; I'll follow thee ! 



ANNE. 
Tune — "■Hollow Fair." 

Wheyle numbers hunt roun far neyce laisses. 

What numbers hed better see neane ; 
Shut oot frae friens and forgotten, 

I daily can gaze upo' yen ; 
Her feace beams wi' gvidness an benuty. 

Her heart let nae mortal trapan ; 
To gie worth its praise is oor duty. 

Then let me dui justice to Anne. 



She's fair as the flowers i' the meedow ; 

She's blithe as the lamb on the lea ; 
To toil away tey'me is her phishure, 

Nae mortal frae preyde is mair free. 
She laughs at the playthings o' folly ; 

To dui as aw sud, is her plan ; 
A squire wid a keynd heart and plenty. 

May gain a true partner in Anne. 



Luive leads monie thoosands to greatness. 

To comfort, the wealthy an low ; 
Luive sinks monie thoosans to ruin. 

An meks leyfe a dull scene o' woe : 
O' pity gud lasses sud suffer, 

Won by the foul flatt'ty o' man ! 
Be sorrow his lot whea wad offer 

To torture the feeling ov Anne ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 183 



Wheyle virtue sal gueyde ev'ry action, 

Ne'er yence mav she boo to dull care ! 
When Luive throws the ring on her fingor, 

The sweets o' this warl may she share ! 
When yage on her feace plants a wrinkle, 

An rwoses o' beauty turn wan, 
May Happiness be her companion, 

Nor Poverty e'er frown on Anne ! 



MISTRESS CREAKE'S TEA PARTY. 
Tune — "Jack 0' Latten." 

" Sin we're aw met a rcet neyce se', 

Fie, Dollv bring in t' kettle ! 
Set oot caul lam ; broil bits ov ham ; 

Heaste ! shew thoo's meade o' mettle ! " 
" Here's butter-sops, an curran-keakes ; " 

" Aa ! better niver crost us ! " 
"What, cheese as sweet as e'er was eal " — 

A groat a pun that cost us ! " 

Thnt's famish tea!" — "It 'grees wi' me" — 

" I's fasht wi' win fer iver !" 
Aa, Mistress Creak, that's monstrous ham; 

What, sarvent Dolly's cliver ! " 
Av, Greace, she is ; but dunnet neame't ; 

She's far owre fon o' men-fowk ! " 
" Ne'er ak! puir thing, she'll tire o' that " — 

" Hut! she's owre young to k'n iwolv ! " 

"Nay, dunnet fratch ! "— " Wey, Mistress 
Creake, 
It's nobbet 'ees they're tellin ; 

Til'- purson's always (air an true. 
Some fwol< disarve a fcllin ! " 

" Be duin ! Shi k hans an inurry be 
Sec weyl wark pruives provwokin. 

What, if ye'd fuglit, I'd fe't the twee- 
Aye laugh — I's nobb't jwukin!" 



1 84 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

•• Here, Dicky darlin ! sugger teake ; 

Hut, shaf ! he luik^ queyte shy on't ! " 
" \Vhee iver seed sec legs an thies ? 

Wey. Dick 'U pruive a giant ! " ^^ 

" The'er's fadder nwose, an mudder' mooth ! 

"Nav, divvent gowl lal pritty ! 
Thoo's'tom mey apron !— Mudder, here, 

Let Richard hev some titty ! " 

" We've sent lal WuUiam off to schuil ; 

What, he kens aw his letters ; 
An doffs his cap as fwok sud dui. 

Whene'er they meet their betters." 
" That cream's owre rich "— " A room sae neyce, 

Nae decent iwok can sit in ! " 
"Ay, luik at' clock nn kist o' drores "— 

"What, theer's a box to spit in ! " 

•' Sec tengs an por, nin iver seed, 

They sheyne as breet as siller!" 
" Thev cost us eight-pence ; they wer bowt 

O' deef aul Keatie Miller." 
" Here's Whuttinton ! Aa, Lunnon May'r, 

Sec picters theer's nit menny " — 
•' What Robin Huid, an leytle Jwohn"— 

" That cost us nar a penny ! " 

" Aa ! paper's fou ov famish news ; 

The king's thrown by aw taxes" — 
" Then cworn, the preyce '11 suin be threyce. 

What noo-a-days yen axes" — ^^ 

" Is that queyte true ? "— " Sae Nichol says — 

" O, Marget ne'er believe him ; 
Twee glasses meks him lee aw neet, 

But nin can e'er deceive him ! " 

" Our girt dog bit lal Judy' leg, 

I' t' croft as bairds wer laikin " — 
" Aa, sairy thing ! she mun be bad 1 " 

" Ay, aw her beanes er aikin 1 " 
" Ann, git cow-scairn, an chammerley, 

Nowt meks a pultess better ; 
Then reesty bacon she mun eat, 

But owt else divvent let her ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 185 

-' Wey, Mistress Creake we've bed rare tea ; 

The best yen e'er sat dowTi tui ! " 
" Aye ! what four shillin mun be gud ; 

I gat it i' the town tui ! " 
" Come, ah-ah. Tommy ! that's mey man ! 

Here DoUv ! bring some san in — 
Hut ! fidgin thing ! at muddy's breest, 

Him wants to hev his ban in ! " 

" Now sin' we've aw got fou wi' tea, 

Heaste, Dolly clear the teable — 
That whusky nar three shillin cost ; 

Let's covvpt off wheyle we're yeable ! " 
" Here's husbans comin, yen an aw " — 

" We're yet at tea they're thinkin " — 
"Whup roun the glass ! they ne'er sud tnow 

That weyves er fon o' drinkin ! " 

O, weyves, an lasses ! teake adveyce. 

If neybors wheyles inveyte ye. 
Let fratchin, drinkin, noise, an preyde, 

Ne'er yence thro' leyfc deleyte ye. 
Teaste holsome liquor, decent yell. 

Wish health to yen anudder ; 
But leein, sland'rin, ne'er can feale 

Aw happiness to smudder ! 



l86 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE LILY O' THE VALLEY. 
Tune — " Sally in our Alley." 

Her ncybor's joy, her f adder's preyde. 

Her muilder's greatest blessin : 
In yon smaw cottage leev'd a lass, 

Ilk winnin greace possessin : 
How monie a lad wad sing the praise 

Ov bloomin fair-hair'd Sally ! 
For she was caw'd by aul an young, 

The Lily o' the Valley. 



Young Wulliam pruiv'd the envied youth, 

Her heart's true preyde an treasure ; 
Amang his flocks whene'er he stray'd, 

Queyte fain beyond aw measure. 
He'd frae the hill-top seegh an gaze. 

An watch an pray for Sally, 
An gedder flow'rs, sec as wad please 

His " Lily o' the Valley." 



Her fav'rite lam ae mworn he saw, 

Entangelt i' the river ; 
To seave the charge he ventur'd deep, 

But beath wer lost forever : 
She watch' d aw day, an on the hill 

In vain ran seeghin Sally — 
At neet some neybors weepin brong — 

His corp along the Valley. 



She saw, she shriek'd but cuddent weep 

She fell queyte robb'd ov reason ; 
Sin that hawf-clad, wi' crazy luik, 

She heeds nae stormy season ; 
She laughs, she sings, her ditties weyld, 

An when fwok luik at Sally, 
The aul an young will sighin say, 

" Peer I,ily ov the Valley " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 187 

THE APPROACH O' WINTER. 

Tune — " Loch Errock side." 

The blust'rin breeze, the leafless trees ; 
The flow'rless gardens, meedows, leas : 
The reedbreests hoppin, crums to seize, 
Now tell th' approach o' Winter ! 

Tho' sweet the rwosv smeyles o' Spring, 
When weyld burds wanton on the wing ; 
The will 6' God ave gud can bring. 

Then welcome ! welcome, Winter ! 

The low'rin clouds, the fell's dark frown ; 
The flocks frae hills to glen driv'n down : 
The tremlin peer, throughout the town, 
Now tell the approach o' Winter ! 
Tho' sw-eet the rwosy, &c. 

The shworten'd day ; the bleezin fire ; 
The turnpeykes deep, wi' wet an mire ; 
The glitt'rin gas ; top-cwoated squire, 
Now tell th* approach o' Winter ! 
Tho' sweet the rwosy. &c. 

The nestless throssle, lennet, lark ; 
The watters spreedin, deep an dark ; 
The whey-feac'd labrers, out o' wark, 
Now tell th' approach o' Winter ! 
Tho' sweet the rwosy, &c. 



The bees confevn'd ; the hares oft taen, 
The cworn-crcakes, cuckoos, swallows geane 
The cwoals, peels, sell by i.onie a yen, 
Now tell th' api^roach o' Winter ! 
Tho' sweet the- rwosy, &C. 

The pf)urin rains, sac oft we hear ; 
The clwoaks an clf>gs. on ricli an peer ; 
The dresses seen, some fain wad weer, 
Now tell th' approach o' Winter ! 
Tho' sweet the rwosy, Ac. 



I88 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Leyfe's varyin seasons aw mun share ; 
Some rapt in joy, some sunk in care ; 
His suff'rins man sud patient bear, 
An hail th' approach o' Winter ! 
Tho' sweet the rwosy, &c. 

In youth we're won by luive an preyde ; 
In manhood folly's oft our gueyde ; 
It's wise to fling sec cares aseyde. 
An hail th' approach o' Winter ! 

Tho' sweet the rwosy smeyles o' Spring, 
When weyld burds wanton on the wing 
The will ov God aye gud can bring. 
Then welcome, welcome, Winter. 



WHEN SHALL WE MEET AGEANE. 

Tune — By the Author. 

O, sec a kiss I gat yestreen, 

Frae yen I darna neame ! 
An sec a luik frae twee black een 

As set me in a flame ! 
For sec a luik, an sec a kiss 

A saint meeght quit his cell ; 
An on sec happj^ hours ov bliss, 

Ay mem'ry pleas'd mun dwell. 

The partridge wail'd his absent niate : 

The owlet sowt his prey ; 
The Eden murmur'd at our feet, 

When by mey seyde she lay ; 
The siller muin a witness shone ; 

Nowt nar us seave the kye ; 
But, O, nae man the muin shone on, 

Mair happy was than I ! 

We talkt o' monie a joyfu hour. 
Sin furst her feace I tnew ; 

A feace as fair as onie flow'r. 
That e'er in garden grew ; 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



I prais'd her shape, she sang o' luive, 

A sang to me aye dear ; 
If leyfe a scene ov woe may pruive, 

Aye luive the meynd may cheer ! 

Thou lazy hated day, flee fast ; 

Luive shuns thy leet an thee ; 
Heaste, -welcome eve ! gie labour rest, 

An bring the lass to me ! 
For when she tore hersel away, 

I fan her heart mey ain : 
An wi' a luik she seemt to say. 

When shall we meet ageane ? 



JACK AN TOM. 

Tune — " Since love is the plan." 

O, Tom, to sup sorrow ^vill dui nae yen gud, 
An care when we teaste it, pruives poisonous food ; 
Thou hes plenty, an I's but a peer sarvent man, 
Then why sud thoo freet at the froun o lal Nan ? 

" O Jack, hod thy bodder ! I can't sleep a wink ; 
I tummel in bed an 1 wheyne, an I think ; 
Theer's twee o' ye keynd as a cock an a hen — 
I'd gie aw I's worth fer a lass leyke thy Jen ! " 

" O Tom, nobbet gie me a fiel an twee kye, 

An a hantel o' siller some cleedin to buy ; 

Thoo's hev yan, that's weel shept, larn'd, b(jnny 

an aw, 
Wi' twee rwosy cheeks, an a skin wlieyte as snaw ! " 

" O Jack ! it's a bargain — come tell me her neame ; 
Can she sing ? can she dance ? will she mek a 

gud deamc, 
I'll teake her to kurk, if I leeve ere ten days — 
I's marry, an Nan sal nac mair hae mey praise ! " 



I90 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" O, Tom ! thy awn Nancv's the neyce lass I 

sell, 
She leyke's thee far better nor tongue e'er can 

tell : 
It's nobbet her schemin, thy fondness to pruive, 
Say anudder thoo's ^\oI], an she'll then shew her 

luive." 

" O, Jack ! — Here's a hantel o' siller for thee — 
I'll try her to neet — Aa ! how sulky I'll be ! 
An bwoast o' some udder, an say aw I can — 
See, yonder she comes, lad ! — Fareweel ! I'll to 
Nan ! " 



TO CRITO. 
Tune — " Woo'd an married an a'." 

Come, Crito ! dear frien o' my bwosom, 

An crack wi' peer Robby a wheyle ; 
Wer I at Deeth's duir, broken hearted. 

Thy visit wad caw forth a smeyle : 
Let's luik, think, read, talk about aw maks. 

But ne'er to ambition yence bow ; 
Let's scribble to please monie roun us — 

The warl's turn'd a wilderness now ! 



I meynd when we furst met, dear Crito ! 

Fwok welcom'd wi' smeyles, thee an me, 
But O, what sad changes man suffers. 

Sec days we can ne'er whop to see ! 
Then Plenty led monie to plishure, 

That Poverty now hes laid low ; 
O, wer but content ilk yen's treasure, 

'Till welcome deeth gies him a caw ! 



Aul Englan's bow'd down by Oppression 
Trade's left us scairce e'er to return ; 

Ov aw that can comfort the wretched, 
Owre few fer distress e'er will mourn ! 




IHE ltA^KS O' THE LEYNE. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 191 

Luik roun amang neyborin farmers, 

Base tyranny monie mun bear ; 
The reets o' pu'ir fwok are but laught at, 

An bwoasted laws pruive owTe severe ! 

O, Crito ! if whopes they mud cherish, 

'Twad mek miUions rnerry to day ; 
But frae the peer hard-workin bodies, 

Leyfe's comforts er aw sweept away ! 
It's painfu to think ov our country, 

An turn to the yence happy teymes ; 
Industry bade decent fwok flourish — 

Starvation now leads them to creymes ! 

Some lawyers cheat peer fwok for ever ; 

Some doctors mek puzzen fer pay : 
Some priests get owre mickle fer readin. 

An fuil'ry oft shew when they pray ; 
Some squires think, ay bwoast o' seduction. 

But leyle wi' peer siiff'rers will share — 
Dear lasses ! — They hurl to destruction ; 

Ov sec wheedlin sinners beware ! 

Dear Crito I We'll turn frae thur pictures. 

An praise aw that wish to dui gud ; 
Ay, thousans scave th <usans frae ruin, 

An fin fer the peer, as aw sud ! 
Cud we rammel the weyde warl, we'd daily, 

Wi' sorrow hear Poverty's cry — 
Aye blest be the fwok in ilk country 

That mis'ry's sad tear fain wad dry ; 

Thou charms the larn'd fwok in aw quarters 

I wTeyte a bit Cummerlan Sang 
To crush veyce an gie praise to virtue, 

Nae mortal can say is e'er wTang ! 
Thy preyde is, to gaze on woods, waiters ; 

I's boxt up a slave i' the town ; 
Frae s%vinlin base neybors, thou's suffer'd 

I's peer, an scaircc fricnship can own. 

How oft by sweet scenery surrounded. 
We've met on the Banks o' the Leync ; 

When sangst«-rs wad c irrol thtir welcome. 
Sec led to thy plishure an meyne ; 



192 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



O, dear are her works when deame Nature 
Puts on ev'ry heart-winnin greace ! 

We've spent merry hours wi' — deuce tek them ! 
Fause frienship suin weers a new feace I 



Then, Crito, dear frien o' my bwosom ! 

Come crack wi' peer Robby a wheyle ; 
Wer meyne hawf the wealth o' the county, 

Thy visit wad draw monie a smeyle ! 
If bow'd down by pain, want an sorrow 

Gud mortal's wi' plishure I'd see ; 
But sin the weyl warl I furst studiet. 

Aye dearest was Crito to me ! 



HARD-HEARTED HANNAH. 

Tune — By the Author. 

Leyke a weyld rwose was Hannah, wi' bonny 
blue een, 
Brong up in a cottage close to Cauda-seyde ; 
Young Harry her neybor, thowt sec was ne'er 
seen ; 
"When labour was duin, he wad watch her wi' 
preyde ! 
The wish he enjoy 'd was to mek her a breyde, 
His heart-warm affection to pruive — 
Her heart beat a stranger lo luive. 



She frovsna'd if wi' luiks o' true fondness he'd 
gaze ; 
She laught at the letters he writ her wi' care ; 
She lissen'd nae sangs he hed meade in her praise ; 
She sneer'd at the presents he browt frae the 
fair ; 
An vow'd nae peer mortal her luive e'er sud share : 
Sec beauties how thowtless they pruive. 
That scworn the true plishures o' luive. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 193 



To murry-neets, kurn-\Wnnins, Hannah ne'er went. 

But weekly at market wad strut thro' the toon ; 

An theer fer mock-feyn'ry, her mone}' was spent ; 

An novels she read that nae wreyter sud own : 

But a word fre\' a beggar aye cawt forth her froon — 

What pity a mortal sud pruive. 

Her hatred to gudness and luive. 



A squire tho' a stranger, sowt Hannah to gain, 
An won by preyde, wealth, she suin off wid him 
flew ; 
Sec flatt'rers o%\Te oft will cause sorrow an pain — 
Desarted, in mis'ry thro' leyfe may she rue ; 
Leyke a hawf-wither'd lily lads luik on her now : 
Thus, man a base tyrant may pruive ; 
Thus, women are won by false luive ! 



Her mudder lang happy, suin laid in her greave, 
When telt by the neybors, what e'en brak her 
heart, 
How the squire, fer a parson hed breyb'd a base 
kneave 
That married the tweesome ; weel pay'd for sec 
art ; 
Ere deeth he mun suffer that plays sec a part, 
An wealthy owre offen will pruive 
Their ruin, by preyde an false luive ! 



Gud leisses ! be wary ! — Sec preyde ever shun ; 
It's nobbet a trap, just to catch hee an low 
By dress, flatt'ry, folly, if onie be won. 

She suin sinks a pittilcss victim to woe ! 
Whate'er I endure, frae mey pen sal aye flow 
The verse, that sec follies may pruive, 
An praise the deleytes o' true luive. 



194 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

WULLY AN MARY. 
Tune — " Andyew wi' his cutty gun." 



" Hey, Mary ! mey sweet Mary ! 

Dunnet gow, an wheyne an freet ! 
Changes peer fwok daily suffer — 

Thoo'll be laughin lang ere neet ! 
Some are lucky ; some get brokken ; 

Some ovvre greedy ; some owre gud ; 
Some aye drink, but ne'er git slockent ; 

Some dui vvrang, when reet they mud ! 



"O, WuUy ! gud keynd Wully ! 

What, Tim Teaylear's taen thee in ; 
Bonships brek men ; bealies tek men 

Fwok to int'rest oft pruive blin ; 
Twee-scwore pun a serous loss is, 

When yen labors to dui weel ; 
I's sae vext, what — I can darn nin ! 

Nea I cuddent turn a wheel ! " 



" Hut Mary, shaf, dear Mary ! 

Let's be cheerfu wheyle we leeve 
Tho' it's shemfu fwok sud rob us. 

Better far nit yence to grieve ! 
Aw the money they've taen frae me. 

Hard I yernt it, weel thoo kens; 
It wad stowt a house ; nae matter, 

Let's nit mourn, when ther's nee mens. 



" O, Wully ! reet blithe Wully ! 

Auntie's starvin — peer am I ; 
Gud rich lasses theer's aw roun thee 

Court an git yen — prythee try ! 
Wer I rich as our laird's dowter ; 

Wer thoo but a beggar peer ; 
Here's a han thoo'd git, wi' thousans- 

0ft I'll bless thee, wid a tear ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 195 



WULLY. 

"O, Mary ! wish't for Marj' ! 

Promise thy wheyte ban to me ; 
Let's be axt to kurk, on Sunday — 

Fwore-scwore pun I've here fer thee ! 
Uncle Arthur hobbelt owre wi't ; 

" WuU I '' says he, "keep up thy heart ! " 
Fadder's fain an mudder's merry — 

Gie's a buss, afwore we part ! " 



THE COCKFEGHT. 

Tune — " Jenny's bawbee'.' 

" Our young gam cock the main hes won ; 
He gar't them aw leyke cowards run ; 
Sec bettin ! — " Ten to yen ! " — " Done, done ! 
Gae joy to me. 

Wheyle others set a kettle on, 
Heaste, Martha ! set a bottle on ; 
Thoo's hear the famish feghtin fun, 
I ruid to see. 

" Suin as'the Fitter doft his hat, 
Ours crow't, queyte fain to hg aw flat ; 
He e'en cud feght a Bonnyprat, 
Nor e'er wad flee. 

Now Martha, we've a bottle on, 
We'll drink, an smuik, the sattle on ; 
Leyle's nowt widout cock-feghlin fun, 
To sec as we I 

" Kit Craflet," our feyne cock I caw'd ; 
He flight "Tom Linton'" <>n the sod, 
An laid him deed as onie clod, 

Wi' bUiid .stain'd e'e. 



196 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Now, Martha, we've a bottle on ; 
In silk an sattin, thee I'll don ; 
Beath nwotcs an siller I hae won, 
Sae rich are we ! 

" We rwoarin, argiiin, vaprin bed ; 
Some raggt ; an some leyke dandies cled ; 
lang I^nty tnockt down aul daft Ned, 
An s track at three. 

Matt, bring anudder bottle on ; 
Theer it sal stan, neet, mworn an nuin ; 
We'll drink an jwoke an rattle on, 
An aye we'll gree. 

" Our Bess sal dance beath day an neet ; 
Our Wull sal feght on muir or street ; 
At russlin, sarvent Jack can beat 
Aw roun, we see. 

Now, Martha, set the kettle on, 
For hunger meks yen dour an dun ; 
We'll always hae the bottle on. 
An leace our tea. 

" Waak fuils may leyke to read, an wreyte 
I's fond ov fun, an fratch an feght ; 
But cockin's still be mey deleyte, 

'Till Deeth bangs me ! 



Now Matty, set mair bottles on ; 
Bring aw the neybors in, fie, run ! 
Till we gloure at the risin sun, 

We'll drink wi' glee ! " 

O, Cumrians ! fling sec gams aseyde !* 
Let virtuous plishures be yer gueyde ; 
Then you may welcome Deeth wi' preyde, 
An happy be : 

Bid Jenny set a kettle on, 
Gnd meet, an wheyles a bottle on ; 
An to puir fwok, yer sattle on. 
Aye comfort gie ! 

♦ It will be noticed that Anderson describes such scenes only 
to condemn them — and they stand here as relics of a bygone 
age. — Ed. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 197 

Still may Kit Craffets Lintons bang ; 
But glory nit in what is wTang ; 
Or may ilk yen that wreytes a sang, 
Aye feght wi' ye ! 

Bid Jenny set the kettle on, 
Then talk o' happy deeds ye've duin ; 
An larn yer Sarvent, Dowter, Son, 
Aye gud to de ! 



THE LENNET. 

Tune — By the Author. 

'Twas nuin, an owie the fields I stray'd, 
A vvheyle to shun leyfe's noisy crowd ; 
When frae the hawthworn's wheyten'd shade 

A Lennct sang, blithe, sweet, an loud ! 
Rejoic'd, I stuid his voice to hear, 

Foi dear are weyld burds' nwotes to me ; 
Whene'er we meet. 
They gie a treat ; 
An aye, his meanin seem'd queyte clear, 
That sweet, sweet, sweet is liberty ! 

Blithe Dick, I seeghin thowt, ilk grove, 

Wood, muir, or flow'ry field is theyne, 
Thy teyme is spent in peace an luive — 
O, cud I say sec days are meyne ! 
Shall tyrant man yer reace enslave. 

When Nature, keynd, proclaims you free ? 
Rejoic'd to meet 
An hear your treat, 
Aw mortals, still sud sarve an seave, 
Foi sweet, sweet, sweet is liberty ! 

In youth, by fancy forward led 

Leyke thee, I sang the hours away ; 

But now true luive an frienship's fled, 
I cheerless spen leyfe's ling'rm day — 

He warbl'd on : — I nearer drew, 



198 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



The feather 'd trey be aye fain to see ; 
His mate to meet, 
\Vi' luive to greet, 
He ceas'd, an flutt'rin frae me flew — 
Hoo sweet, sweet, sweet is liberty ! 

Whee that on beast or burd can gaze, 

Mun see what mortals aye sud please ; 
What's formed for man desarves his praise, 

Yet oft his plishure is to seize : 
Hoo leyke the Lennet on the spray 

Or lark that soars aloft wi' glee, 
Tho' coy we meet, 
Wi' Nature's treat, 
Each cheerfu sangster seems to say, 

O, sweet, sweet, sweet is liberty 1 

Puir burds leyke men oft meet their foes, 

An leyfe is robb'd ov peace an joy ; 
His heart unfeelin ilk yen shows, 

That harmless warblers wad destroy ! 
To view their nest, to hear their sang, 

To aul an young deleyte sud gie ; 
If foes they meet, 
The heart will beat ; 
They flee when nar a deyke we gang — 

Still sweet, sweet, sweet is Uberty ! 



CORBY. 

Tune — "The Lads o' Dunse." 

I wander'd round Corby in frienship, ae day, 
Whoar Nature deleyteth the grave an the gay ; 
In frienship, it's pleasing, the teyme to begueyle, 
Forgettin the cares of this leyfe for a wheyle : 
Owre monie in quest o' false plishure will run, 
By what leads to ruin some daily are won ; 
Wer I yen o' the greet, an aw countries cud 

see. 
The gran scenes o' Corby wad meast deleyte 

me ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 199 

We gaz'd on woods, waiters, rocks, caves, hills, 

an vales. 
An fan the enjoyment of health's fav'ring gales : 
We mark'd distant villages spread far an weyde. 
The haunts ov industry an oft that ov preyde : 
Then canny aul Carel appear'd fair in view. 
Whoar Scotlan's brave sons oft oor fworefadders 

slew ; 
Amang oor wish'd blessings are plenty an 

peace, 
But guwern'd by tyrany cares mun increase ! 



The burds sang their welcome an gev us a treat, 

Nae musical ban was to me e'er sae sweet : 

Their voices sud charm on mead, mountain, or 

plain, 
They share what in towns monie wish for in 

vain ; 
Noo wand'rin by Eden or snug in a bow'r, 
The pictures o' mortals we saw in ilk flow'r ; 
Or markt the peer fishermen weadin the stream. 
To lure leevin creatures — leyke monie they 

seem. 



Rejoic'd wi' the walks that nit yen can think 

rude, 
Aul Nature's weyld scenery wi' plishure we 

view'd. 
The herb that we treed on, the yek on the brow, 
Leads the meynd to that Pow'r to whom aw maks 

mun bow ! 
Neest, donn'd oot in feynr'y what numbers we 

saw. 
Some linkin in luive, others struttin for shew ; 
Admirers of Nature ! enjoyers of wealth ; 
An monie desarted by plenty an health. 



At length in tht; castlf*. the fam'd works of art. 
To us, leyke aw others, did plisliurc impart ; 
Here scenes of antiquity caw forth yen's praise; 
On earth's greatest patriots, here anxious fwok 

gaze: 
Sec ever the thanks ov aul Englau may claim. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



But foes o' true freedi)m priiive ilk country's 

sheamc ; 
Their neames will for ever be thowt on wi' 

scworn — 
What loads ov oppression by Britons are bvvorn ! 

May the avvners of Corby leyfe's blissins enjoy ! 
Wheyle feelins of gudness pair brethren employ ; 
Here true hospitality succors distress ; 
They comfort the helpless, nor seek to oppress ! 
To the Howards whose pride is, each mortal to 

serve, 
Who niver from freedom or justice would swerve, 
Oor country's indebted ; and still may the name 
Live highly enroU'd in the annals of Fame ! 



LAIRD JWOHNNY. 

Tune — By the Author. 

Comin owre the muir ae neet, 
Whee met me, but young laird Jwohnny ! 

*' Bess ! " says he, " I's fain we meet ; 
Lang I've thowt thee gud and bonny 1 " 

Sweet he boo'd, kiss'd an woo'd 
Seeght an sed, " Lass will ye hae me ? " 

" No" slipt oot, sinseyne I've rued, 
That sec a word sud keep him frae me. 

O, wad he but come to me ! 
Day an neet I think abnot him — 

Mudder says I's gaun to dee — 
Lang may I nit leeve widoot him ! 



Leyke a dandy, Arthur com 
Thro' the wood last week, to woo me ; 

Weyde-gobb'd Wuliy, Watt an Tom, 
Fain wad aw hae buckclt to me ! 

Chaps leyke these leyke butter-flees, 
Win owre oft wi' preyde an blether ; 

'I howtless lasses fain to seize — 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 201 

Jwohnny's weel worth aw thegether, 

O, wad he but come to me ! 
Newt I de but think aboot him ; 

He's the apple o' mey e'e — 
Faith, I cannot leeve widoot him. 

Monday neest at Hesket Fair, 
He shall see me leyke a leady ; 

Skeybels ne'er my luive will share — 
Jwohnny's rich an lish an steady ! 

Weel I tnow, he caps them aw ; 
Singin, dancin, nin can match him ; 

Fuil was I to mutter no ! 
This weyde warl I'd gie to catch him ! 

What ! — I see he comes to me, 
Mountet feyne wi' dogs aboot him ; 

Luiks ov luive I noo mun gie — 
Happy I'd ne'er be widoot him ; 



A FADDER'S LECTURE. 
Tune — "Joy be wi' ye a'." 

Come Gworge, let's saunter thro' the wood, 

Owre this bit steyle I scearce can creep ; 
Fwok say, a walk dis monie gud ; 

For me last neet I gat nea sleep ; 
Thoo's hilthy, weer's a rwosy luik, 

Just twonty years hes seen to-day ; 
I wish thoo'd worn a tunic now — 

Thoo seeghs an stares, and weel thoo may ; 

A frien hes brok thy fadder's heart ; 

His ueariR- thoo ne'er need whop to tnow; 
A twelvemonth seyne, thoo'd ilk yen's praise. 

But now, thoo's turnt a parfit beau ! 
Cock-fcghtin, russlins thy deleyte ; 

Of leate thoo's grown owrc prood to work ; 
I buy thee buiks thoo'U never read. 

An seldom can be seen at kurk ! 



02 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

What, thoo's taen on wi' Squire's feyne Miss, 

An oft the neybors watch ye meet ; 
Her reckless ways are tnown aw roun, 

O, Gworge ! can sec leyke wark be reet ? 
Just coort a modest decent lass ; 

Nae matter whedder rich or puir ; 
Teake mey adveyce, thoo'U happy be, 

An wheyle ye leeve ye've nowt to fear. 

At King-muir reaces, leyle I dreemt 

That our rwoan filly thoo durst run ; 
She fell, gat leamt an suin laid deed — 

That day cost me just tharty pun ! 
Thy mudder spoilt the' when a bairn. 

But noo, leyke monie, sair she rues ; 
Last neet she fentet i' mey airms — 

Its hard gud fwok sud hear bad news ! 

Some doctor sent a box ov pills : 

"What" says mey deame, " Oor Gworge is 
weel ! " 
A hawf-wit dandy neest caw'd in— 

We'd just as leeve hae seen the deil ! 
Thoo fought three teymes on Rosley Hill, 

When I was buyin kye an sweyne ; 
Aw bluid an batter beame thoo rid — 

Fwok weel may think ov aul lang-seyne ! 

See sister Marget hard at wark, 

A better lass ne'er wore a goon ; 
She monie a neet the beyble reads, 

When thoo's wi eydlers scamperin 'roun ! 
I' ne'er be sworry, dud she wed 

A sarvent puir, if nobbet gud ; 
She'll happy be, when low I's laid ; 

Thoo'U suffer what sec taistrels sud ! 

We hae but twee ; as feyne a lass 

As ever claimt a f adder's praise ; 
A gamblin son, a lump ov preyde 

1 hat glories in aw wicked ways ! 
I fan silk stockings i' thy kist— 

O, lad ! thoo weel may blush fer sheame ! 
The lawyer's meake mey will neest week, 

An mark a shillin to thy neame 1 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 203 

I see the tears strowe down thy cheek— 

For me : I scearce can gang or stan ; 
Teake mey adveyce ! I'll say nae mair— 

O' Gworge ! dear Gworge ! gie me thy han 1 
Thy sister comes, aw tir'd nae doubt ; 

I'll ne'er let wit what hes been sed— 
Wey Marget ! we've a famish neet ; 

The muin's got up-it's teyme fer bed ! 



THE FLOW'R O' THEM AW. 

Tune — " Watty's awa' ." 

O, where is Young Matty the flow'r o' them 

aw ? , V, 1 

We mourn the sweet lassie that ne er hed a 

foe ; 

She's fairest of ome ; 
She's gud as she's bonny : 
She's geane wi' the wishes ov beath hee an low. 

Peace to her pure bwosom, whate'er she may 
tnow 
loon 
f aw 1 



The loon that wad harm her, ill luck him be 



Sae meyld is her nature, 
Sae bonny ilk feature, 
A lassie mair tcmptin man never yence saw ! 

For her I wad wander weyld mountains o' snaw. 
Nor heed the rough tempest, that roun me mud 
blaw ; 

Nae cares cud oppress me, 
Nae wants wad distress me, 
Were she but mey partner in cottage, tho' sniaw. 

Where'er Fate may lead her, leyfe's comforts 
to draw, 

May fortune aye on her, wished favors bestow ; 
She's Nature's sweet charmer. 
May mortals ne'er harm her, 

But Happmess guard her, till Deeth gies a caw 1 



204 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

A fig for thur husseys just meade up for show. 
To win the waak heart they owre oft lead to 
woe ! 

Fworc'd luiks, an mock greaces, 

Their sex ay debases — 
True virtue meks Matty the fiow'r o' them aw ! 



GUD ADVEYCE. 

Tune — "Caw hawkey." 

Leyfe's tum'd a wilderness ov leate, 
Nor whopes hae we ov wish'd-for changes : 

Joy yence on lab'rin man wad wait. 
But now for toil he daily ranges : 

Tho' fled the bliss o' better days, 
When aw to sarve was man's endeavour ; 

Tho' noo, owre monie man betrays, 
O, let content cheer us for iver. 

Tho' trade's sunk low an rents are hee, 
An honest peer fwok daily suffer ; 

Aw countries deep distress mun see, 
Yet what avails the miser's cofier ? 

He kens his share o' leyfe's keen care, 
An him frae wealth Deeth suin can sever ; 

They're wise that ne'er thro' leyfe despair- 
O, cud Content cheer man for ever ! 

The prince, the peer, wi aw the'r gear, 
Hoo seldom e'er they buy true plishure ; 

Leyfe's ills are painfu' hard to bear, 
Yet, aye content's the sweetest treasure I 

What happy changes Teyme may bring 
Depends on Englan's fond endeavour; 

Let's pray for peace an cheerfu sing, 
O, that Content may cheer man iver ; 

Aye may the gud the wicked rule, 
An law suin help the weel-desarvin ; 

But he that pruives oppression's tuil, 
I wish him suin, leyke millions starvin ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 20? 



Whee scvvorns the puir, raun fear grim Deeth, 
True blessins he need whope for niver ; 

The peerest creature that draws breeth, 
O, may Content cheer him for iver ! 

The wealthy tyrant who'd enslave 
The puir, O may he suin sup sorrow ! 

But he wha wad th' industrious seave. 
May care or pain his feace ne'er furrow ! 

That greet gud men may gain gud teymes 
Sud be aul Englan's fond endeavour ; 

Wheyle hee an low man pay for creymes, 
O, let Content cheer us for iver ! 



THE INVITATION. 
Tune — " Hand awa frae me Donald.' ' 

O come away ! heaste away ! 

An share luive sweets wi' me, Nelly ! 
Or Winter smears the earth wi' snaw, 

Threyce welcome thoo sal be, Nelly : 
We'll wander meedow, wood an vale, 

An pleasin sights we'll see, Nelly ; 
Then, oft thoo' 11 hear a lover's teale. 

He daily dwoats on thee, Nelly ! 



O come away ! heasle away ! 

We'll share true luive, an glee, Nelly 
Oor neyt)'rin lasses yen an aw, 

Wi' envy glowre at thee, Nelly ; 
They dess thersels in duds owre feyne. 

To catch ilk dandy's e'e, Nelly ; 
But cud I share that smeyle o' theyne, 

'Twad drive aw care frae me, Nelly. 



O come away ! heaste away ! 

Nae doubt but we'll agree, Nelly ; 
My health is good ! mey fortune's great, 

I'll share' t wi' nin but thee, Nelly ; 



206 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Thy marrow, aw the country roun 
I'd wander prood to see, Nelly ; 

For on the earth ncane can be foun 
Frae veyce or preyde mair free, Nelly ! 



O come away ! heaste away ! 

Some luive just shew to me, Nelly ; 
Mid Summer's smeyles or Winter's froons, 

Thro' leyfo let's happy be, Nelly ! 
Blest be the lass if rich or puir, 

That keeps mankeynd in glee, Nelly ; 
An aw leyfe's ills may he endure, 

That nils' ry wad cause thee, Nelly ! 



LEYFE'S COMFORTS. 
Tune — By the Author. 

Wid a frien Iver true, an a lass to mey meynd, 

Teyme sleydes away daily in gladness ; 
Wid a peype, an a glass. I can laugh at 
keynd. 

This whurligig warl an its madness. 
Away wi' repeynin, dull wheynin, an streyfe, 

Fworerunners o' seeckness an sorrow I 
Be merry ; sud aye be oor maxim thro' leyfe. 

We ken nit what happens to-morrow ! 



A frien frev aw ills keeps yen iver secure ; 

T o sarra, cheer, lam, is oor duty ! 
Ov aw this leyfe's joys, nin was iver sae pure, 

As luive built on gudness an beauty. 

Away wi' repeynin. &c. 



My peype when I smuik, pruives a teype o' 
frail man, 
Noo parfit, neest moment in pieces ; 
To think o' the gud fowk sud aye be our plan. 
For bad still yen's pity increases. 

Away wi' repeynin, &c. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 207 



Leyfe's comfort is happiness few can enjoy, 
For monie deleyte in vveyld plishure, 

Men seek yen anudder owre oft to destroy, 
An rob them ov health, peace an trishure. 
Away wi' repeynin, &c. 



THE GUD-FOR-NOWT WEYFE. 

Tune — By the Author. 

Mey frien hes a weyfe ; sec a gud-for-nowt weyfe 
Nae mortal e'er tuik to embitter his leyfe ; 
Nae weyld beast was iver mair fit fer a show ; 
Hoo happy he'd be wad Deeth gie her a caw ; 

She's brong him to woe. 

She thumps him an aw — 
Owre aw the warl nin sec a hussy e'er saw ! 



Mey frien hes a weyfe ; sec a gud-for-nowt weyfe, 
I'd far raider kiss the sharp edge ov a tneyfe ; 
She's shept leyke a trippet, she crowks leyke a 

craw ; 
Wi' teeth lang as stowres sticking out ov her 
jaw, 

Weel may he cry — " Oh I 
Deil give her a throw ! 
The h.un, muin or staKs sec a donnet ne'er saw!" 



Mey frien hes a weyfe ; sec a gud-for-nowt weyfe, 
Aul Nick nivcr sowt sec a bundle ov streyfe ; 
An sud he engage her, she'd give him a claw, 
Wad mek him cry, " Imps, set to wark yen an 
aw ! 

Lowp roun in a raw. 
Kick her leyke a fit baw ! 
By my 'cluits, in thur i)airt3 sec a lump I ne'er 
saw I " 



2o8 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE LASS THAT LO'ES ME. 

Tune — By the Author. 

Sweet's the lass that lo'es me, 
As the weyld rwose on the breer I 

Blithe she's aye who lo'es me — 
Weel she kens to me she's dear ! 

Preyde an fuil'ry I despise; 
She's the only yen I prize 
Healthy, hearty, gud an wise- 
Sweet is she that lo'es me ! 



Wi' the lass that lo'es me, 
Leyfe's a summer free frae care ; 

Luiks ov hur that lo'es me 
Give content ; I seek nae mair : 

Toilin cheerfu aw the day, 
Thowts ov her aye mek me gay ; 
Doubts ne'er tempt my mind to stray 
Frae the lass that lo'es me I 



Oft vvi' her that lo'es me. 
Fain I walk up Pett'rel seyrle ; 

An wi' hur that lo'es me. 
See whoar she'll be meade a breyde ; 

Kith or kin to me's unknown ; 
Feckless noo her mudder's grown ; 
Beath sal aye mey keyndness own, 
Aw for hur that lo'es me I 



When she awns she lo'es me, 
Sweetly flees the winter neet, 

Smeyles frae her that lo'es me, 
Mek me wish for mwornin leet ! 

Sukey's aw the warl to me ; 
Heav'n nae greeter gift can gie ; 
Aw on earth I wish to see, 
Is the lass that lo'es me ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 209 

POVERTY'S NAE SIN. 
XuNE — " Atdd lang Seyne." 

O, Greacv ! grevin day an neet, 

Can dui nae gud at aw : 
If lanl word's taen our cow for rent, 

Fwok mun abeyde by law : 
It's hard when peer hae nowt to dm. 

But wark I whop to fin ; 
Teyme sum may welcome changes bring. 

An poverty's nae sin ! 

We've but twee sons, beath fit fer wark, 

An tho' we buried three. 
Let's hwop, \vi' preyde, or years er owre, 

They'll comfort thee an me ! 
They hate aw mischief, ply the buik. 

But give ofience to nin ; 
An were we fworc'd to beg for breed, 

What — poverty's nae sin ! 

Weyld winter flees an spring steals on. 

The best teyme o' the year ; 
I'll drive the plew wi' onie yen. 

Or sow or mow or shear. 
That wheel thou leate cud turn, an sing 

As few leyke thee cud spin ; 
But come what will, be cheerfu still 

For poverty's nae sin ! 

Mey puir aul faddcr past aw wark. 

Oft sed, " God's will be duin ! " 
Wi' scairce a beyte for weyfe or bairns, 

1 meynd ae efternuin, 
A purse he fan, queyte full ov brass ; 

Wot meal was suin brong in ; 
If ne'er a coin sud cross mey luif, 

Yet poverty's nae sin ! 

1 dreemt lass neet— nay, dunnet frown I 
They're truths we wheyles suppwose ; 

I'll bet three kisses meyne pruivcs true, 
An thou'U be fain to Iwose : 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

I mendet rwoads, an deykt, an swet, 
'Till aw queyte pain'(l widin ; 

The squire cried, " Peter, never fret, 
Since poverty's nae sin ! " 

The squire hes gien us meat an claes ; 

God spare me, suin to-mworn 
I'll ax his wark an muck the byres, 

Or deet an thresh the cworn : 
If on the rwoad I fin nae purse, 

Nor yet pick up a pin ; 
Reeght happily, I'll flee to thee — 

Hut ! poverty's nae sin ! 

It's wise thro' leyfe to envy neane ; 

For wheyle the warl turns roun, 
Deame Fortune will on millions smeyle, 

An aye on millions frown : 
Frae kings to beggars, aw ken care, 

Mankeynd are nar akin ; 
The rich may help or shew their scworn. 

But poverty's nae sin ! 

O Greacy ! pleas'd I see the' smeyle, 

That luik comes frae the heart ; 
We'll pray for wark an be content 

Till Deeth sal bid us part ! 
The peerest creeter man e'er saw, 

Tho' aul, deef, dum an blin. 
If blest wi' reason, aye sud think 

That poverty's nae sin ! 



TAMER AN MATTY. 
Tune — " The humours' o' glen." 

MATTY. 

" Aa Tamer ! wey bliss us, mey merry aul cronie ; 

Come, tek't airmin chair an I'll throw the wheel 

by; 

1 thowt thoo'd been deed — It's a yage sin I seed thee 

How's thy maister Peter, the bairns, naigs, an 

kye ? 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Sit narer to t' fire ! teake a peype, what here's 
'bacco 

But furst try a mouthfu ov famish Scotch gin ; 
The day's nobbet cauUsh, an thoo's gitten aulish, 

Sae, cock up lal finger, 'twill warm the' widin." 



" Aa Matty ! our Peter hes lang been but peerly ; 

He's pleg'd \vi' the watter-brash, mworn, nuin, 
an neet ; 
He's fash'd wi' the gravel an wheyles cannot travel ; 

Sin lain up i' th' jonas, he's niver been reet. 
Our famish naig Boxer, he dee't o' the glanders ; 

They've puzzent twee sheep an run off wid a cow ; 
Fwok aw hae their losses, their trials an crosses — 

Thenk God ! our nine bairns er aw weel enough 
now." 



" Aa, Tamer ! our Sukey hes got a neyce sweet- 
heart ; 
He reydes owre on Sundays an they gan to kurk ; 
They walk, laugh an talk, an they link thro' the 
meedows ; 
What she's sae fon on him, she barleys can 
work ; 
He keeps the big shop owre anent Carel market, 

An sarras girt gentry an peer fwok an aw ; 
He's git heaps o' money, an Suke's young an bonny — 
A neycer chap f adder or mudder ne'er saw." 

TAMER. 

-" Aa, Matty ; it ve.xt us when our Dolly marriet, 

That bit ov a teaylear, a peer silly guff ; 
For Marget at Branton she sells wot-meal, sug- 
ger, 
Bread, tea, piggin-bottoms, tape, nuts, thread 
an snuff : 
Our Ann tuik a Whaker an reet weel they're leevin ; 
Dick's weyfe gat her bed o' twee twins tudder 
day ; 
He's thrang at wark threshin, an she's up an weshin, 
1 seed them hard at it as I com this way." 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Aa, Tamer ; fwok tell us your James is a tur- 
ney, 
God speed him ! for turneys leyke udders dui 
wrang ; 
Our Henry's for kurk, he reads buiks meade ov 
latin ; 
Whea kens but he may be a bishop er lang : 
Come, fou thy peype, dui now ! what divvent 
be bashfu ; 
Anudder glass teake, an just think thoo's at 
heame — 
Nay, bottom't ! Iword bliss thee ! we aw sud carress 
thee, 
A woman mair varteous ne'er hed a neame." 



" Aa, Matty ! here's to thee an thy gudman Philip, 

A neycer chap niver yence hannelt a plew ; 
'Twas at Leady Fair wi' the tweesome we fell 
in, 
An shwort-keakes an kisses, they gev us nit few : 
That day we aw weddet we twee donn't leyke 
leadies — 
The fwok wer aw merry an whopt we wad thrive ; 
Our cheeks wer leyke rwoses but colour yen Iwoses — 
What, I mun jog heame. fer the clock hes struck 
live." 



" Aa Tamer ! be whiet ! thoo sannet flee frev 
us ; 
Here, Nan ! set on kettle an prod up the fire — 
Odsbobs ! luiks te Philip, an our bonny dowter. 
Come cant'rin up t' lonnin thro' mud an thro' 
mire ; 
The seet ov her goddy mun 'stonish our Sukey — 
I's mek gurdle keakes an we's hev a swop tea ; 
Our man'll suin kiss thee, shek hans, seegh, an 
bUss thee, 
For thowts ov aul teymes throws a tear in his 
e'e ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 213 

YAGE AN POVERTY. 
Tune — " The aul guidman." 

Our cottage yence pleas'd neybors roun, 

But now, leyke me it's in decay ; 
This howlin blast may e'er fling' t down, 

For thro' the theek the rain meakes way : 
Our garden's aw strowt owre wi' weeds, 

Yence usefu, flow'ry, clean an neat ; 
Theer teades an varmin daily feeds. 

An rotten is our aul yek seat ! 



Yence burds wad sing the teyme to cheer 

On oor bit peer-tree ; now they're dum ; 
An reedbreests hoppt about the fleer, 

Nae Robbin now e'er seeks a crura : 
Nae beggar creeps up towrts the duir, 

Tho' proud I've sarrad monie a yen, 
Aul, weary, heartless, helpless, puir, 

A caw frae neybors I git neane. 



If owre the geate I chance to creep. 

The bairns '11 mock me, screarain loud ; 
Leyfe nobbet meks me seegh an weep. 

Ay fain to be wrapt in a shroud : 
Mey gud aul Jwosep, Deeth laid low. 

An aw the bairns he stule frae me ; 
I's left a wither'd lump ov woe. 

An welcome now to Deeth I'd gie ! 



Wi' leyfe wheyle this waak heart mun beat. 

The thowts o' them will aye be dear ; 
Their neames I tremlin oft repeat, 

An owre their greaves drop monie a tear 
Forseaken I ne'er meet a frien, 

That yence wi' me wad plenty share ; 
Whate'er m youth our joys hae been. 

In yage if peer leyfo's nowt but care I 



214 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

THE CONTRAST. 

Tune — By the Author. 

I hev twee sweethearts, Nanny and Fanny ; 
Some chaps can git neane, an others owre monie : 
Nan's queyte puir, an just leeves by hard labour : 
Fan's queyte rich, an aye scworn'd by ilk neigh- 
bour, 
Owre this warl o' preyde, you'll fin sec leyke lasses. 
But, man, the gud-hearted sud choose in aw classes ! 

Nanny's weel shept an fair as the lily ; 
Fanny meynds yen ov a daffydowndilly ; 
Nan hes a cheek leyke a sweet bloomin rwosey ; 
Fan hes a feace leyke an aul withert pwosey ; 
Owre this warl o' preyde, &c. 

Nanny will sing, dull care aye begueylin, 
Happem what will she's daily seen smeylin ; 
Fanny deleytes but in lees an base slander. 
In preyde an in folly owre muckle she'll squander. 
Owre this warl o' preyde, &c. 

Nanny will crack aye wid aw decent fellows, 
Blithe as a lennet, but niver yence jilous ; 
Fanny will speak oft to chaps that hev plenty. 
If peer, she'll scairce e'er nwotish yen out o' twenty. 
OwTe this warl of preyde, &c. 

Nan leykes to read in a beyble for ever ; 
Fan thinks ther's nowt leyke a novel sae clever ; 
Nanny hes feelins peer fwok she'll ay sarra ; 
Fanny's a wretch the deil ne'er saw her marra ! 
Owre this warl o' preyde, &c. 

Nan wad dui muckle to sarra proud Fanny, 
Fan wad e'en spit on the feace o' peer Nanny, 
The taen, canny Cummerlan seldom can match her ; 
The tudder aul Nick if he dare, he may catch her. 
Owre this warl o' preyde, &c. 

Monie think money this leyfe's dearest treasure ; 
For me, I think gudness the warl's greatest pleasure ; 
Some greedy curmudgen may venture on Fanny, 
I've plenty an suin will leeve happy wid Nanny : 
Owre this warl of preyde you'll fin sec leyke lasses. 
But, man, the gud-hearted sud choose in aw classes! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 215 

JACK AN FANNY. 
Tune — " Andrew wi' his cutty gun." 

JACK. 

" How wet an weary is this weather ; 

Nit ae star darts down its leet, 
FUng by thy wheel, let's creep together, 

An w' luive begueyle the neet : 
O, rwosey Fanny !— I've kent monie. 

But thy marrow ne'er yet saw ! 
Gie but thv milk-wheyte han to Jwohnny, 

Nin thro' leyfe sail pruive thy foe— 

Weel I luive thee neybors tnew ! " 

FANNY. 

" Be duin. Jack ! what I cannot, munnet 

Sit an fling mey wark aseyde ; 
To lissen tealcs leyke theyne, I wunnet ! 

Nin hawf-reet wad be thy breyde ! 
Aa ! peer Bet Blair, thou's brong to ruin ; 

Hur an bairn's beath gaun to dee : 
Him that's sec weyld wark pursuin, 

Ne'er sal win a smeyle frae me ; 

Nabob-leyke tho rich wer he ! " 

JACK. 

" Hut, lass ! fer what I've duin.I's sworry — 
Whee the deuce wad wed Bet Blair ? 

What thou's taen on wi' ill Tom Stworey, 
Raggt widout a plack to share : 

But I've got Ian. an money plenty ; 
Leady-leyke, I'll don thee feyne ; 

An sarvents han thee ev'ry dainty. 
Peace an plenty sal be theyne — 
Kiss me, Fanny ! thoo's be meyne I " 

FANNY. 

' Kiss thee ?— I'd suiner kiss a beggar ! 

Him I luivc's a sarvcnt peer I 
Thoo's just an empty whcedlin bragger ! 

I'll mek Tommy box thy ear I 



2i6 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Thoo's gaun ? — Ay, faix, we hear him comin — 
Our dog Pinch, to beyte thee tries. 

The man that seeks to cheat a woman 
Neybors roun sucl aw despise — 
Wed Bet Blair, if thoo be wise I " 



THE JOYS OF CONTENTMENT. 

Tune — Bv the Author. 



Fwok may tell us this leyfe is nit worth the pos- 

sessin. 
An oft meake a curse what was gien as a blessin ! 
In this crazy-grown warl shall we jossle ilk 

other. 
Nor think a peer man to a monarch's a brother ? 
Ther are evils the great an gud men endure ; 
Ther are pangs i' the bwosom Deeth only can 

cure, 
Let's laugh at preyde, envy, repeynin an 

streyfe — 
Contentment be thou our companion thro' leyfe ! 



Wi' thee fwok may smeyle at yon aul politician ; 
He dims up the ladder ov boundles,^ ambition ; 
Luiks down wi' a sneer on the crowds that adore 

him. 
An eagerly cleeks at the kick-shows befwore him ; 
We may smeyle at leyfe's follies, it's monie keen 

cares, 
An hair-breadth escapes frae dark villainy's 

snares ; 
When free frae preyde, envy, repeynin an 

streyfe — 
Contentment, be thou our companion thro' leyfe 1 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 217 

Ilk yen reydes his hobby, some vicious, some civil ; 
Reason gueydes us to gud, an preyde drives us to 

evil ; 
This hunts for a star, an that courts Madam Honor, 
She oft pruives a jilt, when the booby has woia 
her. 
He's happy thro' leyfe, that aye meakes it his 

plan. 
Be the voy'ge lang or shvvort, to dui what gud 

he can ; 
Aye free frae preyde, envy, repeynin an streyfe — 
Contentment, be thou our companion thro' 
leyfe. 



THE SAILOR'S RETURN. 
Tune — " O'er Bogie." 

MOTHER. 

" O, welcome ! welcome, Willy lad. 
Now seafe return'd frae war ! 

Thou's dearer to thy mudder's heart, 
Sin' thou hes been sae far : 

But tell me aw that's happen'd thee- 
The neet is weerin fast — 

Ther's nowt I leyke sae weel to hear, 
As dangers seafely past." 



" O, mudder ! I's rcet fain to see 

Your gud-lcyke feace the seame ; 
In fancy still you follow'd me, 

An aye my luivc ye'll claim : 
Whr-n oft I wall<'<l the <l(;ck at neet, 

(Jr watch'd IIk- angry teyde ; 
Mey thowts wad flee to this luiv'd spot, 

An place me by your seyde." 



218 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" O Willy ! monie a sleepless neet 

I've spent an aw for thee ; 
I peyn'd an thowt ov happier teymes- 

Fwok sed 'twas deeth wi' me : 
An when the wicked war broke out, 

The news I dursent read ; 
For fear thy neame may only lad, 

Sud be amang the deed ! " 



" Aa, mudder ! freetfu seets I've seen, 

When bullets roun us flew ; 
But i' the feght or threetnin storm, 

I thowt o' yen an you : 
Beath hur, an neybors, aul an young. 

Please God ! to-mworn I'll see — 
O, tell me ! is the yek uncut, 

That shelter'd hur an me ? " 



MOTHER. 

" Ay, that it is ! I see't ilk day ; 

An fain am I to tell, 
Tho' oft the axe was busy theer, 

Thy tree they waddent fell, 
Oft as we sat below the shade, 

Thy Jenny dropt a tear ; 
An monie a teyme to Heav'n I pray'd- 

O that my lad wer here ! " 



" Now mudder, yeage hes bent ye down, 

Agean we munnet part ; 
To leeve ye, tho' for Indy's wealth. 

Wad brek this varra heart ! 
You say my Jenny's weel an true. 

To part wi' her was wrang; 
I ax nae mair than your consent — 

We'll marry or it's lang." 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 219 



MOTHER, 

" God speed ye weel ! a better pair 

Ne'er kneel'd afwore a priest : 
For me I've suffer'd lang an sair — 

The greave may get me neest ! 
Aye Willy ! bring her frae the town ; 

"Reet happy may ye be ! 
The house an fields ; the cows an sheep, 

When married, I'll gie thee ! " 



TRUE LUIVE. 
Set to Music, by Mr. J. Anderson, Surgeon, Carlisle. 

" Bess, sweetest ov weyld-flow'rs aroun us ! 

Thy gudness an beauty a slave hes meade me ; 
At heame I hev plenty an share monie a dainty. 

But daily I leeve them in whopes to gain thee ; 
In dreams on my pillow, I see thee wi' plishure ; 

Tho' monie rich beauties I'm daily amang ; 
Nae wealthy I'll covet thou's aye my heart's treasure. 

An seeghin, I think o' thee aw the day lang ! " 

O, Jwosep ! man,ruver mair teaze me ; 
Tho' you're rich an clever, an I's waak an puir. 
Wealth leads some to ruin but niver sal win me ; 

Seduction owtc oft tnocks at Poverty's duir ! 
Just mark yon peer miller he toils hard as onie, 

Wi' him I's detarmin'd leyfe's plishures to share : 
Sae court some young leddy that's browt up in 
feyn'ry. 
You've plenty yet never mek flatt'ry your care ! " 

" Bess ! seeghin fair fav'rite I'll leave thee. 
An wish thou may suin get abetter than I, 
May Heav'n aye bless thee ! an gud men carress 
thee I 
To gain onie other I niver will try, 
Our aul fwok mun suffer when cross the wide ocean, 

Frae kindred an Bessy I wander an grieve ; 
Since vain my endeavour oh I farewell for ever ! 
I'll pray for sweet Bessy as lang as I leeve I 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Dear Jwosep ! I'd scworn to deceive ye ; 
I spak but in jest your affection to pruive ; 
That tear in your c'e I now gaze at wi' sorrow ! 

Whate'er may bcfaw me nae other I'll luive ; 
I've sweethearts a number, that daily will flatter ; 
In preyde some deleyte an oft try their base 
art ; 
I neer yet tnew sadness but see you wi' gladness, 
An years hae flown owre, sin' furst ye wan my 
heart. 



MY LUIVE IS BUT A LASSIE YET. 

Sweet bud ov beauty hear me Jean ! 
Or by my luik guess what I mean ; 
Thoo's stown my heart wi' twee blue e'en, 
Tho' thoo art but a la sie yet ! 

Wer meyne the wealth o' Cummerlan, 
Ov West mo Ian, Northumerlan, 
A monarch's ransom for thy han 

I gie, tho' thoo'rt a lassie yet ! 

Lood craws the cock an aw the mworn, 
I wakin freet aboot thy scworn ; 
" Sec froons," I cry, " can ne'er be bworne, 
Tho' thoo art but a lassie yet ! " 
Wer meyne the wealth, &c. 

O why did Nature form that feace ? 
Why bli^s thee wi' a heav'nly greace. 
To steal the hearts in ilka pleace ; 

Tho' thoo art but a lassie yet ? 

Wer meyne the wealth, &c. 

But Jenny, dunnet luik owre hee ; 
Lest beauty that sec pain can gie, 
May suin draw tears frae thy breet e'e, 
Tho' thoo art but a lassie yet ! 

Wer mevne the wealth, &c. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



The bees salute the blooming rwose, 
Come fairer than the flovv'r that grcws, 
I'll luive thee, truly till leyfe's chvose, 

Tho' thoo art but a lassie yet ! 
Wer nievne the wealth, &c. 



Thy beauty sae my bwosom warms, 
I caana coont thy matchless charms ; 
A heaven on earth wad be thy arms, 

Tho' thoo art but a lassie yet ! 
Wer meyne the wealth, &c. 



OOR AWN FIRE SEYDE. 

Tune — By the Author. 

Deame, lissen ! the weyld wint'ry wins lood an 
keen they blaw, 
The seasons aye keep changin — Sae 'tis wi' fwok, 
we see ; 
Thy cheek whoar yence bloom'd a rwose, is noo as 
vvheyte as snaw, 
An to the yerth I's bowin. leyke a wither'd aul tree : 
But sin' that hour, that happy hour, I furst cawt 
thee mey breyde, 
Nae twee mair plishure teasted by their awn 
fire-seyde ! 

Come, fou. twee sups o' oor brew'd yell ; the 
bwosom s it may warm. 
An meynd us o' luive's merry neets in youthfu' 
happy years ; 
A swop oft leads to health an joy at other teymes 
dis harm. 
But in seeckness, yagc or poverty sud cause 
nae fears — 
May peace an plenty to tlie puir aye be the state- 
man's preyde ! 
An gud teymes mek fwok happy l)y their awn 
firc-seyde ! 



222 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Ye women-fwok ovvre offen lead to ruin mankeynd, 
An to scenes ov false plishureoft ye victims pruive ; 
Yer weedlin arts an wicked luiks hae madden'd 
monic a meynd, 
But oor hearts are warm'd by innocence, peace, 
truth an luive ; 
Tho' neybors oft hae tried to spread sad misr'y 
far an weyde, 
Nin e'er cud coax contentment frev oor awn 
fire-seyde ! 

Leyfe's oft a weary pilgrimage to hee an low ; 
The nowbles hae their troubles, aches an pains 
leyke the puir ; 
We daily read the greetest fwok that Englan yet 
e'er saw, 
Row'd up in preyde an folly, buy their plishure 
owTe dear. 
But sin thoo furst gat on the ring industry's been 
oor preyde. 
An aye brong peace an plenty till oor awn 
fire-seyde ! 

In this aul theekt an heamly farm, we plishure 
aye tnew 
When monie a starvin beggar, wid a tear in the e'e 
Cawt tremlin ; Oh ! hoo pleas'd on the fire the 
peets we threw ! 
An they shar'd whate'er was fittin wi' the bairns 
or we ; 
They'd teake a whiff, an tell the news that suin 
flew far an weyde, 
An aye they foun a welcome heame at oor 
fire-seyde ! 

As happy noo we're seated as in leyfe's blithe 
spring, 
Tho marks o' yage on ilk pale wrinkelt feace 
is shown ; 
Oor bairns' bairns noo aroun us will laugh an 
chat an sing. 
Or read sec lessons as sud be to aw fwok tnown ; 
They court a kiss, wi' luiks ov bliss ; but trimmel 
at a cheyde — 
A paradeyse is sweetest at yen's awn fire-seyde ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 223 



For fifty ang'ry winters we leyke slaves hev toil'd, 

Au gamlin, folly's wickedness oft mark'd in man ; 
But when frae kings to cobblers by gamlin fwok are 
spoil'd, 
It's strange, the wise an wealthy cheat an wheyles 
trapan ; 
Hoo happy are a couple that sec leyke can aye 
dereyde, 
Nor blush nor seegh at past-teymes by their awn 
fire-seyde ! 

Oor Meaker's gudness, fourscwore years but few 

iwok share ; 
This hour o' neet remeynds yen o' leyfe's clwosin 

day ; 
Oor duty is, aye for a better warl to prepare, 
•1. For deeth's a debt beath young an aul are 

fworc'd to pay ; 
To .rich an puir tho' thowts o' Deeth owre oft are 
'^- hard to beyde, 
"" We'll welcome him, together by oor awn fire-seyde. 



LUIVE AS IT SUD BE. 

Tune — " Come under my plaidie." 

They may talk as they leyke, aboot this that an 
tudder, 

Let's dui what oor conscience still whispers is reet, 
Wully Todd, tho' but puir an they caw me a leady, 

I's dreemin aboot him, aye neet efter neet ! 
He toils suin an leate beath in summer au winter, 

An keeps an aul fadder, what mair can he de ? 
Wi' brass or wi' breed he oft sarras puir beggars — 

Yen better nor Wulliam, nee lass can e'er see ! 

When twee bits o' scholars we'd laik roun the 
hay-stack, 
A mayin. a nuttin, we'd run here an theer ; 
But ne'er fan the taws, nor e'er yence playt the 
trowin — 
What, oor fwok leyke his wer at that teyme 
but puir : 



224 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



'Twas yen fan me cleedin an bowt me a beyble ; 
God bliss him ! a better man ne'er clwos'd 
an e'e. 
Than aul uncle Tim ; he left me gowd in gow- 
pins, 
A gud hoose an lans ; ther nae better can be! 

O. cud I but meake a leyle sang aboot Wully ! 
I'd e'en give a guinea, ay mebbys far mair; 
I'd sing't thro' the meedows but nit to mey 
mudtler ; 
Mey sarty ! 'twad mek her fratch, caper an stare ! 
She brags ov oor doctor, cries, " Suin thoo may 
git him ! " 
Wer he king nit ae smeyle he sud e'er buy 
frae me ; 
Jenny Stubb, ay Betty Bealie, ay duzzens he's 
ruin'd ! 
They gowl owre their bairns but ne'er happy 
can be ! 

O, Wully ! O Wully !— Hoc fain I wad meet him — 
He promis'd this mworn when his *darrak was 
duin, 
In this varra fiel he wad spen twee hours wi' mey — 
Nay chaps promise oft what they wheyles forgit 
suin ! 
Is yon him comes reydin ? — Shaf ! what it's the 
doctor, 
Deil bin him ! I'll heyde mey ahint this yek tree ; 
Aa ! here wid his flute hoo oft Wully lies pleas'd me ; 
An aye in his company merry I'll be I 

We'll meet, if God spare us at Rosley neest Mon- 
day ; 
On fut Wully gans, on oor naig I mun reyde ; 
He's hev a lock money to buy whate'er's needfu, 
An when he thinks fit he may caw me his 
breyde ! 
He's dear to his Nanny as man is to onie, 

For poverty ne'er yence was froon'd at by me ; 
To dui gud's a blessin but preyde pruives dis- 
tressin — 
To mek the puir happy mey wish sal ay be ! 

*Darrak=day's work — a sheerin darrak=a day's work in the 
harvest field — a darrak o'peats=as much turf as a man could dig 
in a day. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 225 

THE LAMENT. 
Tune — " The aid guidtnan." 

The sun shoue clear owre hill an vale, 

An yellow seem'd the wavin cwom, 
When Peggy leyke n fadin rvvose. 

Sang se.ghin nar a weel-kent thworn 
"True luive owre seldom cau.seth joy. 

For mortals will too oft betray ; 
Here seated, plishures aw flung by — 

Alas I leyfe's whopes are flown away ! 

^'Ths thworn caws happy hours to meynd. 

Wi' Deavie seated by my seyde ; 
Noo yen niair rich his heart has won ; 

O, may gud luck the twee beteyde! 
Mey puir aul mudder hard the news 

An t It me aw, wi' monie a tear — 
'Mid summer's smeyles or winter's froons, 

Mey fav'rite seat sal aye be here! 

'• Hoo monie an offer I hev hed, 

For rich an puir oft courted me ; 
Thro' leyfe for Deavie aye I'll pray 

That noo in vain I wish to see ! 
At weddins, murry-neets an fairs, 

A blither pair nin e'er yet saw ; 
An aye he'd smeyle an gie me praise. 

But luive pretended leads to woe ! 

•' Hoo sweet the weyld burds roun me sing, 
Aye to ilk other they pruive true ; 

An sae sud we ; but I'll ne'er be 
The weyfe ov onie yen, I vow ! ' ' 

" Yes ! Peggy— Here beats Dc-avie's heart 
That nin (m earth sal win frae thee ! " 

The voice of true luive meade her start- 
Now blest they leeve as pair caJi be ! 



226 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

AUL ENC'.LAN. 
Tune — " What can the matter be." 

Oh ! dear ! — What can the matter be ? 

Think ! Think I — What can the matter be ? 

Say ! say — What can the matter be, 
Fwok munnet whop for Reform ! 
Oor Statesmen hunt pleaces, oppression's their 

pUshure ! 
They bow man to slavery in whops to gain 

treasure ! 
Oor taxes are numberless ; laws beyond mea 

sure — 

Aul Englan's just lost in a storm ! 



Oh ! dear I — What can the matter be ? 
Think ! think !— What can the matter be ? 
Say ! say ! — What can the matter be ? 
Fwok munnet whop for Reform ! 
Wad Rulers an Judges an Bishops, foriver 
Mek gudness their study, an daily endeavour 
Aw tjn-ans to crush — Nay ! sec teymes we'll see, 
niver — 

Aul Englan's just lost in a storm ! 



Oh ! dear ! — What can the matter be ? 

Think ! think ! — What can the matter be ! 

Say! Say! — What can the matter be! 

Fwok munnet whop for Reform I 
Wer tithes flung aseyde that oor country dis- 

greaces ; 
Wer freedom their preyde that hop into girt 

pleaces ; 
The Deil meeght sit quiet ; noo millions he 

cheases — 

Aul Englan's just lost in a storm! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 227 

MAD MARY. 

Tune — By the Author. 

The fvirst teyme I saw yon aul hawthworn ae 
eve, 
Returnin heame weariet my friens fain to see ; 
A lassie sang under't but nin to deceive, 

An burds warbl'd rouii her wi innocent glee, 
Mair innocent nin was than Mary ! 

Gud, cheerfu, industrious an free frev aw preyde ; 
A sweeter young bud ne'er cud Cummerlan 
bwoast ; 
To win her chaps far in weyld winter wad reyde. 
An a neybonn squire wad oft mek her his 
twoast — 

Aw roun wer rapt up in Mary! 

Not riches or flatt'ry her heart cud betray — 
O, lassies ! foriver let this be your plan ! 

Seduction owre oft causes leyfe's clwosin day ; 
Just think what you'd suffer deluded by man ! 
Sec ne'er was the kease wi' blithe Mary ! 

Her fav'rite was Willy a lad iver dear. 

Sin' deleyted they wandert to schuil, or to fair ; 

Still free frev aw actions that cause micklc fear ; 
Still fain wi' ilk other to freeten dull care. 
Sec cronies pruiv'd Willy an Mary ! 

To the tweesome whope painted sweet pictures 
ov leyfe ; 
The praise ov aw roun them forever they sowt ; 
True foes to the follies that lead but to streyfe ; 
Contented wi' little ; the ring was now bowt 
To grace the wheyte han o' young Mary ! 

Now fix'd was the day, an the mwornin shone 
breet, 
An anxious wer monie their keyndness to show ; 
But Deeth hcd seized William, unluikt for at nect. 
An robb'd ov her reason an object of woe, 
The neybors aw pitied peer Mary ! 



228 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



The ring on her finger she'll kiss wid a smeyle, 

An sing to the wcyld burds an throw them a 
crum : 
When spoke tui by neybors her ways to begueyle. 
She'll gaze wid a tear an to strangers seem dum : 
A word nin can draw frae mad Mary ! 

When wintry wins howl oft her seat is his greave, 

An roun it in summer sweet weyld-flowers she'll 

fling ; 

Half wither t an helpless, nae pity she'll creave, 

But nar the aul hawthorn oft cheerfully sing, 

Wheyle monie drop tears for mad Mary. 

The last o' the flock tho' not yet in leyfe's preyme, 

Frae friens she yence luiv'd now forgotten, she'll 

run, 

Tho' madness sinks low it can ne'er be a creyme ; 

By veyce the sad pander, what thousans are won. 

An suffer far mair than mad Marv. 



NATHAN AN WINNY. 
Tune — " Aid lang seyne." 

" What, Winny it's owTe suin for rist, 

Tho' that fwok mun desire ; 
I'll trj- a whiff — this neet's queyte raw — 

Bring in some peets to t' fire ; 
Then tell us thy young sweethearts owre- 

Or lang thoo's hear ov meyne ; 
It's reet aul fwok hae bits o' cracks. 

That meynds them o' lang seyne ! " 

" Ay, Nathan, sec as donn't leyke 1 words, 

Peer lasses to deceive ; 
Wad brag o' gear an lee an sweer, 

I ne'er cud thur believe : 
Young lasses now er lumps o' preyde, 

Feyne leadies aw mun be ; 
But wer I this day i' mey teens, 

Preyde suddent conquer me ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 229 

" The f iirst young cuif I ever gat. 

Was when we went to schuil ; 
I meynd his buckles, tliree cock'd hat, 

A peer cat-witted fuil ! 
I coaxt him ae neat on to t' eyce. 

It brak an in he flew : 
I laught an laught, but frae that hour 

Nae luik at me he threw. 

At Carel hirin com the neest, 

Aw't way frae Warnel Fell, 
His nwose was' but leyke thy thum en — 

We met at the Blue Bell : 
He show'd his lang purse, drank, an reavt. 

Aw decent chaps to flay. 
But cowpt off horseback scamprin heame. 

An dee't just the neest day. 

" At Leady Fair, twee courtet me, 

What I Weis then eighteen ; 
They fratch't an fught ; wun.s, what a dui ! 

They beath gat twee black een ! 
That neet a lish chap frae Cock-Brig — 

Nay I f 01 git his neame ; 
A shillin fer a keep-seake gev. 

An set me narlins heame. 

" Kitt Lang, the miller, thoo kens Kitt, 

To our farm house wad run, 
Mey bed-gown dark he oft meade wheyte. 

What he was nowt but fun ; 
He'd lowp an teer an lee an sweer ; 

That meadc mey fadder stare. 
An shek his crutch an threeten Kit, 

If ever he com mair. 

" Yen Sargin Jakes, puif i up wi' prevde. 

Neist strutted to begueyle ; 
Reed cwot.s owre offen pruive but trap.- — 

I ne'er gev liim asmeylc : 
Then William Sliaw, fr.ie Mayket Yetl, 

To win me sair he tried ; 
Consumpslien laid him i' tlie greave, 

Whoar I oit seyne hev cry'd. 



230 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Then, Boutchcr Tommy oft com down, 

An bowt beath sheep an kye ; 
He'd stop to tea an glcyme at me, 

But ne'er this han cud buy ! 
The Bishop's lackey tui, wad strut. 

Our worchet roun an roun — 
Aa I hed his maister foUowt me. 

He'd mebby's got a frown, 

" What yence a captain in his gig, 

0\vretuik me on the muir ; 
He seeght an sobbt an kisst mey hiif, 

An set me till our duir : 
I'd lovers then in Lunnon now. 

Some cwoaches daily reyde ; 
Yen gat sent owre the herrin-pon, 

Nae gud cud him beteyde ! 



I letters gat frae aw maks roun ; 

Some braggin o' their gear ! 
Yen pruiv'd the apple o' mey e'e, 

Ne'er knaggy — nobbet peer ! 
I leyke his gud heart, sense, an luik ; 

He fairly capt them aw ; 
I see him hotcli an laugh an smuik — 

Thy marrow — lass ne'er saw. 

" O, Winny ! oft I've blist the day, 

I furst cawt thee mey awn ; 
For threescwore years we've aye duin gud. 

An aw leyfe's comforts tnown. 
The clock streykes nine ; here teake a whiff, 

An off to rist let's creep : 
Thou'U laugh to hear mey teales o' luive, 

Some neet afwore we sleep ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 231 

WINNY AN NATHAN. 

Tune — " Aid lang seyne." 

" Aa, Nathan ! this neet's dark an caul ! 

What, thou's aw wheyte wi' snaw ! 
Come teake the sattle, fou thy peype 

An let's beath hev a draw." 
" Furst, Winny, bring me some blown-milk ; 

Let girt fwok drink their weyne ; 
We'll gie God thenks for hilth an peace, 

An crack about lang seyne ! " 



" Gud lasses merry free frae preyde 

I praist, but ilattert nin ; 
An sec as braggt o' dress or preyd, 

I ne'er yence sowt to win ; 
Young lads owre oft pretenders pruive, 

If rwosy cheeks they see ; 
They'll dance an prance an squeeze an teaze- 

It ne'er was sae wi' me ! 



" When I ran eerans for the squire, 

His dowter leykt me weel ; 
Wi' churries, sweetmeats, pwoseys, pies, 

Oft till our house she'd steal : 
We roun the hay-stack playt ae day. 

Her f adder curs' t an ran ; 
He owre mey back hi stick suin brack — 

What, she's ne'er taen a man ! 

" Neest Etty o' the Fur-bank Heed, 

A hartsome rwosey lass, 
Was partner when we larnt to dance ; 

Tho' she hed heaps ov brass : 
I .set her heame neet efter neet. 

We'd aye the partin ki.ss — 
Death tuik her till a better warl — 

She was owre gud fer this ! 

" Rwose Murphy a sweet Irish lass, 
Weel shept wi' lang black hair, 

Neest stuil mey heart, an gev me yen — 
We met at Kusley Fair ; 



232 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Thur reed cwoat chaps git whee they will ; 

To Gratena oft she flew 
Wi' yen : his captain bowt her suin, 

But God kens whoar she's now ! 

" Ae Cursmess, fadder's cousin's neice, 

To see our fwok com owre ; 
She sang, read novels, drest in wheyte, 

An suin gat sweethearts four ; 
They fratcht an fit she leyke but me, 

Togidder we rid heame — 
She's hed three husbands ; women oft 

Leyke weel to change the neame ! 

" Neest Beemont Betty, ilk chap's twoast, 

I sowt to meake mey breyde ; 
But leyke owre monie, she was won 

By yen, a lump ov preyde ! 
She bwore him twins but dee't o' grief. 

Hur tweesome oft we see — 
How happy she mud leev'd this day, 

Hed she taen on wi' me ! 

" Aul Widow Watters oft wad caw, 

Donn't neyce an she spak feyne ; 
" If cruikt, she's rich " my mudder sed, 

" Sae, Nat lad, meake her theyne ! .' 
A searlet weascwoat she gae me, 

Nae neycer king can weer ; 
She dee't neest month, just fifty-five, 

Worth threescwore pun a year ! 

" At Low-wood-Nuik wid Lucy James, 

I met ae Sunday mworn ; 
The sun ne'er shone on bonnier lass, 

An better ne'er was bworn ! 
The teyme we fixt but Deeth slipt in. 

An Lucy stule away — 
Wi' monie a tear I wet her greave, 

An cud this varra day ! 

" For three dull years, I frownt an peynt, 
Queyte tir'd o' luive, an leyfe — 

A peer bit lass yen weel thou kens, 
Suin pruiv'd mey decent weyfe ; 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 233 

Now bliss' t wi' plenty, hilth an peace ; 

Till Deeth sal give a caw, 
We'll cheerfu toddle dowi the hill, 

An pray fer yen an aw ! " 

" O, Nathan ! 'twas a lucky hour. 

When furst thoo cawt me theyne ; 
We've meade the langest days seem shwort. 

But niver rued sin-seyne ! 
Some ill-gien weyves leyke lazy leyves, 

An mek tyme dull an lang. 
We're feckless grovra— O, to the greave, 

Togidder may we gang ! " 



PRIMRWOSE BANKS. 

Tune — " Roy's Weyfe." 

Ye primrwose banks an woody braes, 
Oh ! but to me ye're aye deleytin ! 

Theer vouthfu Mary wi' me strays. 
Her gudness aye to luive inveytin : 

Her shcp, her air, lier smeyle'her voice, 
Wi beauty bloomin in ilk feature, 

Mud m'ck her onie mortals choice — 

Leyfe's dearest joy is when I meet her ! 

Ye primrwtjse banks an woody braCvS, 
Oh ! but to nie, ye're aye deleytin ! 

Theer faithiu Mary wi' me strays, 
Her heart sae true to luive inveytin : 

I ne'er will bow a slave to care. 
Nor pruive to woman a deceiver ; 

wliale'er I earn thro' leyfe she's share. 
Nor cud the warl e'er mek me leave her. 

Ye primrwose banks an woody braes, 
Oh ! but to mc, ye're aye deleytin ! 

Theer cheerfu Mary wi' me strays. 
Her words sae keynd to iiiivc; inveytin ; 

Now Autumn strips the sli;i«ly bow'rs, 
'Till Spring brings forth ilk bonny blossom. 

We'll talk o' Summer's happy hours, 
Wheyl<' oft 1 press her to my bwosom. 



234 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Ye primrwose banks, an woody braes, 
Oh ! but to me, ye're aye deleytin ! 

Theer greacefu Mary wi' me strays, 
Her temper sweet to luive inveytin : 

She's aye the dearest to this heart, 
My leyfe o' leyfe, my bwosom's treasure 

An when at last we're forc'd to part, 
I'll bid fareweel to peace an pleasure ! 



ON THE AUTHOR'S BIRTH-DAY. 

Tune — " The Pensioners." 

Now fifty weyld winters on Nature have frown'd. 
Sin' Poverty's son, I that mwornin was own'd ; 
This varied leyfe's scenery ilk mortal aye shares, 
An if youth hed its' plishures, 3'age now hes it's 

cares ! 
Yes, aw human mortals know plishure an pain, 
But the true joys ov leyfe I ne'er whope for agean ! 

Tho' a parent's affection laeks virtue yen's gueyde ; 
Yet, in youth we're oft won by luive, folly an 

preyde ! 
Hope's day-star, in manhood lures down the weyld 

stream. 
An reflection suin pruives aw the past but a dream ; 
OwTe monie wi' snieyles then luik forward in 

vain. 
But the true joys ov leyfe 1 ne'er whop for agean ! 

To the pale goddess Poverty, still hev I bow'd, 
Nor e'er yence wad envy the wealthy or proud ; 
The burthen tho' painfii, man cheerfu sud bear, 
He caws forth his ruin when sunk to dispair ; 
He's wisest mid' suff'rins, who scorns to com- 
plain. 
The' the true joys ov leyfe he ne'er whops for 
agean ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 235 



What numbers, alas ! hae their preyme sweep 

away, 
Tho' painfu sec thowts some will ever betray, 
An raider cause suff'rins than seek for relief. 
To the wretched, whose bwosoms are clouded 

by grief : 
Leyke monie who on earth's dull stage now re- 
main, 
I the true joys of leyfe ne'er mun whop for agean ! 

Leyke aw maks I waakness hev oft shewn thro' 

leyfe, 
But ne'er pruiv'd a frien to ambition or streyfe ; 
By trouble bow'd low, now the winter of age 
Is fro\vnin, with mortals I seldom engage : 
Tho' leyfe's wish'd-for blessings man cannot ob- 
tain. 
Be his whope, efter deeth purer plishures to gain ! 



MUPDER AN JEMMY."* 
Tune — " Merrily dt~nce the quakcr." 

Larre-dee-dum ! — Tee-rowe ! de-dowe ! 

Come gie me twoo kisses mey pritty ! 
That bonny bit thoum thoo leykes to chowe, 

Wheniver thou wants a swop titty : 
Oh ! wail thoo, James, some boilies sup. 

For day efter day I meake them ; 
Now wags thy noddle, as if to say, " Nay ! 

Our pussy-cat leykes to teake them ! ' 

In thy feyne creddle. thoo's hed a neyce nap ; 

I wisli I cud hev sec anudder — 
Be duin ! — leyle baggish ! I'll gie thee a slap ! 

What, beyte thy bonny young mudder ? 

• The original draft of this song in the Poet's own hand- 
writing, has been sent to me by a gentleman who has had it for 
over .JO yrars. Upon r.oniparison, I find it differs little from the 
song as here given, except that it dors not give stanza seven, 
which the Poet evidently added afterwards— T.E. 



236 CUMBERLAND BALLADS 

Na\\ dunnet whinge ! mey sweet pet lam ; 

On muddy tnee, see how he dances ! 
Now, sitty ways down till I meak tea — 

Thy nails er far sharper nor lances ! 

Aa ! Cwoley's cumt in ! — Huy, dog ! here, here! 

Mey boddy leyle Jim sal feght the — 
He wags his tail— now coddle him dear ! 

Awt' warl cuddent meake him beytc the' — 
To Carel market faddy's away ; 

Beath snaps an taffy he'll bring the' ; 
He'll cleek out his chow, an fling' t i't' fire. 

An then a sweet sang he'll sing the' ! 

When thoo was bworn thoo gowlt an gowlt, 

Sae thou'll be lucky nae fear on't ; 
Here, tek some suggy an neest some sop — 

A flea hes just bitten the ear on't ! 
Shek bans ! come kissy : aye darlin dui ! 

Bid thy ded-da come heame, now — 
Just luik at Dicky-burd weshin his-sel — 

O, cud thoo but dui the seame now ! 

Just shew them teeth ; aa looavins ! five — 

Thy cheeks er gittin queyte rwosy ; 
When sarvent Belt comes in fraet' byre, 

She'll bring bonny Jemmy a pwosey : 
Clap, clap thy bans ; now nod thy heed ; 

Fain, fain we'd see thy gud deddy : 
God grant thee liilth ! or twonty years, 

I's warn thoo'll wed a rich leddy I 

I Avish aw peer fwok were happy as thee ; 

It breks yen's heart to see them ; 
When thoo can walk, tlioo's gang to t' faul, 

An summet to eat sal gie them — 
She's brong his p vosey — teake him, Bett ! 

Nay ! luik how he coddles his muddy — 
He'll nit let me a bans' turn e'er dui — 

To coddle a sweetheart, O, cud he 1 

We'll hie to-mworn, an see Mi-^ress Creake, 
Hawf-craz'd she'll be just to'hod thee ; 

Thoo'll git lumps o' suggy an drops o' punch, 
An ehurries an plums I'll uphod te ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 237 

We'll hev thee cursen'd, or it be lang ; 

When priest wet's thee wid vvatter, 
Thou's fou o' spirits an gittin sae Strang, 

He'll git a black e'e ; nae matter ! 

To Carel we'll gan aye varra neest week ; 

I'll buy thee a hat an feyne tedder ; 
A pair o' blue stockins ; a wheyte silk frock ; 

An shun meade o' bonny reed ledder : 
Here, pussy ! come in !— Talk, talk mey fowt ! 

O, cud te but rvvoar an flyre out — 
Aa ! what he laughs— reet weel he may, 

He's varra nar piddelt the fire out ! 

Yen Brown thy leykeness suin sal pent ; 

He'll mek thee a canny bit dandy— 
Gie me three kisses— now, tluree an three mair— 

They're sweeter nor sugger-candy ! 
W'hat, talking ?— Laughin ?— Fou o' leyfe 1 

An lovrp, \ovrp, lowpin, fer iver ; 
Flee up an cleek the bacon fleek — 

Ther ne'er was a bairn sae cUver ! 

Mey stars sec a weyte !— Ay chowin the' thoum ? 

Nay dunnet hck muddy sweet blossom ! 
Just tek a bit souck, an thee bee-boa — 

6, but thoo is dear to mey bwosom ! 
A wheyle seyne thoo was ruttelt i' t' thrwoat, 

But pottiker gud stuff gev the' ; 
I cried, an fentet— fadder oft sed, 

I't greave we mud aw suin leave the'. 

Clwos'd er blue een— he starts, an smeyles ; 

He tnows what mudder is sayin : 
Nay, Icyke aul fwok he dreams an dreams. 

An thinks wi' Cwoley he's playin. 
Just ten month aul — teyme sUps away — 

God keep him frae care an sorrow I 
Sud onie thing serous ail him to-day. 

I's seer I'd be deed or to-morrow I 



238 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

MICHAEL THE MISER. 

TuNB — " / am a brave fellow." 

Aa, Lanty 1 just lucks te ! yon's Skinflint the Miser, 

That tnarls a bit crust on the binch at his duir ; 
He's rich as the squire that drives roun in his car- 
riage, 

But nin in aw Cumnierlan leeves hawf sae puir : 
An mark his aul cwoat patcht wid aw maks o' 
colours, 

'Twas bowt off the pegs in the year eighty-twee ; 
His whol'd ledder breaks set wi' marrowless buttons. 

An stockins aw darnt frae the fit to the tnee. 

His rents, gowd an siller he trails to the banker. 

But whee's to come in for't we nin on us ken ; 
His hawf-daft thurd cousin sells leaces an matches, 

But a match fer aul Michael we cannot fin yen : 
When strangers he meets wid he gits monie a penny, 

An moves the worn hat that hes lang lost its 
crown ; 
What pity a man that mud help the peer roun him, 

Sud pruive a disgreace to the country aw roun. 

It's now a lang wheyle sin he furst turnt a miser, 

An tuik a gud weyfe for the seake ov her gear ; 
She struive to dui weel but the weddiu repen-tet, 

An dee't brokken-hearted, in less nor a year ; 
When neybors seemt sworry he daily seemt murry, 

Queyte Tain to seave mair sin peer Biddy was 
geane ; 
He self aw her duds an the ring ofiE her finger — 

Except the starvt cat, he has company neane. 

He begs loclis o' strae, frae the neybors for beddin ; 

Chair, cubbert or teable is ne'er seen widin ; 
He gedders whins, thorns an aul stowres fer his firin ; 

An stowters an hour proud to pick up a pin : 
He'll steal bits o' turneps, beans, pez an potateys ; 
His denty pruives poddish, beath mworn, nuin an 

neet ; 
How happy are beggars compar'd wi' rich Michael, 

To nin the curmudgeon* e'er yence gev a treat. 

•Curmudgeon is well known both in and out of the Northera 
Dialects. Its original meaning according to its derivation is 
'Corn hoarder" an apt term for a miser. — T. E. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 239 

His aul ladder's preyde was to sarra aw roun him : 

Leyke wordy Kit' Craffet he seldom did wrang ; 
His decent we'yfe Barb'ry, was honest an cheerfu. 

To help her peer neybors she daily wad gan : 
Their only bairn Michael the hard-hearted miser, 

Ne'er kent onie plishure but money to seave ; 
Nae neybor luiks near him, his tenants aw fear 
him, 

His neame '11 be hated when thrown i' the greave. 

This warls leyke an ocean, we see by weyld pas- 
hion, 
Man, waak thowtless creeter is hurl'd tui an fro ; 
He oft toils wi' trouble fer what pruives a bubble. 

An leads to vexation, keen want an dull woe ! 
Ye fwok that hev plenty remember your duty ; 

Be honest an proud to dui gud wheyle you may ; 
Prepare to meet Deeth, that was ne'er breyb'd 

bv money — 
^ To 'Spenthrifts leyke Misers this leyfe's but a 
day ! 



THE SHEPHERDS' COMPLAINT. 

Tune — " Nanny Peel." 

The sun sheynes breet on muir an fell ; 

The weyld burds sing on bush an tree ; 
Each bauds sweet converse wid his mate, 

But mey true luive is far frae me ; 

Sweet throssle cease that cheerfu sang ! 

Hush ! hush, blithe lark that soar'sl sae hec ! 
Mey youthfu days ov bliss arc geane. 

Now mey true luive is far frae me ! 

Ye leytle lams that roun me play, 

In spwortive innocence sae free ; 
Wee wanton things, I envy you, 

For mey true luive is far frae me I 



240 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Ye streams that tinkle at my feet, 
Ye wimplin hasten to the sea ; 

Sae welcome I hae sowt the airms 
O' mey true luive, that's far frae me ! 



In v£iin aw roun me far an weyde, 
Gay Nature smeylin, meets my e'e ; 

Her fairest scenes I canna prize, 
Sin' mey true love is far frae me ! 



Aw that yon ebemin sun sheynes on. 
An ten teymes mair if meyne I'd gie. 

To mark ageane the witchin smeyle 
Ov mey true luive that's far frae me ! 

But I'm a slave robb'd ov aw whopes, 
Aye vainly strugglin to be free ; 

Yen nobbet yen can lowse the chain — 
It's mey true luive that's far frae me ! 



Ye Pow'rs whoare'er I'm forc'd to stray, 
Howe'er I'm cross'd by Fate's decree ; 

O, crown' wi' bliss ilk future day, 

Ov mey true luive that's far frae me ! 



TO A FRIEN IN PRISON.* 

Tune — " The Pensioners." 

This warl is a Prison ! yen daily may see ; 

Gud fwok oft confeyn'd an the bad fwok aw free . 

Frae prince to the beggar leyfe's sorrows aw share. 

It's wise to be cheerfu, an laugh at dull care ; 

To spurn at oppression that tortures the meynd, 

An pray for the freedom an joy ov mankeynd. 

• On visiting him in Carlisle Jail 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 241 

Leyfe pruives but a Prison for care is aye tnown, 
Aul, young, rich an peer thro' this warl this may 

awn ; 
Some crush'd by base tyrants some bow d down 

by fear, 
Desarted by raonie they help'd an held dear : 
Yet mid aw sec sufE'rins let's sorrow destroy. 
An aim at true plishure wi' feelins ov joy. 

O, peyne nit, my frien ! It hes aye been thy plan. 
To comfort the peer, and dui gud to ilk man ; 
To pray that girt tyrants wer aw flung aseyde, 
An rulers wad wish to mek justice their preyde : 
Be cheerfu dear Frien ; true respect is thy claim. 
An bless'd be aw mortals when gud is their aim 1 

Just mark a peer sangster hung up in a cage, 
Queyte flayt. ^vid a foe ev'n a frien to engage ; 
Of liberty robb'd yet his nwotes daily pruive. 
In fancy, he rests in the meedow or grove : 
Then, aye let's shun sorrow, an plishure impart. 
Nor thowts o' confeynement e'er hurt a warm 
heart. 

Whate'er yen's enjoyments a prison is leyfe, 
Tho' courtet by girt fwok an free frev aw streyfe ; 
In plenty gay frienship we daily may view ; 
In poverty visits frae friens are but few : 
The wealth o' the warl ne'er can happiness gain ; 
A king's oft a slave to grief, folly an pain. 

In freedom, wi' monie to mix will aye please 
But sec leads to foibles, to woe an disease ; 
The smeyle o' content ev'ry mortal sud bless ; 
The scworn o' the warl ne'er a meynd sud oppress ! 
The dark frowns o' Fortune, aye meyld let us 

meet 
'Till Dceth frae leyfe's Prison sal mek us retreat. 



342 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

DINAH. 

To an old Irish l^une. 

'Twas winter an the neat was dark, 

An heavy, heavy fell the rain, 
When Fanny oft the foot-pad sowt, 

Owre the weyde muir fer heame in vain ; 
Then for the eshes, whoar the brig 

Across the shallow stream was thrown. 
But eshes, brig or shallow stream. 
She sowt, nor fan of what she'd dream, 

The pleace sae weel in cheyldhood tnown, 
Sae weel in cheyldhood tnown. 

She lissnin, tremlin, weepin, stuid, 

\Vheyle fear o\\t com the youthfu meynd 
An freetfu phantoms fancy saw 

Keyde on the hollow blasts beheynd ; 
The weyld burds only hard her shriek 

When, fenting on the muir she fell — 
Oh ! what wer her peer mudder's fears. 
Her watchin prayin painfu tears ? 

A mudder only best can tell. 
Only best can tell. 

Aul Dinah ran an on the muir 

By muinleet fan the leyfeless bairn ; 
Nae tear she shed ; but frae that hour 

In her nin can a smeyle discern. 
Aw neybors follow'd to the greave ; 

Wi' monie a seegh the psalm was sung — 
Tho' virtue happiness may creave, 
Nowt frae grim Deeth can onie seave. 

The king, the cottar, aul, or young, 
Cottar, aul or young. 

Now pitied by aw bodies roun, 

The last o' th' flock puir Dinah's left ; 
Nae joy hes she, nae wark can de — 

Ov bliss ay monie are bereft ; 
Amang the bairns whene'er she gangs. 

In fancy Fanny aye she sees ; 
An then she'll seegh an shriek an weep. 
An to the greave oft fain wad creep — 

Heav'd grant the puir aul suff' rer ease. 
The puir aul suff'rer ease ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 243 

MARY OV CARLATTAN.* 

Tune — By the Author. 

Mevld Mary, that breet witchin e'e o' theyne, 
Meeght mek rnonie a sweetheart thy awn, fair lassie ! 

A glance wad hae won this bit heart o' meyne 
In youth ; but in yage I'm noo thrown, sweet lassie . 
Liiiks oft pruive a snare 
An add to man's care ; 
But young, cheerfu, bonny aye conquer but spare. 
Then sorrow need ne'er mek thee peyne, gud lassie ! 

On beauty an gudness when man can e'er gaze, 
Hoo sweet is th2 treat to the heart, fair lassie 1 
Sec nin owt to injure but aw wish to praise, 
For wickedness causeth leyfe's smart, sweet lassie ! 
Veyce mun be his preyde. 
That fling bliss aseyde ; 
To turn rwoses to lilies the warl sud dereyde— 
Woe to him that wad play sec a part, gud lassie ! 

The burds in woods, meedows or glens, court 

But ne'er yence ilk other deceive, fair lassie 1 

Whate'er they may suffer they ne'er froon at fate ; 
Thus a lesson to mortals aye give, sweet lassie ! 
They welcome blithe spring 
With joy, on the wing 
Wheyle deeds o' mankeynd daily sorrow will 

bring — , , t 

May sec thro' leyfe ne'er mek thee grieve, gud lassie '. 

Keen woe to the ninn, may he never teaste joy. 
That wad frae thy e'en draw a tear, fair lassie ! 

'Tis o<jrs still to please you but joy ne'er destroy, 
To women we (jwe what's aye dear, sweet lassie ! 
Where'er thoo mun njve 
Leyfe's iiliss may thoo pruive ; 
Nor ivcr ken cares save the soft cares o'luive— 
Be theyne lang leyfe, health, peace an gear, gud 
lassie I 

• Writtctt after visiting her and the family. 



244 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

DANDY DAN. 

Tune — " The humours o' Glen." 

Last harvest ae neet when queyte wearied wi' 
shearin, ' 

I cawt at Dick Lowson's to teaste a swop 
yell, 
When yen com in struttin, twee dogs cap'rin 
roun liim. 
Odswuuters ! thowt I, this is seerly Dan Bell! 
The lanlword boo'd low, an aul Becca she cur- 
cheyt, 
When mister (nay Dan) cawt out, " Bring 
me some wine ! " 
I smuikt my black peype, meade him cough 
glowre an spit oot, 
Thinks I, he forgits we wer cronies lang- 
se^-ne ! 

Says Dick "We've nee weyne sur but yell 
Strang as brandy;" 
!' Here Dan" says I " cowp off a glass on't 
wi'me!" 
" Dan ! Dan ! what dost mean ? Silly beggar- 
like fellow ! 
Few gentles wud sit near a creetcher like 
thee!" 
i'What, Dan! (I mean mister) we're beath ov 
ae parish, 
I've lickt the', oft fed the' when we went to 
schuil ; 
Thy fadder meade swills,* an meyne theekt fer 
his neybors ; 
Noo thoo's a puir dandy an I's a puir full ! 

" Weel I ken thy weyie, yence my awn rwosie 
sweetheart ; 
Thoo gat the gud lass an just twee hundred 
pun : 
We wheyles meet, shek hans, what she weel 
meynds Jack Maggot, 
Leyke me she weers clogs — Aa ! her fortune's 
aw duin ! " 

• A swiller or basket maker. Another form of the word is 
' sweet."— T.E. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 245 

He cawt his dog, Jxino, an bad it run beyte me — 
" Deil bin the," says I "mn! tie up mey left 
han ; 
Tho fratchin or feghtin I ne'er tuik deleyte in, 
I'll pent thv wheyte trowsers wi' bluid, Dandy 
Dan.' 



He ruse in a tlurrv, nae corp was e'er wheyter ; 

A lish chap weel mountet ruid up to the duir — 
A tnp on the shoulder suin meade Dan a pris'ner ; 
He struts nay he starves i' the jail raggt an 
puir ; 
His decent weyfe, Mary, seemt lang brokken 
hearted, 
But now she toils hard for the farmers aw 
roun — 
Ye wealthy, your feyn'ry keeps thoosans frae 
ruin ! 
Ye puir ^ad-be-dandies, Preyde suin boos ye 
doon ! 



DANDY DAN. 

Part the Second. 

Puir Dan ! a starv't pris'ner sat peynin in sadness, 

A prey to preyde, folly, want, sorrow an care ; 
Relief frae aul cronies to him scem'd liut madness, 

Nae dandy e'er cawt or a penny wad share : 
He wheyles wad keep musing ; aw prospects wcr 
gloomy ; 
The freedom fwok wish for owre seldom they 
tnow ; 
Tho' sleepless he thowt o' past teymes an false 
plishures — 
Reilection oft eases a heart sunk in woe 1 



246 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Puir Mary keept toiliii but ne'er was seen smey- 
lin; 
A husb.ind a pris'ner is hardship to bear ! 
Her hawf-starvt bit bairn wad oft ax for his 
fadder. 
An then gat a kiss with a seegh an a tear : 
Mid' wintry weyld storms she wad weade owre 
to Carel, 
An hawf her hard eernins wi' plishure gev 
Dan; 
Nae neybor sent weyne but reet holsome plain 
vittles, 
Thus mid' aw his suti'rins some comfort he 
fan. 



Mang Cummerlan Ballets we read ov Kitt 
Craffet ; 
A statesman their nej'-ljor meade Kitt aye his 
gueyde ; 
He cawt at the jail an fan Dan at the beyble — 
Whee clings to religion mun fling away preyde ! 
Neest day, the puir pris'ner ow'rjoy'd, gat his 
freedom. 
But whee pruiv'd his frien ? — Nay, he's aye i' 
the dark ! 
He off an in nee teyme a kiss gev sweet Mary; 
The neybnrin statesmen paid weel for hor 
wark. 



They toil away teyme an shek hans wi' Jack 

Maggot : 
They sleep away care an aye welcome the 

mworm ; 
They git what the}' wish for an luive yen anud- 

der ; 
They lam the bit bairn preyde an folly to 

scwo.n : 
When Dan meets a dandy he gazes wi' pity, 
To check sec weyld fuil'rv, his wishes he'll 

tell ; 
— Ye gentry, yer feyn'ry fins fwok meat an 

deeding; 
— Ye puir wad-be-dandys, just think o' Dan 

Bell! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS, 247 

F.ALSE LUIVE. 
Tune — "O'er Bogie." 

Peace to thv bwosom rwosy cheyl, 

To me thou's aw that's dear ; 
I see thy ladder in ilk smeyle, 

Thaf causes monie a tear ! 
O, pity ven sud bear luive's smart, 

Widoiit leyfe's whopes in view ! 
Suin as he stule my taithfu heart. 

Far, far away he flew. 

How monie a happy hour we spent, 

What owre few share aroun ; 
In summer pleas'd tliro' fiels we went. 

Free frae the noisy toun ; 
In winter aye this lowlv cot, 

He drew tui, day an neet ; 
By him, 'till deeth can't be forgot, 

What ruin'd me — deceit. 

I hed a mother dear to aw ; 

She bless'd thee at thy birth ; 
But grey in years, a dowtcr's f iw 

Suin laid her in the yearth : 
O, pity, sorrow, care or pain, 

Gud fwok sud e'er enslave ; 
If 1 thy ladder seed agean, 

My leyfe he cuddent seave. 

Now robbd o' kinsfwok, left to mourn. 

An seegh an gaze on thee ; 
The joys o' leyfe can ne'er return. 

Nor owt deleyte gie me : 
By sorrow worn by hunger prest. 

My leyfe draws nar its end ; 
When in the narrow greave I rest, 

O, whee will be thy friend ? 

To gain true friens still may thoo try. 

When sec rejoic'd amang ; 
A better warl Iher is ; an I 

May meet thee theer or lang : 
Smeyle on sweet bairn ! O, may thoo Iceve, 

But ne'er a lass betray! 
Deeth noo to mc relief can give, 

Sae weloime him 1 may ! 



248 CL'MBERLANl) BALLADS. 

FAREWELL TO CAR EL. 
Tune — " The lovely brown maid." 

Farewecl canny Carel ! hoo oft by thy streams 

I've studied mankeyud to amuse ; 
An gain'd praise frae monie, but mouie it seems 

Will sneer at whate'er they peruse : 
To paint rustic manners ov Cumbrians aw roun, 

To rid them ov sorrow an care ; 
The wretch to expwose that wad boo puir fwok 

doon, 
May please when puir Robbin's nae mair. 



Fareweel canny Carel ! on Hayton's hee hills, 

Tho' winter is noo stealin on, 
I view what wi' plishure the meynd ever fills, 

Variety niver is gone ! 
By Celt's murm'rin river I oflfen perceive, 

Weyl scenery aw praise that mun claim ; 
Hills, rocks, woods an watters deleyte can aye 
give 

Mair than the girt city can neame. 



Fareweel cannj- Carel ! the pleace o' my birth, 

Whoar years o' true plishure I spent ; 
Whate'er I may suffer wheyle gaz'n on earth. 

May I pillow my heed wi' content ! 
Hoo chang'd are thy manners sin I was in youth, 

For Modasty's gien way to Preyde ; 
Then innocent pasteymes fwok sowt for an truth ; 

Noo, Virtue owre mouie dereyde. 



Fareweel my dear Friens ! may ye bliss lang 
enjoy ; 

Yer keyndness I'll niver forget ; 
Ther are whee my happiness fain wad destroy, 

Tho' oft wi' my frienship they've met : 
At neet owre the ingle or strayin by day, 

I iver reflect on the past ; 
Wliate'er may bcteyde me for you I'll ay pray. 

The others I'll scworn to the last. 



CUMBERLAND B.\LLADS. 249 

Fareweel my dear Friens ! when deame Nature 
we view, 

Dress'd ever in beauteous attire ; 
Ow'rjtjv'd let aw ^aze on her scenes iver new, 

An gazing still mair they'll admire : 
Let panders ov veyce court the joys ov the toon, 

OwTe offen fause plishures that lure, 
Then eager leyfe's cares in oblivion to droon, 

They show what owre monie endure. • 



Fareweel my dear Friens! wheyles I'll wander 
alang, 

Deleyted a few but to see ; 
For oft I hae pass'd thro' the midst o' the thrang, 

Just view'd as a leafless aul tree. 
Leyke weyld burds aroun us retirement I luive ; 

A neybor I ne'er will begueyle ; 
Sud Captain Deeth caw he'd a tyrant nit pruive, 

Mv welcome I'd gie wid a smeyle ! 



THE NORTHUMBRIAN LASSES.t 
To an old Scotch Air. 

Three Lasses leate to Gilsden com ; 

Three sweeter l^eauties few e"er saw ; 
An three mair greacefu, cheerf\i, gud, 

Ne'er leastcd waiter at the Spaw. 



The charms o' Jane claim monie praise; 

Eliza's luik mud thoosans draw ; 
An Mary's modest winnin smeyle. 

These aye wad please at dka Spaw ! 



+ Miss J— H— , of Burn Foot; Miss B-S— , of Hexbam ; 
and Miss M— A— , of Allendale Town. 



2 so CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

The puir fwok praise, the rich fwok gaze. 
Sec three attract beath hee an low: 

O were't the kease wi' ilka lass 
That wanders daily roun the Spaw ! 

Still, still may Beauty virtue bwoast. 
An share the praise o' yen an aw : 

Still, still may virtue be the twoast, 
Ov sec as visit Gilsden Spaw. 

But veyce an preyde throw thoosans here. 
E'en dandies wi' the middle smaw ; 

An useless tuils in borrow'd duds. 
Are struttin seen at Gilsden Spaw, 

Yet painfu 'tis, alas! to view 

Fwok that nea health or plishure tnow ; 
By sickness, sorrow care bow'd down, 

But whope aye leads them to the Spaw. 

Northumbria weel may tin girt preyde, 
A witchin threeseme here to shew ; 

A fair example ay they pruive, 
To aw that drink at Gilsden Spaw. 

Dear lasses three, it pleaseth me 
Sec pictures o' yer sex to draw ; 

An woe to he whae'er he be, 

That veyce admires in town or Spaw. 

In summer, tracing fiels or bow'rs. 
In winter, weadin thro' the snaw, 

I'll think ov aw the happy hours 
Spent wi' the threesome at the Spaw. 

Lang may ye health an peace enjoy. 
When I'm in kindred yearth flung low ; 

For three mair bonny, bhthe, an gud, 
Ne'er, ne'er will drink at Gilsden Spaw ! 

Farewell keynd three ! blest may ye be, 
And ne'er yence teaste a cup o' woe ! 

But share the joys gud men ay gie, 
An lang in health see Gilsden Spaw. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 251 

THE MUDDER AN DOWTER. 

Tune — By the Author. 

'' O Dowter ! whoar's thoo been this weyld wintry 
neet ? 
To leave thy aul helpless deef mudder's queyte 
wrang ; 
But lasses o' thy yage owre seldom dui reet. 
Cross mountains fer meyles, to meet sweethearts 
ye' 11 gang : 
Thoo'd better been singin this neet at thy wheel — 
May aw fowk leeve happy that wish to dui 
weel " 

" Wey Mudder ! I've jvist hed a crack as aw sud, 
(Wi' mey sweetheart, to hear on't how vext she 
wad be) 
About peer aul Rowley that aye wad dui gud, 
I' th' wark-house now liggin unhappy is he, 
He yence was oor lanlword an gae ye the fiel — 
Aw fwok leeve nit happy that wish to dui 
weel !" 

" O Dowter ! thno's brong frae mey een monie a 
tear — 
Keynd Rowley ! the luive o' the neybors aw 
roun ! 
To-day fwok are rich but to-mworn may be puir — 
T'was nobbet his gudness that's noo crusht him 
doon. 
He'd give an he'd len an chaps frev him wad 
steal — 
Cud fwok but leeve happy that wish to dui 
weel I ' ' 

"Wey Mudder ! his son gat beath hooscs an Ian, 
(H'- yence was mey sweetheart that nin let's her 
ken) 
Linton leyke he to aw maks ov wickedness ran, 
An or twelve months wer owre, what he gat was 
aw geane ; 
Hoo monie neyce lasses he flang heed owre heel — 
They neer can leeve happy that wunnet dii 
weel ! " 



252 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



"O Dowter ! when Rowley was just a bit bairn. 
To help starviii bodies for meyles roun he ran, 

In youth he but wisdom an gudness wad lairn — 
Aa pity Bet liunnyan e'er gat sec a man 1 

Her daily ill deeds cud please nin but the deil 1 
She ligs nar her son nowther ycnce e'er did 
weel," 

"Wey, Mudder ! the maister i' th' wark-hoose aw 
say, 
To torture the puir pruives his greatest deleyte ; 
He puts on a frown the weyde warl it wad flay ; 
He starves young an aul but gies nae yen a 
meyte : 
Wer Rowley but keeper for aw he wad feel — 
Nit yen can leeve happy that wunnet dui weel " 

"O Dowter! the liel sal nae langer be meyne, 

'Till the varra day Deeth gies puir Rowley a caw ; 

An that, wi' this hoose when I's geane, mun be 

theyne — 

They sud aye meet wi' friends that ne'er yence 

was a foe ! 

He sal come an leeve wi' us the aul wordy chiel — 

May aw fwok leeve happy, that wish to dui weel!" 



THE BONNY LASS, WI' APRON BLUE. 

Tune — By the Author. 

I met her nar the meedow steyle, 

When bunls at evenin gie deleyte ; 
Her luik ov hilth her winnin smeyle. 

Meade me at yence a captive queyte : 
Luive's fev'rish flame 
Fires monie a frame. 

Unmov'd some, lasses charms can view ; 
Sweet was her feace few flowers sae fair 

E'er supp'd at neet the freshnin dew ; 
Wheyte was her breest, hawf-hid hawf-bare, 

Streyte was her shep an free frae care, 
The bonny Lass, wi' apron blue ! 



CU.MBERI.AND BALLADS. 253 

Says I, "Sweet Lass! day efter day 

I'll see thee wheyle thy luive thou 11 shew ; 
Owre hills, through glens I'll seeglun stray, 

When winter speeds the storm an snow : 
Noo won by luive. 
I'll ever pruive 
My vnsh to be thy partner true ; 

An, if the weddin knot be tied, 
We thrivin bairns may whope to view : 

When sec to rear wi' joy we've tried. 
I'll tell the teyme, whoar first I spied 

Their mudder dear, wi' apron blue." 

I held her to my heart-warm breest. 

An vow'd wi' truth a lover's pain ; 
Then threyce her dewy lips I prest— 

She struive to leave me, but in vain : 
A sweet-gien kiss, 
Heart-winnin bliss, 
Owre oft base fiatt'rers will renew; 

She blushin hung her heed, aye shy, ^^ 
Savs she, " Dear sir ! you're kind, if true ! 

Yes ; by the Pow'r that rules on high, 
To me'ake her blest thro' leyfe I'll try. 

The bonny lass wi' apron blue ! 



TO MARGET.* 

June — "The Wounded Hussar.." 

Sweet Lassie! thoo kens nit what mortals mun 
suficr ; , „ 

Tliis warl is to monie a flull scene ov woe ; 
The many in pow'r seldom kcyndness will offer 

For somf tliat mud belp pruive to thoosans a foe : 
To thee this leyfe's nobbet a play-day ov plishure, 

An till thy last hour may it aye be the seame ; 
When years hae flown owre be content thy 
companion ; , ^ , i ^ »^ 

Aye shun the weyld foibles that draw but to 

shcam •. 

•All infant, the grandaughter of M. J. Brown. 



254 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Sweet Lassie ! O meynd the adveyce o' frien 
Robin ; 
Ne'er bow to a wretch that wad women be- 
tray ; 
Mek virtue thy study wheyles help a pair body, 
An when bow'd by yage leyfe may seem but 
a day : 
Preyde, folly, ambition lead millions to ruin, 
An mortals we daily see lumps ov deceit ; 
The days that are geane fowk may think on wi' 
sorrow — 
Oor bwoasted law pruives to owre monie a 
cheat. 



Sweet Lassie ! thy rwosy cheek, smeyle an feyne 
features, 
May gar thee sup sorrow leyke owre monie 
mair ; 
Beath beauty an gudness yen daily sees suffer — 
The best i' the warl are oft bow'd to despair : 
What pity mankeynd sud e'er jossle ilk other, 
When sec destroys comfort an leads to the 
greave ; 
The prince in his preyde to the beggar's a brother, 
But girt men owre seldom our suff'rers will 
seave. 



Sweet Lassie ! when wealthy or puir, do thy 
duty ! 
To scworn base oppressors mek ever thy plan ; 
A king leyke a cobbler, by veyce is deluded, 
For few on this earth seek to dui what they 
can : 
Hoo blest is the being that ne'er offends onie ; 

But sec durin leyfe, we owre seldom can see ; 
Oh ! lissen mey lesson I — I'll bless thee, caress 
thee ; 
Whativer mey troubles I'll oft think o' thee ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 255 

THE AUTHOR'S REFLECTION. 

Tune — By the Author. 

\ slave to nae party — To nae sect a foe ; 
I hate flatt'ry, falsehood, they sink monie low ; 
I someteymes am reet an o\vre often git wrang. 
But ne'er entrap onie by words or by sang. 

I've hed monie sweethearts sin luive was my 

preyde, 
But manhood's flown owre, an luive's now flung 

aseyde : 
Yet women I leyke an forever I'll praise, 
If virtue's their study — veyce millions betrays ! 

To dabble in politics ne'er was my trade ; 
Nor in human bluid for the warl wad I weade : 
But blest be the man that will freedom defend ! 
Tho' Care clings to aw maks till leyfe's at an end. 



For seake o' religion on some I wheyles froon. 
An hear read o' priests they sud drum out o* 

toon ; 
Yet praise let's gie onie that's anxious to seave 
A wretch, that wad sin till flung into the greave. 



A doctor leads monie to mis'ry an pain, 
Wi' nostrums an quackry fuils wish for in vain : 
A lawyer wi' preyde risks his soul for girt fees ; 
An grandeur robs oft a pure conscience ov ease. 

A statesman oppressive thro' leyfe I'll despise ; 
A frien to true freedom, as aw sud I'll prize. 
A.i pray hee an low were fra bigotry free. 
Ah ! seldom the heart's dearest wislies we see. 



I never launched deep into warldly affairs. 
To clock heaps o' money or add to my cares ; 
To comfort the helpless rich fw*ik sud desire. 
But owre monie suffer, frae knight or a squire. 



256 CUMBF.RLAND BALLADS. 

Teyme's weyld revolutions we ileed'nt think 

strange, 
For Nature in aw ])leaces iver will change. 
Hooe'er dissappointnienl may darken leyfe's scene, 
Contentment sud aye mek the bwosom serene. 



A WEYFE'S ANXIETY. 

Tune — "Crazy Jane." 

Whisht, mey bairn ! Let's whope fer ladder 

Nobbet see yon bonny muiii 
Sens him leet frae canny Carel — 

Weel at heame may he sit suin I 
Caul's the win, weyld winters froonin, 

Back I'll bear thee thro' the mire ; 
Play sweet lam, in peace wi' pussy, 

Wheyle I mek a bleezin fire. 

Cry nin Jinny, mey sweet hinny ! 

Thowts o' fadder gies beath pain ; 
Leyke owre monie, he may suffer — 

O, hoo hivvy faws the rain ! 
Cling sweet blossom to my bwosom — 

Weyfe and bairn he suin may neame ; 
O, that he sat nar us smnikin ! 

Heav'n in seafty sen him heame ! 

Four short years we've noo been weddet ; 

Leate he ne'er yence stay'd befwore ; 
Hears te ! Cock crows ; what it's mwornin- 

Lissen ! Cowley's at the duir ! 
See he fawns roun bairn an madder ; 

Suin his maister's fit we'll hear ; 
Thy sweet faddy, hoo I'll fratch him — 

Oh ! no, no ! to me he's dear ! 

Noo, let's whope he's in the meedow. 

On our fire-leet fain to gaze ; 
Thinkin oft ov deame an dowter ; 

Wishin for them happy days : 



CUAIBERLAND BALLADS. 257 

Cwoley runs and barks his welcome ; 
Noo mev bairn, we'll heath rejoice ; 
Sorrow changes oft to plishure— 
God be then'ct ! I hear his voice ! 



RAFF AN THE SQUIRE. 
TvNE — by the Author. 

Says oor Squire, "Raff tell me the truth, young 

lad ^ , J 

Wou'd riding to London noo make thee glad ; 
Where gentry from iv'ry part, good, an bad, 

An all fine sights thoo'd see ? " 
" Wey, nay ! by your leave, oor girt sur ! ' ' 

says I, . -. 

"When Cummerlan chaps their manners fling 

by, 
They shworten their davs an on thworns oft 

lie: 

But Content ay leeves wi me! 

Says the Squire, "Til dress thee in clothing 

fine ; , ,, j 

From ev'ry choice dainty with me thoo it dine ; 
Lac'd servants shall hand thee each costly wine- 
Think, Raff, what honour 'twill be ! " 
" In heame-meade claes, I can merrily sing : 
Owre a holsome meale I's girt as a King ; ^ 
An if tharsty I aye tek a drink at the spring. . 
Whoar Content still waits on me ! " 

Says the Squire, " Rich ladies thoo'll court at play, 
Wliere music, mirth, wit can drive Care away ; 
Then while the sun shines, still try to make 

hay ; 

Cfjme now, or never ! " says he. 
"At a dance on the green when the sun gans 

down, 
Wi' my sweetheart. I'd envy nae fwok in toon ; 
Nor Letty I'd leave td wear a king's croon ; 
For Content guards her an me ! " 



258 CUMBERI.AND BALLADS. 

"Noo 'mid yer girt fwok, wealth, weyne an 

shows, 
Ye cannot kill Care, that ev'ry yen tnows ; 
Ilk neybor's mey frien — I ken nae foes. 

An smeyle at poverty : 
It's my wish av to leeve in yon theekt shed, 
Wlioar honest aul fwore-fadd'ers lang \yer bred ; 
An hooe'er by Misfortune thro' leyfe I's led. 

May Content aye sit wi' me ! 



THE LASSIE OV HAYTON. 

Tune — " The bonny Highland Laddie." 

Thoo'U ax whoar I've been aw the day, 
Cheerfu lassie ! 
Gud keyn lassie ! 
Frae thee I've ne'er ae wish to stray, 

Mey bonny, bonny Hayton lassie ! 
The truth we aw sud tell reet plain ; 
Mey luive frae thee can ne'er be ta'en ; 
The thowt thro' leyfe wad cause me pain. 

To part wi' thee dear lassie ! 
I see thy bloomin smeyle aw day, 
Gud keyn lassie ! 
Cheerfu lassie ! 
The warl cud ne'er thy heart betray, 
Mey bonny, bonny Hayton lassie ! 

Up Gelt's sweet banks thoo meynes ae neet, 

Cheerfu lassie ! 

Gud keyn lassie ! 
We went just when the muin shone breet, 

Mey bonny, bonny Hayton lassie ! 
Thoo'seegh'd an sed 'twad be thy preyd. 
On that sweet spot ov yearth to beyde ; 
An leeve wi' me whate'er beteyde 
That theyne sal be dear lassie ! 
Noo theer a hoose they build aw day, 

Gud keyn lassie ! 

Cheerfu lassie ! 
An theer till deeth let's ay be gay. 
Mey bonny, bonny Hayton lassie ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 259 



A worchet, garden on the hill, 
Cheerfu lassie I 
Gud kevn lassie ! 
Will bring us beauty, plenty still, 

Mey bonnv, bonny Hayton lassie ! 
An wheyles/a beggar tremlin roun, 
Mav wearied, in oor cot sit doon. 
He'll kevndness share, nor see a froon 

Frae thee <ir me, dear lassie ! 
Blithe, peacL-fu ay we'll pass the day, 
Gud keyn lassie I 
Cheerfu lassie ! 
An for gud mortal oft we'll pray, 
Mey bonny, bonny Hayton lassie ! 

When yence their busy toil is duin, 
Cheerfu lassie ! 
Gud keyn lassie ! 
The ring I shew ihoo'll weer it suin, 
Mey bonny, bonny Hayton lassie I 
An when the smeyles o' spring we see, 

WTieyle burds sing roun an plishure gie 
On Nature's sweets we'll crack wi' glee, 

Mey bonny, bonny Hayton lassie ! 
Noo theer we'll slray this clwosin day, 
Gud keyn lassie ! 
Cheerfu lassie I 
An theer thro' leyfe fling care away, 
Mey bonny, bonnie Hayton lassie ! 



DAFT DICK. 

Tune— " rA£ lads of Dunse." 

"Aye Debby ! come in; what the ncet's gitten 

flowe ; 
Thur Toakin-fcll cwoals hac nao hect nor yence 

lowc— u .u 

Nay! tck t'airmin chair, an U-t me hae tne 

stuil : 
Thoo's lish, as the teymc when we twee went to 

schuil : 



26o CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



What, I's eighty seebeiu, thoo's foarscwore an 

five, 
But few ov our yage leyke the tweesome noo 

thrive ; 
Creep into the fire ! — What I bid ne'er refuse — 
Fou the' peype, here's shag-bacco ; then tell us 

some news." 



" Aye, Dolly ! Daft Dick's ta'en a weyfe, neybors 

say ; 
Lword help us ! peer creeters leyke him lasses 

flay ; 
Yen coaxt him to kurk, fwok may weel froon at 

Nan, 
She's weddet his money but scearce fash'd his 

ban : 
What joys can they whop for that wed nowt 

but gear, 
Frae Dick tull a squire worth twee hundred a 

year ? 
Aw fwok sud court gudness an sense, but shun 

preyde. 
An ay let daft bodies in peace sit aseyde ! " 



"Aye, Debby ! peer Dick at oor hoose whyles 

wad caw. 
Then soukin his thoum, he wad glowre at us 

aw ; 
Still hopeths o'bacco feyne prisents he'd bring. 
An kiss me an clap me an airms roun me fling ; 
At teymes he com laughing, but offen wad gowl ; 
If he e'er seed a stranger he'd creep off an 

howl — 
Oor Dan's his thurd cousin, thoo kens that reet 

weel ; 
What, fadder was deylt, mudder aw things wad 

steal." 



" Aye Dolly ! his granny was wrang, weel I 

meyn. 
An ay leyke owre monie she donnt far owre 

feyne : 
In winter she'd flap wid her fan — sec a seet ! 
But monie girt gentry we see nit hawf-reet : 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 261 

I meyn the strait-jacket the furst yen she wore— 
What fwok roun aboot us sud wear monie a 

scwore ! 
She married an offisher wantin his teelh ; 
He pat her in Bedlam an theer she met Deeth." 

"Aye Debby! Daft Dick dud as ilka yen sud, 
Hut ! he niver sowt mischief but struive to de 

gud : 
What, he'd sarra puir beggars when er they 

went by, 
To see them in rags— Aa ! it ay meade him 

crv : 
Oft day efter day scearce a word he e'er sed 
Except the bit pray'r when he crap into bed— 
Oor aul dvvoting parson that buckelt the twee, 
Reet sworry sud tin till the day that he dee!" 

" Aye DoUv ' ill Nan, that cud freeten aul Nick, 
I' the greave just i' nae tayme, '11 cowp silly 

Dick, 
WTiat neybors aw say she gev th' priest twenty 

pun : 
I's warn that he'd rue for't when t' weddin was 

duin : 
Nit leyke Bishop Clogger ill husseys he'll buy ; 
The Bishop bowt men fwok, brong yen to deeth 

nigh : 
Then owre seas he ran just to git him some 

mair — ,, 

Oh! had he been l)runt deil a body wad care! - 



" Aye Debby ! what Nan '11 now drink tlie day 

thro'. 
An faw in wi' skcybelLs an riff-raffs, nit few ; 
An decent bit lads wid her brass she'll decoy ; 
For Dick on this yearth he'll nae plishure enjoy: 
Then his titty that ay diid a goo(! honest part, 
The thowts o' the weddin '11 suiii brek her heart !" 
"Aye Dolly! its be<l teyme sae I'll creep off 

heame — 
Oor Parson an Clogger. war chaps few can 

neame ! " 



362 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

TAXES FLUNG BY. 
Tune — •• Aul lang seyne." 

" Come Jemmy !— Let's to Becka's gang 

An teaste a swop gud yell ; 
That taxes noo are flung aseyde, 

Thoo's mcbby's just hard tell : 
What Nichol brings yen aw the news ; 

Frae Carel he's got heame ; 
That Englan's suflered sec distress, 

Miin pruive a country's sheame ! 

" To think o' teymes we leate hae tnown, 

Meks decent fwok bewail ; 
Hoo monie an honest farmer brak, 

An gat thrown into jail : 
Yen cuddent toddle roun the toon, 

But Stock an Cmp he saw 
On han-bills stampt ; but as for seale, 

They brong — wey, newt at aw ! 

" Cud fwok that yence kent happy teymes, 

Just rise up frae the greave ; 
They'd seegh for neybors roun an roun. 

That nowt frae want can seave : 
Aul Englan's turnt a scene of woe, 

Tho' yence the weydc warl's preyde • 
Foul tyranny's oor statesmen's show. 

An whops are laid aseyde ! " 

"Hut Jwohnny ; leyke owre monie mair, 

Aul Nichol thou'U believe; 
But when to truth we turn the meynd. 

It nobbet meks yen grieve : 
This warl a wilderness noo pruives, 

Tho' yence strowt owre wi' flow'rs ; 
Nae whopes hae we until we de, 

Leyfe's comforts are nit ours. 

"Taxation brong our country doon ; 
Waes me ! it scearce can rise ! 
Some rulers o' this yence-fam'd land, 
Gud fwok may weel despise ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 363 

For freedom ay we wish an pray. 

But that we ne'e.' mun shme — 
Let's scworn the base that men oppre^^s. 

But ne'er bow to despair. 

• Oor bairns an hairns' -bairns may enjoy, 

What we av seek in vain ; 
Owre oft waak man will bliss destroy. 

An caw forth care an pain ; 
The \visest chap the warl can neame, 

Leyfe's ills cud ne'er throw by; 
But ne'fr let tyrants throw content 

Frae sec as thee an I ! " 



THE PREYDE O' THE BWORDER. 

June — " The Scot's cam owre the Border." 

Slip down stairs Jenny, an bring me mey claes, 
But dunnet let fadder or nmdder e'er see them ; 
They ay think' t preyde it to market yen 
gaes, ., 

In Sunday neyce drisses, leyke lasses ott wi 
them ; 
Brin!4 pettikit wheyte an chmse musl n goon, 
The purple silk bonnet an bonny green spencer— 
My fadder an mudder wad scaul an aye froon, 
To see a young dowter in what sud ay-- mense 
her : 

I'll reyde the grey meer, 
At Card suin thcr, 
In whcjpes to sec Harry accordin to worder : 
Nit yen far or near 
To mc i-^ sne dear. 
As rw(j8y lish Harry, the Preyde o' the Hwor- 
der ! 

O la.^s! hoo gaily on me oft he gaz'd, 
Last week at the Fair the (urst teyme 1 seed 

My liiik an ship wi' -wevt sraeyks ott he 
pr^ii->'d : 



264 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

An whispert nin leyke me to luive cud e'er lead him : 

Ov neyborin lasses nin theer I saw 
That gat sec a sweetheart sae merry an clever 

At dancin, he meade lads leyke hawflins, aw — 
To miss him to-day wad cause sorrow for ever, 

We promis'd to meet, 

Mcy heart '11 aye beat 
When luikin at Harry, accordin to worder ; 

I'd walk thro' ilk street 

Frae mwornin to neet, 
Ae word to gie Harry, the Preyde o' the Bworder ! 

Lads aw nar us are weyld fops an fuils, 
0^v^e offen the bonny gud lasses deceivin ; 

If warm in luive wi' them, suin a heart cuils — 
For onie pretenders I ne'er yet was grievin : 

The rwose in our window that daily I view, 
Juist meynes me ov him that sae cheerfully tret me ; 
At partin his airms roun my weast he threw, 
An sed ■wid a kiss, " Bonny Lass ! ne'er forget 
me ! " 

My heart e'er to buy, 
Nae body need try, 
I'll aye think ov Harry, accordin to worder ; 
O wad he but cry, 
" Sin' Gratena's sae nigh, 
Theer gang wi' thy Harry, an leeve i' the Bworder ! " 

Geane is mey mudder ; Ay fain to admire 
Our crops aw roun that promise great plenty ; 

An fadder's away, some peer shearer to hire — 
Frae Carel I ay bring the tweesome a dainty : 
What I've telt the', Jenny, to nowther e'er 
neame, 
Wi" squire's silly lackey ay fain they wad see 
me ; 
Beath ribbons an gluives I'll to-neet bring the' 
heame. 
An when I git weddet, thou's happy leeve wi' me, 
The grey meer now bring. 
On seyde-saddle fling ; 
O may I meet Harry, according to worder ! 
To buy me a ring. 
Wad ay mek me sing 
" Gnd luck to mey Harry, the Preyde ov the Bwor- 
der I " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 265 

MAD BESS. 
Music by Mr. Thompson. 

" Oh ! why silly lass ; sitt'st thou on the caul 
grass,' . ^. , 

Now darkness is spreedin owre aw i 

The angry win' howlin amang the bare^ trees, 
An fa win's the sleet an the snow ! " 

" Oh ! I hae nae frien ! — Oh ! I hae nae heame. 

To shelter me frae the caul sky ! 
An during lang winter anonder this oak. 

The sleet an the snow I'll defy ! 

" My f adder is deed !— My mudder is deed ! 

Brother, sister nor kinfwok are near ; 
Bnt the young an the aul, passin thro' the weyld 
warl. 

Oft pay to peer Bessy a tear. 

' See'st thou the pale primrwose, that bloonis by 
the tree ? 

The rwoses that fade i' the lake ? 

Them lilies an pinks I for Jemmy will seave, 

Nor e'er my true lover forseake. 

" See ! yonder's his paUce ov chrystal ! Just mark* 

It reaches as hee as the muin ; 
He sails in yon vessel deep laden wi' gold. 

An whispers he'll leeve wi' me suin. 

" The sheep on yon mountain I watch for my 

luive ; 

I'm his shepherdess, clad in weyld tlow'rs ; 
By muin-leet he wedded mc wi" this strae-ring, 

Then sweet sang the burds in tlie bow'rs. 

" They aw are my Jemmy's, an sing at his nod — 

He's Iword o' the sky an the sea ; 
He's King o' this weyde war! an I am queen — 

Say whea are sae happy a.H we ? 



260 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

" Twas cruel to tear him away frae his Bess— 
My heart ; No ! alas ! 1 hae ncane — 

See Wretches pursue him ! Pale wounded he 
faws — 
To feed the peer worms he'll be taen. 

" I'll dig a deep greave an wi' Jemmy will rest. 
But few i' this hard warl wad stay, 

Whear plishurc's but folly an luive leads to woe, 
An pity meks naebody gay ! " 



BLITHE JWOHNNY GREAME, 

Tune — " Andrew wi' his cu'ty gun.." 

Last neet I went leyke monie mair, 

To pass the hours in harmless glee ; 
O, cud ilk yen sec plishure share 1 

But that we needent whop to see ; 
The singin kettle aw sud please, 

The seet o' kurn-keakes just the seame ; 
An when I e'er chowe Chesser cheese, 
I ay mun think o' Jwohnny Greame ! 
Blithe Jwohnny'! keynd to monie ! 
Nin a better chap can neame ! 
He ne'er gies offence to onic, 

Few we ken leyke Jwohnny Greame ! 

The cups o' tea leyke lekker Strang, 

Wi' feyne leafe- uggar sweetent weel ; 
The siller spuins beath stout an lang ; 

The cheeny fit fcr Iwordly chiel ; 
The welcome tui, wi' smeyles was gien, 

" Gud fwok, just meynd yer aw at heame ! " 
Nae preyde or fuil'ry theer was seen. 

Nor welcome gits frae Jwohnny Greame. — Cho. 

The teable clear'd was cover'd suin ; 

Reet famish yell in Betty brong ; 
An now was hard the lively tuin, 

That ay sud please the aul an young ; 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 267 

The twoast went roun to neybors gud ; 

O, cud ilk body brag the seame ! 
To dui what ev'ry wise man sud, 

Is ay the \%-ish o' Jwohnny Greame.— Lho. 

The sangs wer sung ; the news wer telt, 

Mair bad nor gud they daily pruive, 
How stock an crop owre oft are selt, 

Howe'er the toiUn farmers struiye ; 
We gloomv, ueam'd the war wi' Spam. 

That's le'yke to be aw Europe's sheame— 
To lower rents wer girt fwok fain, 

'Twad please, leyke monie, Jwohnny Greame.— 
Cho. 

To fratch an feght oft gies deleyte. 

An leads to ruin hee an low ; 
An gamlin slander, wicked speyte. 

Oft pruives the source o' want an woe ! 
A country that meks war its preyde, 

We aw sud ^vish the warl cud teame ; 
Sec brutal wark to fling aseyde, 

Is ay the wish o' Jwohnny Greame.— Cho. 

For supper now the death was spred, 

An that set on mud please a squire ; 
Wheyle some sup sorrow, ne'er hawf-fed. 

Proud dulbcrts dainties aye admire ; 
The mouths wer busy aw weel tret 

Beath merry maisters an douce deame ; 
A bUther set in town ne'er met, 

Than aw that sat wi' Jwohnny Greame.— Ltio. 

Wid aul an young, wid rich an peer; 

A lassie bloomin leyke a rwose ; 
But dandv-drisses nin wad wear, 

That i' the trjwn fuils struttin shews : 
May Hayton fwok preyde ne'er display. 

But manners ilk yen's praise aye claim ; 
They're bhthe an keynd, for freedom pray. 

But nin mair gud nor Jwohnny Greame.— Gho. 



268 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



The clock now tclt it's teyme fur rest, 
Then up we ruse an hans we shuik ; 
Nin e'er o wealth howe'er possest, 
A sweeter glass o' frienship tuik : 
The hours thus spent we'll ne'er repent, 

O, cud ilk party say the seame ! 
Thro' leyfe, niey wish sal be content, 

To aw gud men leyke Jwohnny Greame ! 
Blithe Jwohnny ! keynd to monie ! 

Nin a better chap can neame ! 
He ne'er gies offence to onie — 

Few we ken leyke Jwohnny Greame 



WILLIE THAT'S FAR ON THE WAVE. 

Aul Lonny, our lanlword, of gear aye keeps brag- 
gin, 
An oft tells mey mudder his breyde I sal be ; 
Wer his heaps o' gold that cud threyce fou the 
waggon. 
If king ov aw countries, he ne'er sud buy mo i 
Rich fuils will owre often puir lasses en- 
slave — 
Mey heart follows Willy that's far on the 
wave ! 



Nae joys a young lassie can share, that keeps 
turnin 
Her thowts on aul bodies, their wealth but to 
win ; 
How monie pretens that the heart aye keeps 
burnin 
Wi' luive, just a feckless rich chap to teake in ; 
Let's wish for the cheerfu, the wise, gud 
an brave. 

An sec aye pruives Willy that's far on the 
wave." 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 269 

How monie a deep seegh he still gies when we're 
partin ! 
How monie a feyne present he flings when we 
meet ! 
Wheyle neyborin flatterers wad fam be sweet- 
heartin, 
I gaze on them laughin at lumps o' deceit : 

I'd suiner this day be flung into the greave, 
Than e'er forget Willy, that's far on the 
wave. 

When wee bits o' younkers we daily keept roamin, 

For pwosies or fruit, woods an meedows amang. 

Now suin he'll return owre the weyde waiters 

foamin. 

An press me wi' preyde, an oft please wi' a sang : 

Wid a kiss o' true luive then my han he will 

crccLvc ' 
I'll gie't but to Willy that's far on the wave. 

When far frae the noise o' the Ian he's retirin, 

By true luive an whopes o' contentment aye led ; 
On me he seems gazin, him still I's admirin. 
An will aye till deeth, if we never sal wed ! 

A saUor as aw sud, his brethren wad seave — 
My blessin gan him that's far on the wave ! 

Sud weyl wins be howlin, I's sceghin an gowlin, 

Aye freetent my lover may lig in the main ; 
I think when wheyte waves hee as mountains are 
rollin, 
O that in a cottage to leeve he were fain ! 

We'd toil away teyme ev'ry comfort to 

have — 
1 submit to dear Willy that's far on the 
wave. 

Oft nect efter neet, about him I keep dreamin, 

Wheyle he bears a storm or mun toil on the 

deck ; 

If I chance to neaine him my muddcr keeps screamin, 

An cries, " Shcm ! O, Nanny ! to heed onie sec I 

Just tek our gad lanlword the best o' the 

lave ! " 
No ! my wish is for Willy that's far on the 
wave I 



270 CUMBERLAND UALADS. 



What, here comes aul Lonny that ne'er sarras 

onie : 

Now aw shekt to tatters he coughs on his crutch ; 

He'll smuik on the sattle an aye caw me bonny, 

An say, " Rowsy Nanny ! thy han let me touch ! " 

I'll down to my wheel an hewe'er he may 

reave, 
I'll sing o' sweet Willy that's far on the 
wave ! 



THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 
Tune — " Johnny^s grey breeks." 

The Fortune-teller cavvt last neet 

When aw wer knittin, spinnin thrang ; 
A Fortune-teller aye tells reet, 

Tho monie say they aye dui wrang : 
The aul dum body,* raggt an peer, 

Crap owre the fire an tuik a whilf. 
What, dum fwok nit ae word can hear. 

Yet on aw roun she kest a gUff. 

We talkt ov sweethearts roun an roun 

Ov Issaac, Jacep, Dan an Joe; 
An when I tuik the bellows down — 

I thowt the last was worth them aw : 
Mey gud aul mudder ill in bed, 

Tho' deef she wheyles can hear yen rant ; 
" Heaste, Jenny ! supper mek ! " she sed, 

" A puir dum body ne'er sud want ! " 

I flang on peets ; the neet grew caul ; 

Thick fell the snow ; loud blew the wind ; 
The chaps we hard come thro' the faul, 

I lockt the duir an let nin in : 
We gev her money, meat an drink ; 

A famish han vn' choke she writ ; 
Aw neet I ne'er yence sleept a wink — 

Wise fwok yen never can forgit. 

» '• The aul dum body."— -See also " Sally Gray," stanza 5. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. S71 

She nwotish'd Isbel wid a smeyle, 

An sed she'd pruive a gud weyfe suin ; 
Wid Isaac that wad nin begueyle. 

She'd off to Gratena, by the muin : 
Now Isbel blusht, an laught queyte fain, 

Says she, " God grant'it true may be ! 
If e'er I marry Isaac Crane, 

An ill weyfe he's ne'er fin in me ! " 

She coddelt Judy roun the weaste — 

We wondert n'luckle what she'd wreyte ; 
Thur varra words she meade wi' heaste, 

" What, Judy ! Jacep's thy deleyte : 
But he hes sweethearts monie mair. 

They'll pou thy cap off, sud ye meet ; 
Ther's twee he meets — Nay ! dunnet stare 

Thoo'll be his breyde an needent greet ! ' 

She neest cleekt Dinah by the han, 

An threyce she tapt her rwosy cheek, 
Then on the bellows ^vTit, " Wid Dan, 

Thoo'll off to kurk on Easter week : 
Ye'U keep a farm an happy leeve. 

An in five years ye'll bairns hae four ; 
They'll aw grow rich but nin deceive. 

An sarra peer fwok till leyfe's o\vre." 

Now wid a kiss, she seiz'd mey leuf. 

An smeylin writ, " O, lovely Jane ! 
Thoo'll be a weyfe but wed nee guff, 

For thou hes lovers, monie a yen ; 
Some rich an peer ; some far an nar ; 

A wealthy squire wad fain be theyne ; 
A captain tui geane off to war — 

The apple o' thy ee's Joe Heyne I " 

The pen she tuik an writ a charm, 

A varse frae t' boyblc to he seer ; 
She sed mey miidder ne'er did hafm, 

An weti slio'd lecvc tleebem year : 
The aul grey clwok mey inudder gev. 

An kisst her tlireyce away she went ; 
May mudder thrive ! we plenty hev — 

The varra thowt now gies c<»ntent. 



272 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Thou nieynes, our naig lang seyne was stown, 

She says nae doubt they'll bring him back ; 
The twee pet lams we fain wad awn, 

Wer taen'she telt by ill-gien Jack : 
Aa ! Bella ! oft we wisht thou'd cawt, 

To hear consarnin sweetheart Bill — 
For God's seake, let nae neybors tnow't — 

Gud luck to Fortune-tellers, still ! * 



LUIVE'S KEYNDNESS. 

Tune — " Bonny Dundee." 

O, lassie ! whoar gat thou that bonny silk bon- 
net ? " 
" Twas bowt me by Jemmy that's far owre the 
sea," 
" Nae doubt monie a teyme he'd be fan to gaze 
on it, 
An glance at thy features that plishure can gie." 
" Aye neet efter neet wheyl I toil'd wi' mey mudder. 

He'd sit on our sattle, an sing wid a smeyle ; 
Young, healthy an cheerfu, we luiv'd yen anudder — 
Now some foreign leissie may Jemmy beguile ! " 

" O, why did he leave yen leyke thee, gud an bonny? " 
" A sowdger he suin was taen off to the war, 
" Weyl war leads to ruin beath sexes an monie ; 
Draws thousans to deeth wheyle some show a 
sad scar," 
" He seegh'd an thus spak on the brow, when 
we parted, 
" O peace to thy heame wid a mudder sae dear ! 
Lang happy leeve thou if I dee brokken-hearted — 
Be theyne health an plenty wheyle meyne's 
a saut tear ! " 

* In this Ballad and "Sally Gray," stanza v., our author has 
spoken of the firm and general hold the superstition of the 
Fortune-teller had upon the Cumbrian character. I have dealt 
with this more especially in its relation to the Norse whence it is 
derived in my "Glossary of the Cumberland Dialect," published 
by the English Dialect Society, and in " Landnama," p. 46, under 
heading of Spaka or Seer. - T.E. 



CUMBERLARD BALLADS. 273 

" O lassie ! weep niii for the loss ov a lover ! " 

" Yes, partin brings sorrow ; nae mirth I enjoy." 
" May fortune thou's share, an frae sadness re- 
cover — 
Be meyne ; nor think mair o' yen war may dis- 
troy." 
No ! aw the warl's wealth cuddent buy me frae 

Jemmy ; 
Whate'er be my suff'rins, he's ay i' mey meyne ; 
He yet may return, but sud Deeth draw him frae 
me, 
I'll mourn for his fate but to luive ne'er 
incleyne ! " 

O, whoar leeves thy mudder ? Reet fain I wad 
see her," 
" She leeves in yon cot an aye toils at her wheel," 
" A stranger, I'm wealthy an money will gie her ; 
Then pray that ye lang may leeve healthy an 
weel.' 
" Nae keyndness she courts ; but our thenks, 
wordy stranger, 
Ye daily sal hev ; an whate'er may beteyde, 
I'll wish for my Jemmy wha's flung into danger ; 
An ay bless the man who sowt me for a breyde ! " 



BETTY O' BRANTON. 

Tune — " The hay-mew." 

Young Betty, blithe, bonny, hes sweethearts twee, 

Beath rich an j ust sec as few lasses can see ; 

Yet tied to some beggar mair happy she'd be ; 

They ne'er can pIo;use Betty o' Branton ! 
For hur in a saw-pit a (luel they'd feght ; 
The tweesome wi' cannons, mud monie delevte 
Sec marrowless chaps ne'er a challenge cud wrcyte- 

Just laugh at them, Betty o' Branton ! 



274 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Furst Nathan we'll nwotish he'll brag ov his gear, 
Sud Justice but hod him he'd nobbet be puir : 
When talkin ten tej-mes in a minute he'll sweer — 

Be cowshious, Betty o' Branton ! 
He's shept leyke a trippet ; atween his cruikt tnees 
When walkin, a sew cud just waddle wid ease ; 
A star or the muin he but seldom e'er sees — 

Just laught at him, Betty o' Branton ! 



Neest Jeymie the swinler, that nowt e'er can teame, 
Sud he tek in aw roun him he'd never think 

sheame; 
Scairce yence in a fornet the truth he'll e'er neame 

What a match for sweet Betty o' Branton ! 
His lang reed snout ay turns off to ae seyde ; 
His gob will measure full eight inches weyde ; 
His teeth leyke stowres, the twee lips ne'er can 
heyde — 

Just laugh at him, Betty o' Branton ! 



If leyke monie lasses, thou's fain hev a man. 
Ne'er link wid a deevil for houses or Ian ; 
A peer bit gud body just tek, if thou can ; 

He'll wish to please Betty o' Branton. 
Gud sheps an feyne features fwok ay will prize, 
But deformity nae yon sud ever despise ; 
If a sweerer or lear, to catch thee e'er tries. 

Just laugh at him, Betty o' Branton ! 



HEAME'S HEAME. 



A hee-rented farmer oft thrang at the plew. 

At threshin at deykin I toil the day thro' ; 
I rise wi' the lark an oft work by the muin, 
In lang days o' summer yen's wark's never duin 
Nae lab'rers I keep nor a sarvent can neame ; 
Yet weary I ay fin leyfe's comfort my heame. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 275 

At kurnin at cuikin our weyfe's ever thrang, 
At weshin — Aa ! twenty things aw the day lang ; 
At milkin, mworn, neet then wi' glee at the wheel. 
At darniu at knittin an wheyles at the reel — 
O, wer peer bit women-fwok, thrang at the seame ! 
For leyke her luiv'd partner leyfe's comfort's 
her heame. 

Oft wearied by labour but ne'er bow'd by care, 
I sit nar the clock-kease an fadder's aul chair ; 
I put on my speckets an wheyles read the news. 
But owt about happiness, seldom yen views ; 
If meakin a swill I crack on wi' mey deame, 
Ay cheerfa ne'er fearful, leyfe's comfort's our 
heame. 

Our bairns '11 sit laikin queyte funny i' th' nuik, 
Greace now dons her doll an Bill's plyin his bulk ; 
Beath biddible, peaceful an daily weel fed ; 
Beath larnin an thrivin an decently cled ; 
May the twee niver be what to monie's a sheame, 
But ay think, leyke we that leyfe's comfort's their 
heame. 

When weekly to market I gang wi' the cworn, 
I teaste a swop drink but aye drukkenness scworn ; 
An if to some fair wid a neybor I reyde, 
To git back e'er darknin is ever my preyde ; 
Oft seeck wi' weyld reavin thersels monie bleame — 
O feegh ! this leyfe's comfort sud aye be their 
heame ! 

Girt gentry leyke gamlin aye beath neet an day. 
An anxious fine ever to mek f wok their prey ; 
At cairds wi' my neybors I wheyles pass an hour, 
Then crack about monie that muckle endure ; 
If ^amlin's yen's preyde it's foriver a sheame, 
Owre leate monie wish they'd shar'd comfort at 
heame. 

Some neybors i' th' yell-house sit neet efter neet, 
In weyldncss delcytin that ne'er can be rect 1 
Now yawnin, now fudlin, nf)w praisin the yell ; 
Now iratchin. nf>w l>'cin, leame stwoiics they toll ; 
Now rearers, nowru.sleis, now boxers they'll neame — 
O neybor? ! just think this leyfe's comfort's yer 
heame 1 



276 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



We've hod monie ciosses sin heath in our preme ; 
And tnown monie losses — Aa ! teyme efter teym« ; 
Our house was brok intui, when beath out at wark ; 
Our black meer an fwoal were beath stown efter 

dark. 
Ae mworn we our hay an cworn seed in a flame — 
Ne'er ak ! what we ' suffer, leyfe's comfort's our 

heame. 



Neest twee in a fever Deeth tuik to the greave ; 
The doctor cawt daily but nowther cud seave ; 
Ann an Jwoseph to mudder an f adder wer dear — 
When I think o' the tweesome it causes a tear ! 
Then deame gat her thie brak, at this hour she's 

leame, 
Yet peacefu an varteous, leyfe's comfort's her 
heame. 



I ne'er can forgit what she then smeylin sed, 

When geane wer twee eldest an she laid in bed ; 

" O weep nit gud maister ! bad rwoads ye ne'er trod I 

Submis'^ive an cheerfu let sec bow to God ! 

To aw that reet strive wheynin ay pruives a 

sheame — 
Let's whop a gud warl may at last be our heame ! " 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 277 

ETTY BELL. 
Tune — " The aul guidman." 

Last neet when aw our wark was duin. 

Loud blew the win' thick fell the snow ; 
The crackets, chirp — chirpin, seem'd to say, 

Aroun this harth we're happy aw ! 
In bed our bairns ; mey peype I smuikt ; 

The clock just telt the hour ov rest ; 
Mey deame she seeght for ay she seeghs 

WTiene'er she thinks o' fwok distrest. 

1 hard a tap at our front duir, 

A feeble voice cried, " Let me in ! " 
We started, " Run, gud man ! " deame cries, 

" For beggaJS we have room widii^." 
The duir unlockt surpris'd we seed, 

Wi' snow a puir aul creeter cled ; 
Wi' yage l>ent double, tremlin, pale. 

An to the fire she suin was led. 

She cuddent speak, she scairce cud breathe ; 

Away leyke leetnin ran mey deame ; 
She brong her what suin gev her ease, 

Says she, " Just think our house yerheame !" 
A posset neest I bad her meake ; 

Nowt better is fer rich or puir ; 
This duin, mey deame wad smeyle o%vrejoy'd. 

An then she'd drop a painfu tear. 

Th' aul body's yage we fain wad ken, 

She muttert, " Fourscwore years an five ; 
Lang, lang I've toil'd an begg'd for breed. 

But whopt nit now to be alive ; 
I've suffer'd micklo sin my youth ; 

Far mair than mem'ry lets me tell ; 
In this farm-house I furst drew breeth ; 

But few fwok meyn aul Etty Bell ! " 

" O aunt ! dear aunt ! " mey deame now shriekt. 
She fentet ; tears stream'd down my cheek ; 
Aul Ester on the sattle rwoar'd — 

I tried an tried but cuddent speak ; 



2;8 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



VVi" pain 1 rais'd her irao tlie fluir, 
An thowt her deed but O, or lang 

Recover'd, how she gaz'd an smcyl'd, 
An roun her aunt her airms she Hang. 

Aul Ester now vvi' luiks ov joy, 

Drew monie a picture ov her leyfe ; 
When young, behiiv'd by rich an puir, 

Yet she ne'er yence becom a weyfe : 
A cousin mean she work'd for hard, 

Nar threescwore years in Lunnon town ; 
Now brokken-hearted, starvt an aul, 

She's to her parish toddelt down. 

Rejoic'd we by the fire aw sat, 

An talkt an hard the clock streylie j-en ; 
I nowt leyke this e'er seed befwore. 

Nor sec a seet can see agean ! 
Beteymes this mworn, mey deame she ruse, 

Queyte fain a lang-lost aunt to see — 
Wheyle I've a penny, she's nit want, 

An deame an aw sal happy be ! 



OUR MAISTER AN DEAME.* 

Tune — " St. Andrew''s Cross." 

Some praise our girt nowbles that seldom dui 
gud ; 

Some brag ov our squires, that offen dui wrang : 
Peer scribblers leyke me aye wreyte as ye sud. 

Let truth be yer study when meakin a sang : 
Mankeyn if they bodder '11 scairce \vreyte anudder, 

Tho' few in aul Englan sae monie can neame ; 
I've prais'd gudness, Ijeauty ; I've pointed out 
duty — 

Mey study to-day is our Maistcr an Deame. 

* .Mr. Justin B. Brown, aad his amiable partner. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 279 



Our Maister ne'er pruiv'd a base picture to man ; 

Deil tek them that think he wad onie betray ! 
To shew what veyce leads tui an .,kevbels to flay 

To sarra gud bodies hes ay been his plan : 
His wish is for freedom nae mortal can lead him 

To praise whate'er yence leads a brother to sheame ; 
True virtue his creed is an daily ilk deed is, 

What happiness draws to our Maister an Deame. 



Our Deame is lish, clever gay, modest an free, 

A foe to ambition, veyce, fuilr'y, an preyde ; 
She frowns on nae mortal, she toils leyke the bee ; 

Her luik tells a meynd that nit yen can dereyde : 
She's weel-shept an bonny, she's friendly to monie 

That caw raggt an helpless, ayehowe i' the weame ; 
Clean, hilthy, deleytefu ; ne'er tnaggy or speytefu — 

Owre few ever see sec a Maister an Deame ! 



Our Maister leyke monie hes wheyles been tre- 
pann'd. 
For gudness owre seldom an claim what is due ; 
He studies correctly the laws ov our land. 

An praises the statesmen that wish to pruive 
true : 
He scworns base oppressors ; he hates aw trans- 
gressors 
That glory in war ; e'en the King he dar bleame ; 
He censures aw slav'ry, he laughs at aw kneav'ry — 
Aye peacefu an happy are Maister an Deame. 

Our Deame is queyte cheerfu, she'll crack an she'll 
jwoke. 
But ne'er onie mortal yet sowt to offend ; 
She courts nit the favors ov onie girt fwok ; 

To what she thinks wrang for the wail she'd nit 
bend : 
Nae Mistress Crcake's party whoar sland'rers seem 
hearty, 
Nae dainties, drink, chatl'rin cud win her hae 
heamc ; 
Sec fuil'ry's owre common 'mang menlwok an 
women. 
But aye was despis'd by oor Maister an Deame. 



28o CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Oor Maister the scen'ry ov Nature admires ; 

He's statesman to-day an tradesman to-mworn ; 
Health, peace, plenty, (rienship is aw he desires, 
Au the hiive ov his Nancy yen nin'll e'er 
scworn. 
Oor Deame wad toil iver yet weary seems ni- 
ver — 
Lang free frev aw care may they beath be the 
seame ; 
By yage when boo'd double nae suff'rers frae 
trouble. 
May Deeth freeten nowther oor Maister or 
Deame ! 



HEDDERSGILL KEATIE. 
Tune — " Fye gae rub her o'er wi' strae." 

Young Keatie leev'd in Heddersgill ; 

An sweetheart Jwohnny, owre the geate 
Peer Keatie ! seeghin, toilin, still 

Was fain to see him suin or leate : 
But Jwohnny leyke beath hee an low, 

Wi' yen mair rich now on hed teane ; 
An Keatie aye row'd up in woe, 

Wad think ov hours o' luive aw geane. 



To kurk, to market, fair or dance, 
In costly trappins oft she went ; 

In whopes at Jwohnny wid a glance. 
To catch what gies a heeirt content : 

But, Oh ! in vain, they ne'er yence met. 
Aye fruitless her endeevors pruiv'd ; 

He neets an days wad spen wi' Bett, 

But ne'er vence thowt o' hur he luiv'd. 



Ae neet when spinnin by the fire, 
Rejoic'd, his trailin clogs she hard ; 

She seeght an wisht 'twer his desire, 
just then to toddle thro' the yard : 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



She up an flang the wheel aseyde, 

An seeghin crap across the faul ; 
Whope whispert suin she'd be a breyde, 

But whope deceives beath young an aul. 

Now cross the town-geate quick went she, 

An thro' the lettice tuik a gaze ; 
Now rap-raps at the duir gae three, 

Wheyle he sat whiftin in amaze : 
" Whea's theer ? " quo Jwohnny, wi' surprise, 

" It's me ! " she answert quick, " It's me ! " 
" An whee the deevil's me ? " he cries, 

" Wey, I's thy Keatie ! thoo kens whee ! " 

She bruist her tnockles rappin threyce, 

An, " Jwohnny ! Jwohnny ! " oft she'd neame ; 
" Hut, shaff ! " he cried, " teake mey adveye ! 

Sec leyke as thee er best at heame ! 
" What wants thoo, fuil ? " says she, " I'll lay 

Thoo canna fin me, tho' I's nigh ! " 
" Puir sumph I " says he. " een gang thy way, 

For me, I'll lay I wunnet try ! " 

Now heameward stowtert tremlin Keate, 

A luckless lump o' luive to wail ; 
Her heart just Icyke a pcnhim bet ; 

The tears she shed wad f • )u a pail ; 
Her seeghs were leyke the wintry breeze ; 

An whopes alas ! she hod nae mair : 
Thus, true it is yen daily sees, 

Luive leads to joy an oft to care ! 



AUL BEN'S COURTSHIP. 

Tune — " The Gdbtrlunzie man." 

What, Lizzy ! sit down an lissen the news ; 
To crack wi' thy cousin thou'll ne'er refuse ; 
Or nae teymc we'll aw he rich as the Jews 

An thou our brass sal ay share : 
Aul Ben com here last neet afwore dark, 
When Betty an ladder an me wer at wark ; 
Our dog, del! bin him ! dud nowt but bark 

When Hen crap into the chair I 



282 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



" Heaste, Elsy ! " he cries, " fling peets i' the fire, 
I've slowtert down lonnins thro' wet an deep mire ; 
A feckless aul fellow tho' some caw me squire — 

Nae kinsfwok hev I at aw ; 
I mean to meake yef neyce dowter my breyde ; 
She's reype an vwosey an free frev aw preyde ; 
She's git heaps o' money, Ian, houses, beseyde — 

She'd better wed me nor a beau ! 

" O, Betty ! " says he, " when I meake the' meyne. 
We'll leeve tliick as thieves, ay merry an keyne. 
Thoo'U hev bit o' bairns, we'll don them reet ieyne, 

An laik wi' them neet an day ! 
Our squire, our lawyer, our parson, an deame, 
An monie girt gentles, ven needent neame, 
Sal daily mek our gran parlor their heame ; 

An beggars teake plenty away. 

" Come, clap on the kettle an meake a swop tea ; 

An swat tey ways down o' top mey tnee : 

I'll gie thee a buss aye tweyce twee or three — 

We'll crack an coddle queyte fain : 
To-mworn thoo's reyde an buy a gowd ring ; 
An claes for the tlireesome thoo heame sal bring ; 
A secfu ov nwotes i' thy lap I mun fling. 

That day I meake thee mey ain. 

" I'll built a girt house as hee as a haw ! 
Thoo's feast o' gud meat as the queen e'er saw; 
Thoo's sarra puir bodies wheniver they caw, 

An fain starvt deevils to seave ; 
Run EUik ! bring owre some famish Scotch gin. 
We'll twoast roun an roun till the muin keeks 

in ; 
For me — I's aw pain'd widout an widin, 

An suin I mun hg i' mey greave ! " 

He's shwort an double, yence streyte an Strang ; 
His neybors aw roun him, he hobbles amang 
He's duin muckle gud an seldom dis wrang. 

But wishes ilk yen to dui reet : 
He's worn to the beane nae hair on his powe ; 
Hawf-blin, deef an tuithless, nae beyte he can 

chowe : 
His legs er like thivels, he smuiks the day thro'. 

An ligs on the sattle aw neet. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 283 



They busst yen anudder ; she patted his cheek 
He huizt,* cought, an laught, but harleys cud speak 
Our parson mun buckle the tweesome neest week 

An thoo breyde's maiden sal be : 
What, Betty queyte niurry to Carel is geane ; 
Aa ! nwotes ov aw maks, gow'd an siller she's taen ; 
— He's seebemty seebem, she's just twonty yen — 

A famish weyle weddin we'll see ! 



INVITATION TO CRITO. 
Tune — " The Pensioners." 

Dear Crito ! my frien that can ne'er be forgot, 
Wheyle Mem'ry reflects on the days that are 
geane ; 

1 teyme spen wi' plishure in this relir'd spot 
An monie amuse but ne'er try to vex yen : 

To sarra's the duty ov beath hee an low, 

But preyde an ambition brings monie to woe ! 

I rest wi' gud fwok, that ne'er try to dui wrang ; 

I share holsome food that the wealthy mud please ; 

Their keyndness is sec that a day ne'er seems lang ; 

When neet flings her curtain blithe neybors yen 

sees : 

Wi' a crack, sang or tune, we aul teyme can be- 

gueyle — 
O cud the weyld warl bwoast the seame wi' a smeyle I 

Our maister weel kent by aw maks far an weyde 
Shews daily his wish for truth, freedom an hiive ; 

Yes justice forever is Justin'st true preyde, 

Wcr Justice k-yke him fwok happy mud pruive I 

Aul Hayton a better man never will bwoast. 

An wer claret nicv drmk, I'd oft nicl< him the 
twoast. 

• To huiz. — To cough or brcnthc hard as a cow does.— T .E. 
t Mr. Justin Bird Brown, Hayton. 



284 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Nae fratchin or feghtin, e'er bodders yen's ear ; 

Nae slander that rowes monie thousans in care ; 
That statesmen an pleacemen, wad fin for the puir, 

An lop off base taxes, is eve'ry yen's pray'r : 
But tyranny, Rulers owre oft mek their preyde ; 
Ne'er ak ! Deeth throws kings leyke puir beggars 
aseyde. 

Weyl Winter prevents me frae wand'rin aw roun, 
Whoar " Canny aul Cummerlan " fain I wad 
view ; 
By yage, pain an poverty, offen bow'd down, 

Yet a bulk, pen an paper can charm the day thro' : 
I read what the meynd aye frae folly can seave ; 
I wreyte what may please, when I'm flung i' the 
greave. 

The storm leate sea flaysome, is now duin away ; 
At nature's sweet change, man, beast, bird may re- 
joice ; 
To whop for mair changes peer Britons weel may. 
But oppression in Englan, seems owre monie's 
choice : 
O, wad ev'ry mortal, when 'tis in his pow'r, 
But sarra his brethren that mickle endure ! 

How pleasin 'twad pruive cud yen truly describe. 
That honest fwok shar'd aw that's doubtless 
their reet ; 

But Englan leyke aw pleaces lures in a treybe, 
That aim at ambition ; sad lumps o' deceit ! 

This country's a wilderness cover'd wi' thworns, 

Whoar deeds o' girt fwok the neame seldom adorns. 

Now seated in peace fain to wreyte to my frien,t 
That ne'er for a breyde wad a mortal betray ; 

I see wi' surprise, what by fwoks daily seen, 

Our weel-fed aul dog a puir beggar will flay : 

At rich fwok in preyde he forever will fawn — 

Shaff ! men-fwok leyke Touch by owre monie 
are tnown ! 

t "Our friendship commenced on my return from London, 
October, 1795." This is Anderson's own note, as it occurs in the 
original M.S. of this Ballad, and marks the commencement of his 
life-long friendship with Crito, otherwise Sanderson, the Kirklia- 
ton Poet. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 285 

Retirement to some wad leyfe's plishures destroy, 
Tho' to^vns the best bodies to ruin oft lead ; 

Hills, vallej-s, woods, watters to me affword joy ; 
An whether yen gaze at the yek, or the weed. 

They wither leyke men, but a lesson aye gie. 

That points to the Ruler — His gudness aw see. 

Tho' distant are we a true frien I'll inveyte — 
A wheyle wi' puir Robin mek Hayton thy heame ; 

The thowt wad our keynd-hearted neybors deleyte, 
Mair respected than thee few in this warl can 
neame ; 

Tho' monie forget me ; thy frienship but shew — 

For Crito, I'll pray, till Deeth gies me a caw ! 



SALLY OV IRTHIN. 
Tune — " The Wounded Huzzar." 

Yen fairer than Sally, 

Ne'er yet trod a valley, 
Whoar Gelt in wheyl murmurs to Irthin pow'rs down ; 

The preyde ov a mother, 

A sister, an brother ; 
Her countenance breet as the sun smeylin roun ; 

Simplicity, beauty. 

Health, gudness an duty. 
Aye wan her the luive that owre few leeve to share ; 

Young Jwohnny her neybor, 

Brong up to hard labour, 
Waii fav'rite at murry-neet, market or fair. 

Nae kinsfwok hed Jwohnny, 

An wheedelt leyke monie. 
At Branton gat trapt by some ill-gien recruits — 

Oh ! heeds o' the'nation. 

Ye oft cause vexation ; 
Sec deeds to encourage, pruives men war nor brutes ! 

You trail off puir seamen, 

O' joys when they're drcamin ; 
Wi' drums, feyfes, cfx:kades honest lads ye trepan ; 

Leyke teades under harrows, 

His country ilk sarras. 
Gits slain, ligs uncomn'd in sea or on Ian. 



286 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Now, monie a keyn cronie 

Fan sworry for Jwohnny, 
An sec as hed money the smart wad fain pay ; 

But, no ! he was sworn in ; 

The proud sarjin scwornin, 
Neest bad him git ready to march the neest day ; 

Owre hill an thro' valley, 

He saunter'd wi' Sally, 
An whopt slie wad git yen wi' plenty ov gear ; 

Adveyce pruives a blessin, 

An wheyles pruives distressin — 
They kiss'd, shuik hans, parted wi' monie a saut tear. 

Wi' some she hed spworted, 

She oft now was courted, 
But fareweel to dances an parties she bade ; 

The lanlword son Harry, 

Neest sowt her to marry, 
But low-sunk in spirits oft sleepless she laid : 

Frae Branton ae e'enin. 

When Sally sat spinnin. 
He cawt wi' fause tears, an suin whispert the news, 

That Jwohn he'd deeth suffer'd, — 

His han he now offer' d — 
A han frae the rich, lasses seldom refuse. 

Young Jwohnny nit cheerfu, 

Tho' niver yence fearfu, 
Hed dung down proud Frenchmen an won a gud 
neame ; 

He'd stuid monie a battle, 

Mid cannons' loud rattle, 
Gat wounded, discharg'd an wi' whops wander'd 
heame : 

In Irthin's green valley, 

Wi' joy he met Sally ; 
The smeyle an the seegh ov affection he gave ; 

She shriekt, weept an fentet ; 

Her marriage lamented — 
Or three days wer owre she was taen to the greave. 

The above was written at the request of a respectable 
young lady. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 287 

I'LL NE'ER LUIVE ANUDDER. 

June — " The fow'y o' Dumhlane." 

I've a house an gud Ian ; I've a mill up the waiter : 
I've pultry ov aw maks ; I've naigs, sheep, an 
kye ; 
I've sarvents that toil for me ; grey-houus, an 
spaniels ; 
I've nwotes, gow'd an siller ; an aw things can buy ; 
I've kinsfwok aw wealthy : I'm cheerfu an healthy : 
I've spent years o' plishure now turn'd thurty- 
three ; 

I've sweethearted monie 
But ne'er cud wed onie — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, wheaever luives me ! 
Aw whops we can borrow, 
Will oft lead to sorrow — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, ov aw I may see. 

Furst Betty o' Bow'rbank when young, I fell in wi'. 

At Dick's saller-opnin, togedder we sat ; 
Her cheeks were queyte rwosy I've pou'd monie a 
pwosie, 
But ne'er in the garden a sweeter fiow'r gat : 
Wi' yen a pretender, she cwuacht off to Gratena — 
To teake me I promis'd she happy sud be : 
I oft ruid to see her. 
Spent happy neets wi' her — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, wheaever luives me ! 
Aw whops we can borrow, 
Will oft lead to sorrow — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, ov aw I may see ! 

Neest, Eanny o' Fentcm, lish, clever nit wanton, 

I owretuik when reydin ae day towerts hcame ; 

My heart was aye beatin at neets ever dreaniin, 

I thowt her the sweetest aw Englan cud neame : 

She tuik f)fi to Lunnon to see a thurd cousin. 

In nae teyme a parson just buckelt the twee ; 
She writ me a letter, 
Whopl I'd pit a better — 
I'll ne'er luivc anu<lder, wheaever luives me ! 
Aw whops we can borrow, 
Will oft lead to sorrow — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, ov aw I may see ! 



288 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Then Dinah ov Dawston, ilk body wad bwoast on, . 

I'd hard monie ncame, an at Rosley furst saw ; 
She donnt levke a leady. was aye fou ov humour ; 
If scwores she just smeyVd at, she conquer'd them 
aw : 
She drew frev aw quarters ; sec caus'd muckle 
feghtin ; 
The flow'r ov aw Cummerlan reckon'd was she ; 
A trav'ler off tuik her, 
But suin he forsuik her — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, wheaever luives me ! 
Aw whops we can borrow, 
Will oft lead to sorrow — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, ov aw I may see ! 



Ae summer, in feyn'ry, I ruid owre to Gilsden, 
Wi' ven, a strange leady, I suin fell in luive ; 
Wc wa'lkt about daily, an teyme we spent gaily, 

But I ne'er ycnce dreemt she a donnet wad pruive ; 
Fwok offen wer laughin, when we wer seen passin ; 
Yen cowshent me ay frae sec strumpets to 
flee: 

She was mistress to monie, 
Squires , captains, or onie — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder wheavever luives me J 
Aw whops we can borrow. 
Will oft lead to sorrow — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder ov aw I may see ! 



Sweet Hannah ov Hayton at ae Cursmess party, 
She sang an she danct an aye stonisht aw roun : 
She promis'd her han — when I tuik owie the 
leycense, 
The neybors aw weept for her deeth thro' the 
town : 
Young, bonny, blithe, clever, a better lass never. 
Thro' aw the weyde warl nae man e'er kest 
an e'e ; 

Hours happy wer wi' her — 
I ay think I see her — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder, wheaever luives me J 
Aw whops we can borrow, 
Will oft lead to sorrow — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder ov aw I may see ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 289 



On scwores I've kept gazin an scwores hae been 
praisin, 
But ne'er wad cheat onie that yence wore a 
cap ; 
I aye think't a pity thro' country or city, 

That women leyke men pruive owre offen a trap : 
I'm healthy, I'm wealthy, I've plenty, to twenty 
Puir beggars meat, money an cleedin to gie ; 
Let man dui his duty. 
But ne'er bow to beauty — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder wheaever luives me ! 
Aw whops we can borrow. 
Will oft lead to sorrow — 
I'll ne'er luive anudder ov aw I may see. 



THE QUILTERS. 
Tune — " Sally Gray." 

"Noo, lasses; aw thrang at oor quiltin, 

An chaps er queyte busy at wark ; 
Let's tell roun widoot onie blushes, 

Whea fain we wad meet afwore dark. 
We've aw bits o' fortunes, guid sweetheart 

Sae nin er mair happy than we ; 
Come, Elsy, trot on wi' thy needle. 

An tell us whea's dearest to thee." 

"Yen Ellik ; a lish lad an cliver ; 

Aye merry but seldom dis wrang ; 
Oh 1 was he but seated amang us, 

He'd please us wi' monie a sweet sang ! 
Wer meync aw the Ian in oor parish. 

This han to nae udder I'd gic ; 
1 seed him last ncel efter supper — 

Noo, Kachel ; whea's dearest to thee ? " 

"Yen Ritchy ; induslrus an modest, 
A canny young lad tho' but puir ; 

Oh ! hed he his bagpeypcs amang us, 
Nae music sae sweet cud we hear ! 



290 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Wer I oor girt squire's only dowter, 
To-mworn he mey partner siul be ; 

When drearain I see him for iver — 

Noo, Martha ; whee's dearest to thee ? " 

"Yen Michael; the preyde ov his cronies. 

That ne'er gev a body a froon ; 
Oh ! was he but seated amang us, 

His jwokes wad niek aw merry roun ! 
I've kent him sin furst we lara'd letters, 

An few e'er his marrow can see ; 
I'd sumer wed him nor his Iwordship — 

Noo, Letty ; whee's dearest to thee ? " 

" Yen Lanty ; weel leykt by lads, lasses. 

In whornpeypes he's fit fer a show ; 
Oh ! was he but seated amang us, 

His steps wad suin 'stonish us aw ! 
In Lunnon he'd mek a girt fortune. 

What, king o' the dancers is he ; 
He'd please nowbles nabobs an statesmen — 

Noo, Peggy ; whee's dearest to thee ? " 

" Yen Peter ; the preyde o' mey bwosom, 

Ae better nin e'er meade her choice ; 
Oh ! was he but seated amang us, 

We'd hear iv'ry leevin thing's voice ! 
He'd mimic men, beasts, burds ov aw maks, 

That sing away summer wi' glee — 
O, Peter ! wer I the king's dowter, 

I'd pray to be dearest to thee ! " 

"Shaff ! seldom yen sees whee they wish for"- 

" Nay, hark ! — They're aw crossin the faul! 
'Till midneet let's whope to be merry, 

For sec sud ay please young an aul, 
"Come fling off 'the quilt! set on kettle. 

Let aw teake six cups o' leac'd tea : 
Or lang may we quillers git weddet, 

An try to dui gud till we dee ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 291 

REFORM. 

Tune — By the Author. 



"O! let Nature speak, 
And with instinctive force, inform thy soul, 
That Liberty, the choicest boon of Heav'n, 
Is Reason's birth-right, and the gift of God!" 

Mrs. Robinson. 



When the praise ov oor statemen by dum fwok 

is sung ; 
When nae man on yeaith meks a brother a 

slave ; 
When money leyke rain, on pair bodies is flung ; 
When gouty girt gentry can run owre the 

wave ; 
When priests, lawyers, doctors, try mankeynd to 

charm ; 
Then Englan, puir Englan may whope far Reform ! 



When pedestrens in nae teyme can walk to the 
muin ; 
When insecs turn giants the warl to surprise ; 
When asses in play-houses hum monie a tune ; 

When teades leave the yearth, an flee up to the 
skies ; 
When peace thro' aw countries sal sowdgers 

disarm ; 
Then Englan, puir Englan may whope fer reform ! 



When preydc, thro' aw countries, by nin is esteem'd ; 
When aul fwok er young an the bairns are 
bworn aul ; 
When truth sal nae langer a leybel be deem'd ; 
When wmtcr turns het an the summer queyte 
caul ; 
When burds or fish nowther teaste grain or the 

worm ; 
Then Englan, puir Knglan may whope fer Reform ! 



292 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



When wolves wi' sheep laik i' the fiels wi' 

delay te : 
When cats, wi' rats, meyce, '11 dance reels or 

a jig; 
When snaw faws qucyte black an the blackburds 

er wheyte ; 
When farmers sow san that grows wheat, rye, 

an bigg, 
When sangs ov the lennet a hawk can alarm ; 
Then Englan, puir Englan may whope fer Reform! 



When cock-feghtin, brutes wi' twee legs will 

despise ; 
When drunkards shall scworn a full bowl or a 

glass ; 
When gurse tweyce the heeght ov a yek tree 

can rise ; 
When fiatt'ry's forgotten by lad an by lass ; 
When Iwords wi' puir tenants gang linkt arm in 

arm ; 
Then Englan, puir Englan may whope fer Reform! 



When epicures smeylin can feast widoot meat ; 
When wickedness ne'er leads to sorrow or 

woe ; 
When stars sheyne aw day an the sun sheynes 

aw neet : 
When valleys are heegh an the mountains er 

low ; 
When winter ne'er froons on the warl wid a 

storm. 
Then Englan, puir Englan may whope fer 

Reform ! 



When Newton an Shakspeare by aw are forgot; 

When burds leeve in watter and fish in a nest ; 

When gunners shoot game widoot powder or 

shot ; 

When virtue thro' aw ranks by vice is carest ; 

When nin in St. Stephen's e'er try to dui harm; 

Then Englan, puir Englan may whope fer 

Reform ! 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 293 

When kings at gud wishes ov subjects ne'er 

froon ; 
When Brougham or Hume ne'er yence to 

tyrants need boo ; 
When fwok toil fer plenty in country an toon ; 
When faction's aye laught at that's queyte 

common noo ; 
When pleacemen's lang speeches ilk true heart 

can warm ; 
Then Englan, puir Englan may whope fer 

Reform ! 



NICHOL THE NEWSMONGER'S DEETH. 

Tune — " The night before Larry was stretch'd." 



" Reader, whate'er thy fate, if rich or poor. 
The ills of life with patience still endure ; 
Who serves mankind, and will from folly fly, 
Shrinks not at Fate ; prepar'd in time to die.' 



Aa ! Nichol's noo laid in the greave, 
Lang seyde ov^ aul fadder an madder ; 

The warl nit frae deeth cud yen seave, 
We aw gang off — teane efter tudder : 

Queyte cheerfu he pruiv'd to the last, 
An aw fer meyles roun '11 noo miss him : 

The dog howls as if just to say, 
" Mey guid Maister's left me, God bliss him '' 

What, Andrew that drew m the stuil, 
Aunt Meable, lang Agey, Tib, Sally, 

Joss, Cuddy. Leyle Steebem, Tun, Sim, 
Grater Lizzy, Daft Peg. Tom Tagw;illy, 

Mistress Crcake, Sarjm Gowdy an dcame. 
They'll aw seegh, an talk aboot Nichol — 

Lword Bultroul that built the new lodge, 
Was ne'er Icyk'd by yen liavvf sac mickle ! 



494 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Hoo monie a lang vveyl winter iieet. 
The neybors, aul, young, he keept murry; 

He telt what cud aw roun him please, 
But ne'er flung them intil a flurry: 

He'd magazeeus, newspapers read. 
The squire's dowter, Carohne. sent him ; 

An novels, plays, histries, gud bulks, 
The schuilmaister willinly lent him. 

When beggars e'er sowt a bit breed, 
He aye gae them that an a penny ; 

They'd smuik an he'd cobble their shoon— 
Some girt fwok ne'er yence sarra enny ; 

If neybors wer seeck, oft he'd caw. 
Still gud true adveyce fain to gie them ; 

At partin, he aye dropt a tear — 
A better chap ne'er cud sit wi' them ! 

Feghts, fratches, corruption, war. preyde, 
Leyke wordy Kit Craffet he hated ; 

Fwok say they sud lig seyde by seyde, 
Wid Nichol, Kit monie a day waited: 

Ov slav'ry an priss-gangs they'd talk, 
An tyrants that hod sec girt pleaces ; 

An monie aul Englan's kings, queens, 
Wheas neames noo oor coontry disgreaces. 

His money's aw left to the puir. 
His hoose to young brokken-backt Jwohnny ; 

His clock, kist o' drores, an twee sweyne. 
To three that ne'er yence cud buy onie : 

Ov kindred he nobbet kent yen, 
Queyte rich that ne'er sent him a letter — 

Relations some daily will neame, 
Wheyle neybors oft pruive thersels better. 

Thoo's leame or to t' cwose-hoose hed geane, 
Whoar scwores aw sat talkin an grievin ; 

They luikt at the corp, seed a smeyle. 
Ay just as in hilth he'd been leevin. 

To th' burryin fwok com fer meyles roun, 
A coffm's seen seldom sae croodet ; 

The parson some say, dropt a tear — 
Nin tnows but er lang he'll be shroudet. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 295 

A heed-stcn they'll hev set up suin ; 
The schuilmaistcr's ippitaph meakin : 

The fadder an mudder he'll neame ; 
'Boot Nichol girt pains he'll be teakin ! 

He ne'er luikt at yen wi' a froon ; 
He dee't when just seebemty seebem ; 

He daily cud please aw mak roun — 
Let's whope he's noo happy in Heebem ! 



THE AUL HOLLOW TREE. 

Tune — " Come under my plaidie." 

When heame I ay wander an see the sun set tin, 
Queyte free frae bard labor an care till the 
mworn, 
My thowts turn to yen that nin roun e'er saw 
frettin, 
A bonnier, a better nay ne'er yet was bworn I 
Tho' I's a puir sarvent an money's vvheylea 
scanty, 
An maister's tarn'd temper some daily wad 
dree ; 

At eb'min, tho' weary, 
Mey heart's ay quite 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 ; 
Noo laikin owre picture^, noo seevy caps meakin. 

Or sharin an apple that ay meade us fain ; 
We'd lissen the blackburd, lark, throssle or 
lennet, 
An hares playin nar us in summer we'd see; 
Lams merry wad wander 
Its branches anonder; 
But few noo will nwotish the aul hollow Tree. 



890 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Hoo happy the days when oor teens we've just 
eiiter'd, 
An luive gies a glance frae the lass we hod 
dear ; 
But O, when yen's driv'n frae the heart's dear- 
est treasuie 
In fancy we'll gaze on her oft wid a tear : 
Content hails the mwornin an joy the day 
clwoses, 
When evenin to luivers 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 puir fellows to shun; 
An Peggy wi' smeyles ne'er an uncle yence 
crosses. 
But ne'er can by wealth, preyde or flatt'ry 
be won ; 
I've wheyles thowt o' leavin the snailin aul 

body, 
To hunt oot some other whea's heart's fou o' 
glee; 

Luive whisper t, " O, bear aw ! 
Ay cheer aw, ne'er fear aw. 
Just think o' past teymes an the aul hollow 
Tree! 



At dances she's courted by chaps thrang aboot 
her, 
But ne'er yence was seen to give onie a froon ; 
To win her wi' feyn'ry, the squire oft hes sowt 
her 
An sent owre a silk shawl an gran satin goon ; 
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 fitter nor wear them 
She'd burn them or tear them — 
At neet I hard aw nar the aul hollow Tree. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 297 

Whene'er the sky's cawm an the muin wheyte 
as siller, 
An partridges caw the lost partners to meet ; 
We steal cot togedder an leeve the crabb'd 
uncle, 
He snwores on the sat tie ay neet efter neet : 
Wi' yage he's bent double an row'd up in trouble, 
But dreams nit sweet Peggy her heart hes 
gien me ; 

'Till kindred may loss him, 
We'll ne'er wish to cross him. 
But span hours o' luive nar the aul hollow Tree. 

When laid i' the greave by 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 mum changes I whop she 11 
be meyne ; 
If puir or if wealthy, ay merry when healthy. 
We'll prav that aw countries for iver may 'gree; 
We'll comfort ilk other. 
But bretliren ne'er bother. 
An think o' days geane, nar the aul hollow Tree. 

What, trees er leyke mortals ; yeks Strang an 
weyde spreedin ; 
Waaic willows to iv'ry leet breeze will aye 
boo ; 
Girt cedars leyke breers that men, cattle, keep 
treedin, 
Are nourisht the seame yen an aw, the warl 
thro' ; 
On yearth seame as bairns, fer a wheyle they're 
seen crecpin. 
Oft robb'd ov a brench, pity sae it sud be ! 
Some ^^row up logilhcr. 
In youth monic wither — 
A teype o' frail man is the aul hollow Tree ! 



098 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

LEYFE'S CHANGES. 
Tune — " The flow'r o' Dumblane." 

Puir Sukey was bworn in the crazy aul warkhoose. 

But sec to nae mortal can pruive a disgreace ; 
Theer monie sup sorrow an whopes seldom borrow; 

Theer monic fin happy, rcet prood o' the pleace, 
When toddlin aboot an wi' cronies oft laikin, 

Noo pouin apwosey frae deyke or the green, 
Feyne gentry when passin at teymes wer heard 
praisin. 

Her rwosy cheeks, churry lips bonny blue 
een. 

In years yen squire Gudman the heed o' the 
parish. 
That ne'er sowt a partner nor yence was in 
luive, 
By dint ov industry he'd gain'd monie thousans, 

An daily to help aul an young fwok he struive ; 
Ae ebemin returnin overjoy'd frae the vestry, 

Whoar hard-hearted bodies owre often are seen, 
He gaz'd an he prais'd wid a smeyle. Orphan 
Sukey, 
Her rwosy cheeks, churry lips, bonny blue een. 

He cawt the neest mworn in his cwoach, heame to 
tek her, 
An suin wid a kiss, meade her sit on his tnee ; 
Weel fed an weel cled, leyke a dowter, he tret her. 

An sec adveyce gev her as aw maks sud gie ; 
The picture ov gudness rich ueybors aw caw'd 
her, 
The' row'd up in rags she but leately was seen ; 
Puir beggars oft thowt her some nowbleman's 
dowter, 
Wi' rwosy cheeks, churry lips, bonny blue een. 

Scearce oot ov her teens for the wordy man 

weepin. 

Grim Deeth on squire Gudman ae neet gev a 

caw ; 

Brong up by the parish, leyke Sukey an orphan. 

To puir fwok, his sarvents an her he left aw ; 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 299 

Now hee on the top o' leyfe's hill she sat sheynin. 

What yen bworn in poverty yence deet a 

queen ; 

But monie are lur'd by prood flatt'rin impostors. 

Then rwoses suin fade, an tears dim the black 

een. 

A gamier an swinler jumpt in for her fortune ; 

Leyke Hatfield he wan her an leyke him he fell ; 
Hoo monie frae plenty are plung'd deep in sorrow. 

In this wicked warl still mun misery dwell 1 
Desarted by grandeur at neets fworc'd to wander 

The weyld streets ov Lunnon in cleedin queyte 
mean ; 
Scearce nwotisht by onie tho' yence prais'd by 
monie, 

Her rwosy cheeks, churry lips, bonny blue een, 

Oft puir bodies seavin, noo Sukey's heard creavin. 

The pity ov monie she sarra'd when young ; 
Whoariver yen ranges leyfe's scenery oft changes. 

To wealth she was rais'd noo to poverty's flung: 
Yence plenty she'd offer noo daily she'll suffer, 

Reflectin wi' sorrow on teymes that hae been ; 
Noo vanisht for ivcr what teyme restores niver. 

Her rwosy cheeks, churry lips, bonny blue een ! 



THE BALLAD SINGER. 

luNE — "The humours o' GlenV 

Come, buy ov puir Peggy a Cummerlan Ballad ; 
Here's aw maks o' subjecs, some shwort an some 
lang. 
Here veyce is cxpwo.s'd an true praise gien to 
gudness — 
They'll vex an they'll please, but may niver dui 
wrang. 
I'll start wi' " Kit Craffett," the wordy wise neybor, 
Sec, " Canny aul Cummerlan " seldom can neame ; 
He sarrad aw roun, hated slav'ry and tythin, 
An owt else that pniiv'd to aul Enylan asheame. 



300 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

Here's " Borrowdale Jwohnny," that ruid up to 
Lunnon ; 
An puir "Luckless Jonathan," queyte brokken 
doon ; 
An " Watty " frae Croglin, hawf-starvt, an ill- 
treatet, 
By Madgery Jackson, an fuils i' the toon : 
"The fellows roun Torkin," in twoastin odd 
husseys, 
'Till sailer was empty, ay boddomt the whart ; 
" The village gang," rif-rafa ! squire, priest, lawyer, 
doctor ; 
An "Michael the Miser" tui, play'd a base 
part. 

Here's "The Cocker o' Codbeck" an gamlin "Tom 
Linton " ; 
" Ned Hunter," a murd'rer, our countie's dis- 
greace ; 
" Calep Crosby " — " Tom Toweheed " — " Jurry 
Jowlter " — "Dick Watters" — 
"The bundle ov oddities" ; what a sad reace ! 
Here's " Nichol the Newsmonger" — "Dicky 
Glendinin " — 
" Jack Spang " — ' Sowdger Yeddy "—an " Mat- 
thew McCree" — 
" Daft Dick " — " Gwordie Gill " — " Corp'rel Gow- 
dy " — " Rob Lowry " — 
" Leyle Steebem " — " Kit Capstick " — an " Jon- 
athan Slee." 

Here's "The Sailor"— "The Stranger"— " The 
Shepherd " — " The Author " — 
"King Roger" — " Frien Crito," the king o' 
the lave ; 
" Silly Andrew " — " Laird Jwohnny" — " The Cum- 
meilan Farmer " 
"Uncle WuUy," an " WuUy that's far on the 
wave " ; 
" Sarvent Ned " — " Ned Carnaughan " — " The 
Buck o' Kingwatter " — 
" jefi an Job " — Jack an Tom "— " Dandy Dan " 
an '' Aul Ben " — 
" Th' aul Beggar "—" Aul Cuddy"— an "Aul 
Robbv Miller " — 
" Aul Calep an Watty " forbye " Twee aul Men," 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 301 



Here's " Bru2 Reaces," wi' thoosans drawn up 
frev aw quarters, 
Some struttin wi' preyde an some owre fain to 
bet ; 
" Bleckell Murry-neet," merry as onie e'er cud be, 
Whoar kisses were heard leyke the sneck of a 
yeat . 
Here's monstrous weyld Weddins, at "Codbeck'* 
an " Worton " ; 
"The Kurn-winnin " — " Clay daubin " — " Cur- 
senmess Eve," 
Whoar drinkin an sweerin an gamlin an cheatin, 
An fratchin an feghtin fworc'd monie to grieve. 

Here's " Variety " — " Peace " — '• The Invasion " — 
"Reed Robin " — 
"His answer " — " Leyfe's comforts" — " The days 
that are geane " — 
"The joys ov contentment" — "A gud weyfe's 
anxiety " — 
" The Invitation " — " The Fratch "— " Dandy 
Dan " — frae jail taen : 
Here's 'The Cram" — " Gilsden Spaw"— "Carel 
Fair " — an " The Cock-feght " — 
"Youth" — "Mistress Creake's tea partv " — 
"Aul Etty Bell"— 
" Gud adveyce " — " Yage an poverty " — " Corby " 
— " The Lennet " — 
" Peck o' punch " — ' Fadder's lecture " — " To 
Jwohn " — " Gud Strang yell " — 

Here's " The Contrast " — " Oor Jwohnny " — " The 
Preyde o' the Bworder " — 
"Elizabeth' burth-day " — an "Jenny's Com- 
plaint " — 
"Will an Keate" — "The Happy Couple" — "A 
weyfe fer Wall Miller" — 
'■ Feckless WuUy " — " Be merry to day " — " The 
Lament " — 
" The Dawston gran player-fwok " — " Jwohnny 
. n Mary " — 
" Leyle Dcavie" — " I lie TluiirsbyWitch" — "Raff 
an the Squire " — 
" Poverty's naesin " — " The baahfu Wooer " — " On 

Sarlm " — 
or Lanlword an Lanlcadv" aw mun admire. 



302 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 



Here's "The Sailor's return" — an 'The Mudder 
an Dowter " — 
An "Wlien muu we whop for Reform?" noo 
fwok peyne ; 
"Aw taxes flung by" — "The approach o' weyld 
winter" — 
Aul " Nichol the Newsmonger's death," an 
" Lang seyne " — 
"The Mudder's Fowt" — "Marget"— an "Fare- 
weel to Card" — 
" Happy family" — " The warl's but a stage " — 
an " Heame's heame"— 
"The Peet-cadger" — " Dinah" — "To a Frien laid 
in Prison" — 
"An Blithe Jwohnny Greame " — an " Oor 
Maister an Deame." 

Here's "Oor awn fire-seyde," whoar we held 
" Jurry's Cursnin " — 
"Aul Englau" — "My luive's but a lassie" — 
Ye'U see ; 
The puir "Widow's wail" — " Invitation to Crito" — 
"On the Author's birth-day" — He sits noo 
fifty-three ; 
"When shall we meet ageane " — "The visit" 
was pleasin ; 
"Primrwose banks" — an "The bonny lass wi' 
apron blue ;" 
"Adveyce to young Nanny" — "The Author's 
reflections " — 
Aul Ben's deeth," luive's madness, alas! 
meade him boo. 

Here's "Nathan an Winny"— an "Winny an 
Nathan" — 
An " Wully an Mary "—an " Jacep an Nell " — 
An "Tamer an Matty "— " The Beggar an Keatie " 
An "Tib an her Maister"— an "Barbary 
Bell"— 
"The Lass abuin thurty"— "The impatient 
Lassie" — 
"Jack an Fanny" — an "Grizzy"— an sweet 
"Sally Gray"— 
An " Hard-hearted Hannah "—an " Betty o' 
Branton " — 
"The Fortune-teller"— "Jwohnny an Jenny 

she'll flay. 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 303 

Here's Sally ov Irthin " that dee't brokken- 
hearted ; 
"The aul hollow Tree," whoar twee true luivers 
met ; 

"Leyfe's Changes," that fling monie gud fwok 
to ruin ; 
An " Juggy Mulrooney " that tuik in a set: 

"The Quilters," at wark, an "]\Iad Bess" an 
"Mad Mary"— 
"Aul Marget" — "Young Susy"— "The Aun- 
ty " — an " Jean " — 

"Mary o' Carlattan "— " The Flow'r o' the vil- 
lage"— 

"The Northumbrian lasses" — ' Threescwore an 
Nineteen." 

"Here's "Heddersgill Keatie " — "The lily of the 

valley "— 
"The Lassie of Hayton " — "The flow'r o' them 

aw " — 
"The lasses o' Carel "— ' Pea an Jen"— "Ruth" 
—an "Biddy"— 
"Betty Brown" — an young "Marget o' th* 
mill," sunk in woe ; 
"The None-such "— ' The ill-gien weyfe " — "Ann" 
— an "The Dawtie" — 
"Nanny Peal," an "The gud-for-nowt weyfe" 
— "Madame Jane" — 
"The rwose in June" — " Luivelworn Bess" — 

Puir "Dinah Dufton " — 
"Andrew's youngest dowter " — an Miss "Peggy 
Penn." 

Here's "The lass that luives me," an " Furst 
luive," an " Luive's keyndness," 
An "Luive disappointed" — "Luive as it sud 
be"— 
"The Delevtes o' Luive" — " True luive '' — " False 
luive,'' an luive's fuil'ry, 
" I'll ne'er luiv anuddcr " wheaiver luives me. 
Here's " Fareweel to the Muse" ; ay true thenks 
for her keyndncss. 
Puir Kobin will gie, but need court her nae mair ; 
By Hope noo deserted, gnm Deeth he may wel- 
come — 
Leyfe's winter to him pruivcs a dull scene o' 
care ! 



304 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

FAREWEEL TO THE MUSE. 
Tune — By the Author. 

Fareweel my Muse !— Thy rural dress 
An smeyles, li'cv nioiiie a day deleyicd; 

Noo want an grief mey meynd oppress. 
An aw the vvhopes ov leyfe are bleghted : 

As fade the flowr's at autumn's blast. 
So boos waak man to age an sorrow ; 

To-day refiectin on the past, 
Forgetful ov the cheat To-morrow, 
Fareweel , dear Muse ! 
Thy aid refuse 
To none who man wou'd serve ; but niver 
To mortals bow, 
Who'd veyce pursue — 
Fareweel, dear Muse ! Fareweel, for iver ! 

Hoo monie changes some endure ! 
When furst thy aid I fondly courted, 

Joy welcome gev to iv'ry hour. 
An labour aw I sowt, suppworted ; 

Tir'd wi' confusion, whoar ilk crood 
In maddning scenes the meynd owrepowers, 

I bade adieu to Lunnon, prood 
To visit Cumbria's pleasin bowers, 
Fareweel, dear Muse ! &c. 



Wi' thee hoo oft frae noise I've flown. 
The painfu cares o' leyfe begueylin ; 

We've stray'd whoar beauty daily shone, 
Ay fain to view deanie Nature smeylin ; 

At op'nin dawn, at darknin eve 
When weyld buirds sweet their praise wer pourin ; 

In bush an tree we'd luive perceive 
That oft to man pruives past endurin. 
Fareweel, dear Muse! &c. 

In peacefu glen, by windin stream 
We'd sing ov mirth or woes distressin : 

Now luive, joy, frienship pruiv'd the theme. 
Or virtue's praise, Heavn's greatest blessin : 



CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 305 

Ne'er did we flatter purse-prood kneaves, 
Ne'er cherish'd veyce or base oppression ; 

For he who makes his brethren slaves, 
Mun fin the pangs o' foul transgression. 
Fareweel, dear Muse ! &c. 



When angry Boreas lood wad blaw, 
To spoil the bonny smeyles ov Nature ; 

When Winter weyld. wrapt up in snaw 
Froon'd on ilk puir^lefenceless creature ; 

Thy visits at the close of day, 
In lowly shed I hail'd wi' gladness ; 

We sang the gloomy neet away, 
An mourn'd for fwok in want or sadness. 
Fareweel, dear Muse ! &c. 



We've wander 'd oft thro' Erin's vales, 
An heard the sangsters hail the mwornin, 

When Spring gov health in fav'ring gales, 
Wi' weyl-llowers Nature's dress adornin : 

Oft then wad fond remembrance stray 
Owre scenes romantic, iver pleasin, 

Whoar youth enjoy'd the pcacefu day ; 
Nor mortals e'er my meynd keept leazin. 
Fareweel, dear Muse ! &c. 



The manners ov the rustic train 
To paint, hath been my fond endeavour : 

The frowns ov censure T dis lain. 
The smeyles ov fame I courted niver : 

The peacefu farmer we'd amuse. 
When Neet her gloomy robe wa.? wearin— 

Thy aid thoo seldom didst refuse ; 
O, thcnks my Muse! for teyme thus cheerin. 
Fareweel, dear Muse ! &c. 



To neane thy sowt-assistance Icn, 
When lurin lays j^ruive man's undom ; 

Still to the studious be a fricn. 
When virtue's p dh they seem pursuin, 

Fareweel, my Muse! thy rural dress, 



306 CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 

An smeyles my fi icns an foes deleyted ; 

But yage hath boo VI me to distress, 
An leyfe's endearin hopes are bleghtcd ! 

Farewoel, dear Muse! 

Thy aid refuse 
To none who man would serve : but niver 

To mortals boo 

Who'd veyce pursue — 
Fareweel, dear Muse ! Fareweel for iv«»r 



ongs of ^niersou 

HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED.* 



THE JUBILEE OF A CUMBERLAND 
MARRIAGE. 

Now, weyfe, full fifty years are geane 

Sin in our kurk I meade thee meyne, 
But frae that day, we neer to yen 

Did what could hurt our hearts sin-seyne : 
The rwoses lang have left our cheeks ; 

Sec ne'er to thee or me caus'd care — 
We help the puir that owt e'er seeks 

An whop to leeve a happy pair. 

At Carel market, when we met, 

I mejTi, as if 'twas just to-day ; 
We sat, in luive, an thou was tret, 

I set thee heamward aw the way. 
When wark was duin, owtc hill an muir, 

Luive led me oft, for what was fair ; 
Thy bonny feace I saw ilk hour, 

An whopt we'd leeve a happy pair. 

We lost our bairns, leyle Jwohn and Greace, 

Sec neer was wrang — God's will be duin ! 
Leyke thee and me, ilk shew'd a feace ; 

An nar the twee, we may lig suin : 
Hed they leev'd, we'd hae towt them reet, 

In what ne'er leeds to want or care 
Sweet things ! this day they plishure meeght 

Hae gien us twee, the happy pair. 

O, Greace ! it narly brak mcy heart 
When in a fever thou was thrown ; 

I seeght, an thowt by Decth we'd part. 
But wish for hilth was daily shewTi : 

• Thwc arc srlrctcd from al>oiit fiftv unpiibliilicd Songs that 
have been vcrv kindlv sent to me bv Mr, K. And.rsoii, the Poet's 
nephew, and other Anders, nian rolkctors all over Cuinberland. 
1 have carefully comparrd them with all the printed editions and 
cannot find that they have appeared before. — Editor. 



3o8 SONGS OF ANDERSON. 

Then, when mey shouder yance gat brak, 
In reydin heame frae Rosley Fair, 

Thou'd try to speak, but gowl'd, nor spak 
Yet, now weleeve a happy pair. 

We're now beyth gangin down leyfe's hill, 

Yet, hilthy, leyke owre few we see ; 
At Carel, suin, I'll mek mey will. 

An try to please beath thee an me : 
My nephew, leeiu, sweerin, caws, 

Sae he our money sannet share 
Thy niece what's reet for ever shews, 

Sae she sal thenk the happy pair. 

We ne'er to onie gev offence, 

I ne'er wad differ wi' mey deame, 
Nor wi' a mortal e'er fratcht yence, 

Let's wish aw roun cud say the seame ! 
When fwok dui reet, then whop they may 

Bliss in anudder warl to share — 
Sud we leeve lang, till leyfe's last day, 

W^'U ever pruive a happy pair. 



THE GUD SCIiUILMAISTER.* 

Oor Schuilmaister, Barney's, a wise worthy fellow. 
To lam weel the scholars pruives daily his plan. 
He keeps them aye modest, wants aw to be cliver. 
An fondly gies praise, when they dui what they can. 
In reedin, in reytin, in countin, or grammar, 
He points out a way that to aw mun seem clear, 
To him it's the seame, whether parents hev plenty. 
Or it leyke sae monie, they daily leeve puir. 

* I have been unable to find in my searchings amongst the 
Poet's Papers and MemSranda any evidence pointing out directly 
and by name the Schoolmaster here referred to. In those old 
days, many of the Village Schoolmasters were men of mark, men 
of high mental culture and education, of untiring industry and 
devotion to their duty. Rev. Joshua Relph, the first Cumber- 
land Dialect Poet was an eminent e.xaraple. He taught in the 
village of Sebergham, and died of consumption at the early age of 
31 years. The way i" which, when he was dying, he sent for each 
of his pupils and impressed upon them his lessons of morality and 
religion, reminds one of the language that Anderson has put 
into the mouth of "The Gud Schuilmaister" in this Poem. 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 309 

He niver liks yen, but whilk e'er play the trowin, 

Nae whops need enjoy, back to schuil to return ; 

What then, leyke weyl chaps shew their impudence 
daily 

An just tek upo' them, what leads sec to scorn ; 

When Freyday neet comes, they aw git a lang lec- 
ture ; 

If sec they wad me3md, it mud cause happy days — 

Our Jwhonny can aye neame what's said by the 
maister. 

Last week, he spak thus ; it desarves ilk yen's praise. 

" Now, scholars, instruction still larn frae yer 

teacher, 
An study but what to true virtue may lead ; 
You duty shew daily to our great Creator, 
And works that give loiowledge endeavour to read : 
All wickedness scorn, what draws mortals to ruin. 
Attend to Religion, rich, poor, if you be ; 
In youth and in manhood let Vice still prove hated. 
Due praise give to Justice, such hoping to see ! 

" Still make conversation what may afford knowledge 

No impudence during life ever once shew ; 

From gaming live clear, what brings numbers to 

sorrow. 
All idleness scorn to distress it must throw : 
Industry whenever in power make your study, 
Still with true attention just learning pursue ; 
Prove fond to gain wisdom and show polite manners. 
Do always to others as you'd be done to. 

" A lie never name, tho leyke numbers you suffer. 
Swear not except when you are bound by the law ; 
Feel anxious for friendship, nor glory for quarrel. 
Be pride ne'er your study, what too many shew ; 
Let that not be done, what your health may endanger, 
When still you can serve, do your good to the poor ; 
What's stated by me ever anxious remember. 
Then happiness hope for till life's chwing hour I" 

Sanderson, Anderson's most intimate friend and commentator, 
was also an example. He came on^nially from the same village 
Sebergham, and annotated and published a volume of Relph'i 
Poems. Almost to the last he taught in KirUlinton, what in those 
days would be known as a Cumberland Grammar School, and 
from what I have heard and kfxiwn of him, during my residence 
in the same parish, he mi^ht well be a prototype of the School- 
master described in the text. Anderson himself says of him, that 
be was 

"One born to succour, and instruct mankind 
To vice, ambition, e'en to folly blind." 



3IO SONGS OF ANDERSON. 



Tho' now far in years, yet I well can meyn daily, 
In schuils aw roun us, we nin sec cud neame. 
Our Maister, sad tyrant, ilk hour wad keep floggin 
Puir innocent fellows that nae yen sud bleame 
Keyn Barney that cliver larnt man just keeps forty, 
Nor waddent to-mworn tek a son frae the Squire — 
I wish in our county we scwores cud fin leyke him. 
He's aye fain to dui what we aw mun admire ! 



THE WIGTON TRUE SINGER.* 

The Wigton gud singer, lets now justly gie. 
For aw that hev hard him, they ay fain will see ; 
He niver sings onie thing true fwok can bleame, 
Pruives just, in sang, music — Owre few dui the seame! 
I've hard him sing sweetly, an heaps sec aye tell, 
Lang may he leeve weel, shewin gud fer his-sell ! 

When fwok er fain singin, let them gie the sang, 
Iv gud, or bad, yet far owre monie dui wrang ; 
They'll alter words, leynes, nor true music shew fain. 
In nonsense deleytin — Let aw dui, whats plain ! 
Hes best we aye lissen tui ! heaps leyke me tell ; 
Lets praise a just man, that dis gud fer his-sell, 

Hes lang leev'd in Wigton, and carries on trade, 
It's gud tew aw fwok, heeps ov mony thus meade I 
Hes cutter, at Printfiel, aw busy theer still 

* Known long by the Author. 
Mr. McMechan of Wigton informs the Editor that the lines 
were upon the late Mr. William Johnston, who was a "block 
cutter" at Wigton Calico printing works, that is, he was one of 
those who cut or engraved the patterns upon the blocks usetl to 
print the designs upon the cloth, then done by hand, for which 
was at that time famous. He and Anderson were very intimate, 
and, while in Cumberland the poet almost invariably consulted 
Mr. Johnston as to tune to which to set his songs to, his practice 
being, I understand to get the air well into his mind, and get the 
rhythm to fit in with it, which accounts for the words and tune 
going so well together. Mr. McMechan adds " Mr. Johnston was 
my uncle, so I used to hear a good deal about Andrrson, and have 
had many of his pieces in his beautiful hand writing in my hands. 
Mr. Johnston had an extensive repertoire of Anderson's songs, 
of which he was an inimitable exponent, as was also one of his 
sons, the late Mr. Johnston, dentist of Carlisle." 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 3" 

What niver can shew to be mortal owt ill : 
Sae, lang may he work on, an fwok fainly tell, 
Ay joyful, thro leyfe he dis gud fer his-sell. 

Lets wish we'd him here, in hilth fain to sing, 
A gud sang gien reetly, true plishure may bring. 
But them bawdy sangs nin sud sing or eer reed, 
Sec mun pruive disgreacefu to onie, indeed ; 
Yet, aw leyke the man we neame, let fwok aye tell, 
Lang leyfe may they share, duin good for their-sell. 



HARD-WORKIN JWOSEP.* 

Joe works hard, aw day, an ofien at neet, 
Nae teyme he e 'er Iwoses, when hilth he can share 
He'll ne'er leave his heamc, onie cronies to meet ; 
Ilka Sunday, he aye reads the Beyble, whats fair ; 
Owt wicked or weyld, neer thro' leyfe he'll yence 

shew. 
Industry sud aye pruive the study ov aw ! 
His wefyes a just woman, that still desarves praise. 
Hard wark and modesty, aye seems her preyde, 
She'd raider lig ill, than mek fuil'ry leyfes ways, 
Aa ! happy she's been, sin he meade hur his breyde ! 
Nae fratchin she's hed sin she fell in wid Joe, 
Peace iver sud pruive the just study ov aw ! 

Twee sons they brong up, in a schuil beath weel towt, 

They copy the fadder, an dui what he'll bid ; 

Sae, they may share plenty ; he houses hes bowt. 

But leyle they'd cum in for, if wrang he aye did : 

He scairce e'er lickt owther, the neybors well trow, 

Sae duty sud aye pruive the study ov aw ! 

He's keept the wcyfe's sister, queyte rect, for some 

years, 
Now, Icame, an unhilthy, she scairce owt can dui, 
But sits l)y the fire seyde, an offen drops tears, 
Puir suffrer, she may suin submit Id it, tui : 
If hilthy fwoke be'r in illness ligg'd low, 
Deeth ivcr sud pruive the just study ov aw. 

• In looking ovor Anderson's Poems 1 h.ivp thought the above 
might suitably appear in this Collection, both as a dialect piece, 
and more especially in it represents what is by no means 
uncommon in Cumberlan<l, a man who seems to live almost 
solely for unceasing hard work. 



312 SONGS OF ANDERSON. 



Keyn Joe, sae industress, nae miser is he ; 

Nay puir starvin beggars, that muckle endure, 

Meat, money, an gud adveyce, aye fain he'll gie, 

Sae, joys he may hae thro leyfe, cfter Deeth's hour, 

To sarra, sud still pruive the study ov aw ! 

Let's wish fvvok in aw parts men leyke Joe cud neame, 

Aul Englan's now crowdet, whoar heaps aye dis 

wrang. 
They wish to dui daily, what truth may caw sheam. 
Then, how can sec whop in the best warl to gang ? 
Twer wise if that weylness aseyde chaps wad throw 
Theer is, what sud aye pruive the study ov aw. 



FAIN TO DUI REET. 

Tune — By the Author. 

Gud luck to ye beath, now, aul Jwohonny an Nanny, 
A pair leyke ye, aw maks owre seldom cud see, 
Yer modest, an cheerful an keynd an aye labour, 
Sae, lets whop, for years ye beath happy may be ! 
You've brong up rare bairns, that leyke ladder and 

mudder 
Still study their duty, ilk day, an ilk neet ; 
They wunnet shew weylness, that's now grown queyte 

common, 
What fwok sud aye praise them thats fain to dui reet. 

Now, Jwohnny, it's full forty years sin ye married. 

An comrades we've been sin we furst went to schuil. 

On Sundays we set off to kurk, aye togidder, 

Sae nae yen need owther caw ye or me full ; 

We never deleyted in fratchin, or feghtin. 

In leein, or sweerin, owre oft sec we meet ; 

An' what can their meynes be when Deeth's cummin 

nar them, 
Oh Man ! rich or puir, sud aye study whats reet. 

Now, Nanny, we've scwores o' teymes met i' the 

market, 
An oft shar'd true plishure, when at Leady Fair ; 
We'd drink a glass, crack on, an' reyde heame to- 

gedder, 
Sae, now in aul yage, we just whops daily share : 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 313 



When young by the squire you wer long, long sweet- 
fa eart'd. 
To lead ye to ruin, how fain he'd oft treat. 
He tuik in neyce lasses, ith greave hes now liggin, 
Sec fellows sud suffer, that shew, whats nit reet. 

We aw three leeve hilthy, by wark meade plenty. 
An aye when they caw, wi fain sarra the peer ; 
If flung down in illness, widout whop ov leevin 
We'd think-o' the better warl ; fain to be theer. 
Now, i' that aul yage, wi' me thowts o' lang leevin, 
I'll creep off to bed, may ye share a gud neet ! 
If weel or ill lets praise to God still be given. 
We've seldom duin rang, ever fain to dui reet. 



THE REDBREAST. 

Loud o'er the Knockay* bias the blast 

And winter frowns wi hollow roar, 
I thinkin sit, a gloomy guest. 

An mark thee Robin, ne'er my door ; 
In want thou seems wi simple sang, 

To mourn the sweets o' summer fled ; 
To thee the low'rm day seems lang 

Life's autumn bows my achin head. 

Sweet bird ! ilk momin, eenin, ca ; 

I'll sair'the. sae I'd help the puir. 
My wish is aw meade sec their law. 

But man, beast, bird, maun much endure I 
Too few to thee will thraw a crum — 

Too few shew me a friendly haun, 
Uk hour thou fins a fae in some ; 

An sec to me pruives monie a man. 

Puir namesake I proud on thee I gaze, 

Whate'cr I hac, the puir may share — 
O, may I gain good mortuls praise, 

And heedless seem o' want and care ! 
Thy prisncr. Fate, a l)oon I crave 

A lew years mair, O, grant to me I 
Fain wad I shiel' frac care the lave, 

An wipe the tear frae sorrow's e'e. 

• A high hill in the North of Ireland. 



314 SONGS OF ANDERSON. 

SlTklMHR WEATHKK*— 1830. 

Odd changes ov weather, this summer wev hed 

Sec aul fwok can niver yence meyn ; 
To farmers, nay neane to plenty its led, 

What aye tliey wer mekin lang seyne : 
But summer or winter, whate'er they may be. 

Let's wonder nit, coming odd ; 
True thcnks ev'ry body on Earth sud aye gie 

It's reet to show duty to God. 

Aw seasons er changin, nea wonder, indeed, 

Howe'er we may carry on lang, 
Theer is a just study, that eveny yen need 

Tell truly, whea sit ten amang : 
Yet sad fuils alas, far owre offen er seen. 

Aye drivin on impudence odd ; 
How shemfu that leein, or sweerin be glen ! 

Its reet to shew duty to God : 

What weather fwok wish, nea wonder to tell, 

They sec for a few days may hev ; 
To lang leyfe man whopt for the weyfe an his sell, 

Nae wonder beath suin i' the greave : 
We've some fwok deleytin to aw maks aroun ; 

We've owre monie driven on odd 
Howe'er rich or puir, 1' the country or town. 

It's reet to show duty to God. 



DEAVIE THE BEGGAR. 

Deavie, a Beggar, now gans roun an roun. 

The dog leads him far ev'ry day 
He still leykes the country much better nor town, 

Nae odds the seame monie can say ; 
A wheyle seyne, hed plenty to sarra the puir, | 

Bit bondships laid that gud man low ; 
An when fwok he meets, wey, nowts said but what's 
clear — , 

That man sud be pitied by aw. 

• From both internal and external evidence I judge this to be 
the last song that Anderson wrote. The date itself is I think 
almost sufficient to decide this.— Editor. 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 31 5 

He aye mud hae caw't at our house when he wad, 

An joyju sat theer day an neet ; 
Mey ladder, to help sec a yen, was aye glad, 

By givin cleas, money an meat ; 
They've been weel accquaintet for full sixty years, 

Nae tweesome was iver mair keyn ; 
The taen's hilthy. wealthy : the tudder appears 

111, blin, an now laid up far beheyn. 

Puir Deavie ! he'd yence a gud weyfe, an a son. 

Now lang they've beath laid i' the greave ; 
Aa ! daily, when axin frae fwok what he mun. 

Bit leyle frae acquaintance he'll hev ; 
E'en him that by bondship sae muckle has lost. 

That fuil ne'er yence helps the puir man. 
Sec shews, ther's owre monie may be in want tost. 

When aye fain to dui what they can ! 

Twas nobbet this mwomin, mey fadder just sed, 

" A beggar nay nit lang he's be ; 
He'll come an leeve wid us, hae meat, an a bed 

That's nit wrang to thee or to me ! 
" Dear fadder, says I, " you aye tell what may 
please, 

Mey wish is, he'll come here er lang : 
God bliss ye, for keepin that good man in ease I 

A beggar nae mair may he gang. 



BONNY GREACE.— A Dialogue. 



How dark the neet when we twea meet 

But cannot walk owrc hill or glen 
Neer ak ! let's sit an crack a bit 

Ov luivc, just till the clock streykes ten 
When I's m bed, asleep wecl laid ; 

I aye gaze on thy rwosy fcace. 
An drcamin still, brings me nae ill ; 

I's talkin on wi bonny Greace I 



3i6 SONGS OF ANDERSON. 

GREACE. 

Wey, true luive, Ben, pruives reet to yen ; 

I now may say the seame to ye ; 
When just laid down, an sleepin soun', 

I see nin talk wi' neane but thee : 
Tho monie caw, preyde, flatt'ry shew, 

When I sit spiunin nar our fire ; 
I've luive fer nin, that cer steps in, 

But thee — dear lad — that I admire. 

BEN. 

O, thenks, sweet lass ! Gud years mud pass. 
If I cud just caw thee my breyde ; 

We'd happy leeve, nor yen deceive. 
For virtue aw sud mek their preyde 

Now here's the ring, to thee I bring 
Twas bowt at Carel, just this day 

If that thu'd tek, it joy mud mek — 

To Gratena, suin, let's reyde away, 



Ay, Ben, we'll gang, when nit owre thrang, 

I've money, plenty, that thou's share 
My aunt's laid low, an she's left aw 

To me, an that we'll lig out fair — 
The clock says now to sleep, beath bow I 

Sae true luive suin '11 be our dream ; 
An heer's a han, I'd gie nae man 

But thee howiver rich he'd seem ! — 



My bonny lass, thou brings a glass 

Here's hilth I wish to thee thro leyfe 1 
Thou'U suin be meyne, but ne'er repeyne ; 

For duty I'll aye shew to the weyfe ! 
We'll change thy neame, what nin need bleame 

We'll teake a farm in some sweet pleace, 
We'll whop for joy, ne'er hilth destroy — 

Gud neet — God's bliss be theyne, dear 
Greace ! 

Robert Anderson. 
November ist, 1827. 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 3^7 



BONDSHIP* 

O deame ! dunnet gowl sec to neane can dui gud, 
But profitless aye causes grief 
Let's shew nit the picture sae monie fwok mud, 
But try to leeve cheerfu as puir bodies sud, 
An whop we may get some relief. 

We're taen in fer hundreds, but this is nit aw. 
What fortune but smeyles on a few 
Her dowter Misfortune owTe oft gies a caw 
An Bondship he's meade monie gud farmers few. 
Then oft in a jail they may rue. 

For full twenty years, aw our crops wad luik feyne, 
This year we to poverty fell ; 

Whene'er fwok grow puir oft the rich leyke to shejrne, 
Our landlword now tells us what was theyne now is 

mejrne, 

Yer stock and crop suin aw mun sell. 

Just think ov our Squire, he hed rare heaps o' gear, 
'Twas Bondship laid him in the jail, 
He aye shewt his keynness to rich fwok an puir, 
But now robb'd ov aw what he e'er drops a tear 
O, Pity sec fwok owt sud ail. 

There's Jwohn my keyn cronie says he'll gie me wark, 
An weekly gud weages aw get, 
I'll labour wi' plishure by day leet an dark 
An thenk him an daily his goodness remark, 
Sae niver let thee or me fret. 

Let's ever leeve patient, an hilth whop to share, 
Nor e'er wish to dui wrang to yen, 
Be honest an cheerfu, and laught at dull care. 
We've lang enjoy't blissings an beath may hev mair 
When frae this weyl warl we are taen. 

• Bondship, more especially amongst farmers and yeoman, 
Kcms to have been the curse which ruined and brought to 
poverty some of the most afHucnt Cumbrians. I well remember 
a poor old l.ime carrier, who used to trudpc alongside his donkey 
and cart two or three times a week, between the Abbey and 
Wigton. He bore the name and claimed relationship with a 
gentleman, who was at that time a most noted Carlisle banker, 
and he olten uiicd to relate how his father was entirely ruined bv 
BoniUhip, which had thus brought a lasting poverty upon himself 
and family. 



3i8 SONGS OF ANDERSON. 



THE BONNY STAMPT GOWN.* 

Last week in our bam I thresht ae day, 

An fain to git duin, I struive ; 
An wTowt on as hard as onie chap may 

But niver yence thowt o luive. 
Just duin, a neyce lass stonisht me a wheyle, 

I thowt she hed cum frae town. 
Then luikt at her shep, her feace, her smeyle 

An' nwotisht the bonny stampt gown. 

I pat on mey cwoat, an out I went, 

Thinks I we'll a crack hev now ; 
East, west, north, south, wi luives intent 

I glowr't, but her ne'er cud view. 
I crap up the hill, clam up 't yek tree, 

An luikt for a meyle, aw roun ; 
But, that canny lass I ne'er cud see, 

Nor onie dont in a stampt gown. 

I stowtert off heame, an fan queyte queer. 

Was nit yence in luive till then, 
I've caw't at aw houses, far, far an near. 

But sec a lass ne'er seed yen'! 
What luive flings nionie chaps back owre deep. 

When 't clock streykes ten I lig down, 
An think, wish, seegh, whene'er I can sleep, 

A dream shews the bonny stampt gown. 

At Carel, to-mwom, I'll saunter ilk street. 
In luive yen scarce wark can dui, 

I'd gie mey leyl farm that lass to meet, 
To hev her give the girt yen tui ; 



* There is a verse in the author's hand, written in lead pencil 
upon a separate scrap of paper, and pinned on to the original M.S. 
of this Song. Though written doubtless by Anderson, this verse 
is inferior to the Song generally. In this verse he tells us that 
" at Woodbank, near Carel, this gown was stampt." Where he 
learned this he does not say, and with regard to " the neyce lass," 
the most unaccountable way in which she appeared and then 
disappeared, makes one fancy that "the thresher" must have 
seen a myth. Possibly she was the Muse of Cumberland Song, 
for it will be remembered that in " The Vision " of Bums, the 
Muse of Scottish Song appears to him under somewhat similar 
c^cumstances, where he says — 

"The threshers weary flinging tree ; 
The lee lang day hed wearied me." 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 319 



If I canna see her, let grim Death caw, 
He niver can meake me frown ; 

Whej-le lee\'in I'll wish for the lass I saw, 
An think on her bonnie stampt gown. 



THE AUTHOR ON HIMSELF. 

I's weary grown o' this weyld warl, 

Whoar bowin fuils can oflen thrive, 
But at puir bodies owre oft .snarl, 

Wheyle modest merit oft may thrive ; ■ 
I wunnet worship costly gear 

Or praise a hauky purse-proud kneave ; 
But poverty through leyfe I'll bear, 

True freedom's ow the wealth I creave. 

That pamper'd Squire seems wretched now^ 

Speyte ov his ill got Ian for mcyle«. 
That farmer puir, we pleas'd may view 

At our misfortunes frowTis he smeyles, 
Leyke me, are thrown aseyde, 

'Een laught at when nae whops they see ; 
To court greet fwolv, was ne'er mey preyde. 

Nor what I suffer yence shall be. 

I've labor'd lang for aw aroun, 

But few to me now keynness shew, 
Waak, and in poverty flung down. 

Whops wheyle we leeve, aseyde lets throw 
How monie aye are wrapt in care. 

When ne'er a mortal wad oppress. 
Wheyle others plenty daily share, 

Still wishin outhers to distress. 

Years, fifty five, now owre aro flown. 

Sin lurst on this weyl warl I gaz'd, 
Weel rcar'd by twee in want aye tlirown 

An leyke them aw mun ne'er be rais'd ; 
But come what will wlicn wee! or ill, 

Nowt sec sud e'er effect the meynd ; 
Man's preyde sud be his duty still. 

Then on his death bed whopes iie'U find. 



320 SONGS OF ANDERSON. 



THE BIRTHDAY OF ROBERT BURNS.* 

O ! blest be the Bard who has fancy that roves, 

Where freedom the Beacon of glory still shews, 
Enriching his readers while virtue he loves, 

Great thanks to that writer his country still owes ; 
How many will flatter the wealthy each hour, 

Thus scribbling for plenty with fal'=e hopes of 
fame ; 
But Scotia's great Bard shew'd what was in his 
power, 

And gave to all classes, what honours his name 

To think of the Bard such may call forth a tear. 

Love, freedom, true sentiment still was his pride. 
And stemming corruption ere manhood's late year. 

All hopes of life's comforts were then thrown 
aside : 
Whate'er be man's suffrin's, bow'd down during life, 

Tho falsehood detecting, just merit to claim ; 
A foe to pride, folly, ambition and strife — 

Think such was great Bums, and give praise to his 
name. 

Too many gain praise who would brethren enslave. 

And glory in what leads to want and keen woe ; 
Too few on this earth wish poor suffrers to save, 

Tho labrin for all, they may daily live low ; 
The fame of the Patriot now mortals will raise. 

Advice to his brethren prov'd ever his aim 
O, that all cou'd boast of his long happy days, 

The readers of Burns must give praise to his 
name. 

Sweet Bard of the North, ever bright to mankind 
Are his polish'd stanzas, enlivening the throng. 

The warm sun of genius still shone in his mind. 

All his lays aie delighting, and pleasing each song ; 

• Of the extreme veneration of Anderson for Burns, there is 
abundant testimony in the Poet's own handwriting, which his 
relations and other collectors of them have so kindly sent to me 
for compilation in this the Centenary edition of his Ballads. There 
are no less than six or seven Poems, either directly addressed to 
or warmly eulogising the poet Burns. So far as I can judge, the 
Poem here given was written on the occasion of Anderson's visit 
to Mrs. Burns, shortly after the Poet's death. Of this, be himself 
says, "finding it impossible to do justice to the occasion, the 
efiiusion was never shewn." 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 321 



All mortals of sense his true works must admire. 
If freedom and friendship be ever their aim ; 

They fill every mind with what man should desire, 
Then let men for ever give praise to his name. 

Wit, sentiment, humour, simplicity, truth. 

He gave Nature's scenery fond daily to trace ; 
The true bhss of \\'isdom was shewn in his youth 

Exposing sad wildness to man a disgrace : 
A foe to corruption, that leads to despair. 

What proves to each country on earth still a 
shame. 
Such Poets thro life all our thanks ought to 
share. 

But too few thro life the great Bard thus did name. 

How oft on this wild world we daily may view, 

Base mortals, to whom joy and plenty are shewn ; 
While some, bless'd with genius, who virtue pursue. 

Life's suffrings must bear, e'en to poverty throwTi : 
'Twas thus Avith the Bard, who till hfe's closing 
day, 

Vice ever exposed, that draws millions to shame, 
But since that sad hour, when by death drawn aw.iy, 

That pleasure he earn'd, all with pleasure still 
name. 



ADIEU TO ERIN. 

Yes, Erin, I maun quat thy shore, 

A heartless son o' want and woe ; 
Thy hills an' glens delight no more. 

Now misery sinks my spirits low : 
When forc'd far o'er the white waved main, 

Howc'cr I to Misfortune bow, 
In fancy I'll see thee again, 

For, sighing, now I bid adieu I 



522 SONGS OF ANDERSON. 

Peace to thy swains, green happy Isle, 

Whase plains a blest abundance yield ! 
Thy hardy sons inur'd to toil, 

Proud for their country grasp the shield : 
Proud to defend the friend, the fair, 

An' mak ilk vile oppressor rue ; 
While thus, ay.' be they Heaven's great care, 

Sae prays the Bard wha bids adieu ! 

My pipe, first tun'd in Eden's Bow'rs, 

When eager fancy forward led. 
We yet may cheat some lazy hours. 

When wand' ring far in hopes of bread ; 
Yes, Erin, thine are plaintive strains. 

That when I hear will en' to view 
Blest scenes amang thy smiling plains, 

I dreamt not, thus to bid adieu ! 

Ten times hath Winter stripped the trees. 

Sin first I sa' the Shamrock Isle, 
Alt proud I've been the pen to seize. 

To draw the tear, or court the smile : 
Though monie scorn'd my humble lays. 

To freedom and to Nature true, 
I sought nae puff'd-up critic's praise. 

To such I smilin' bid adieu ! 

Ye* wha the Muse's favors share, 

Lang may ye bauldly sweep the string ; 

To crush ilk vice be aye your care. 
Syne mak aul Erin's valleys ring ! 

* F. J. Bigger, Esq., Editor of the Ulster Journal of Archx- 
blogy, says ia an article on Anderson that appeared in that 
journal, February, 1899, that in Anderson's time quite a coterie 
of Poets published their songs and addresses in Belfast and 
neighbourhood. James Orr, of Ballycarry, issued a volume in 
1805, containing an epistle to Samuel Thompson, the schoolmaster 
of Carngreine, who a year later published his little volume, with 
many sonnets and epistles. Hugh Tj-nan, "un-noticed, helpless 
and forlorn " in Donaghadee, yet found time to publish some sad 
and reflective Poems (published in 1803), whilst a few years later, 
Hugh Porter, a County Down weaver, sent forth his poetic 
attempts, by no mean^ devoid of merit. Miss Balfour, from her 
prim ladies' school in Belfast, wrote many fine pieces, and trans- 
lated with taste much original Irish Poetry. Mr. Bigger adds in 
a note in the same article that he has over 100 volumes of Poetry 
in his library written by Belfast men, and those hailing from the 
immediate vicinity of the city. , 



SONGS OF ANDERSON. 323 

Sweet Bard* wha mark'd my hamely strains. 

A fav'rite o' the Muse art thou, 
Enliv'nin aye thy native plains 

I'm wae to say to thee adieu I 

Companions o' my social hours. 

To leave you prompts a heartfelt sign ; 
Fond mem'rv turns to joys aft ours, 

When care an' slander we'd defy ; 
Let Fortune smile, or let her fro^vn, 

Tho' she my path wi' thorns may strew. 
Your friendship aye wi' pride I'll own, 

An painfu' 'tis to bid adieu ! 

Fareweel, ye cheerfu' lasses a'. 

But thou the dear ane I loe best. 
When borne frae thee, far, far awa'. 

Keen sorrow aft will break my rest ! 
I pledge thee wi' affection's kiss. 

This wae-wom heart to thee beats triie ; 
We yet may meet, m realms o' bliss, 

Ne'er, ne'er again to bid adieu ! 

'Tis hard, when love and friendship bind, 

The caul, caul word fareweel to use ; 
It draws a tear, it racks the mind, 

But wha Fate's mandates can refuse ? 
Fareweel, dear friens ! farewell, fause faes I 

The first a crowd, the last but few ; 
My heart wi' these — my peace wi' thase, 

I bid ye a' a lang adieu ! 

• Mr. Andrew McKcnzie. 

Sweet BARD.-ln the article before quoted Mr. Biggar thus 
speaks of the Bard here noted. Andrew McKenzie, from his 
wMver-8 loom at Dunover, addressed, in 1810, his stanzas to 
Robert Anderson, who arrived at Belfast only two years previous : 
M their poetic instmcte had soon made them acquainted 
Andersoii returned this compliment in the news letter, dating it 
Trom Carnmoney, 29th October, .810. By ? ""f l^'V^^' k^ 
enough with literary men 11. those days, he speaks of McKenzie by 
the nom de plume of Gadus. and it is thus in Poems and Letters 
Anderson most frequently refers to him. 



A Glossarial 
Concordance 

TO THE 

CUMBERLAND BALLADS 

OF 

ROBERT ANDERSON. 

Wherein all the most peculiar words are explained, 

and illustrative references are given to the 

writings of the Cumberland Bard. 

COMPILED FOR THE CENTENARY EDITION, 
BY 

GEO. CROWTHER. 



The numberi are those of the Soni;s in the Index in which 
the word is found. The Index shows the page at which the Song 
is found. The Glossarial Concordance takes in mainly the first 
8 1 liaUadt. Where a name is given instead of a number, it is 
the title of a Sonq. Where the word is found very generally, no 
number is given. 



GLOSSARY, 



A. Song 

A-bed, in bed ... ... i 

Abuii), above ... 5, 9 39 
Ack, Ak, to care, to lay 

to heart ...6,44 76 

Ae, one ... ... 5 41 

A-fit, on foot ... ... 34 

Afwore, before ... ... i 

Aga, ague ... ... ... 58 

Agean, again 49. '5 3 

Aggy, Agnes 3 

AJiint, behind 76,60 2i 

A-horse, on horseback ... 34 
Aikton, a village near 

Wigton ... ... 9 

Ail, to be indisposed ... 34 

Airms, arms ... ... 63 

Ajy, awry ... ... ... 4 

Ak : see Ack. 

Alang, along 

Allyblaster, alabaster ... 5 

Amang, among ... ... 22 

Amang hands, among other 

things ... ... ... 22 

Ambrie, aumry, a pantry ... 41 

An, and ... ... 79 80 

Anenst, Anent, opposite ... 41 

Anonder, under ... ... 50 

Anudder, another 4, 8, 41 67 

Armin chair, an arm chair .. 94 

Aroun, around ... ... 11 

As, as if ... 47 

As-buird, ashes board, a 

box to carry ashes 

40,50 59 
Aseyde, beside, near to 
'At, contraction of Thai ... 3 
Atomy, a skeleton [an ana- 
tomy] ... ... 56 

Atween, bct^vcen ... ... i 

Aul, Auld. Oald, old 2, 3 6 

Aunty, aunt ... 22 27 

Aw, all ... ...6, 15 12 

Aw maks, all makes, all 

sorts ... ... 33 03 

Awn, own ... ... ... 75 

Awncri, owners ... 44 49 

Ax, to a5k ... ...8, 24 41 

Ax at kiirk, to have the 

banns published ... 115 

Aye, alwayi, ... ... 41 



Song 
Ay, expression of assent 

wonder, ... ... 41 

Ayont, beyond ... 3, 9 76 

B. 

Bab, Barbara ... ... 2 

Babs, babes ... ... 53 

Bacco, tobacco, 41, 76, 54 63 

Back-buird, a baking 

board ... ... 54 

Back seyde, the yard behind 

the bouse ... ... 38 

Badger, a pedlar, a corn 

factor ... ... 3 

Bailie, Bealie, bailiff 81 53 

?Bain, near 

Bairn, child, one lately 

born ... 3. 6, 13 41 

Bais'd, Baizt, Bazed, mad- 
dened ... ... 76 81 

Baith, Beath, both ... 29 

Baitin, a healing ; a teas- 
ing 19 

Bakin, bacon ... ... 76 

Ban, band of musicians ... 55 

htLndyXan.banned the land, a 

woman of bad character 35 

Bane, Beaue, boue ... 50 72 

Bang, to beat or excel ; as 
" he was bad to 
bang" 3,4 76 

Bang, an action of haste : as 
" he com in wi' a 
bang " ... ... 76 

Bannocks, bread made of oat- 
me.Tl and thicker than 
common cakes ... ... 60 

Bantoii, Kirkbampton, near 

Burgh ... 9 44 

Barl, barrel ... ... 35 

Barn, child. Sae Bairn. 

? Barney's croft, croft-enclo- 
sure 47 

Barra-cwont, a child's under 
garment worn next over 
the napkias, and folded 
lip back over the feet and 
'««» 94 

Baihfu, bashful 



328 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 

Batter, dirt, mud 44 

Batter, to make sore by 
beating ... 

Baw, baU 58 

Bawk, a cross beam ... 4 

Beane, bone. See Bane. 
Beastin-puddin, pudding 
made from the first milk 
drawn after a cow has 
calved ... ... 76 

Beate, abate, " Wunnet 
beaie a hair o' my 
beard " ... ... 24 

Beath, Baith, both, 4, 8, 15, 

41, 28 
Beck, a brook, a rivulet ... 76 
Beel'd, bawled ... ... 76 

Behin, Behint, behind, 5 41 

Bein, being 

Belangs, belongs 
Belder, to bellow, to voci- 
ferate ... ... ... 44 

Belsh, to emit wind from 

the stomach ... 4 54 
Bensil, to bang or beat 
Bet, a wager ; to lay a 

wager 44 

Beteyde, betide, to happen 

to ... ... ... 24 

Bettermer, better ... 30 

Beyble, Bible — the book 58, 59, 6i 
Beyde, to endure, stay, abide i 9 
Beytin, biting ... ... 20 

Biddable, Biddible, obedi- 
ent 172 

Biddy, Bridget 27 

Bide,' to endure. See Beyde. 
Bigg, a kind of barley ... 52 

Biggin, building ... ... 53 

Billie, Billyr brother. See 

Titty. ... ... 42 59 

Bit, a small piece ... 2 5 

Bizen, by a sin, i.e., besides 

a sin ... ... 28 60 

Blakky-rauir, a black Moor, 

a negro ... ... 81 

Blate, Bleate, bashful, shy 30 
Bleakent, blackened ... 4 

Bleam, blame ... 3 38 

Bleckell, BlackwcU, a village 

near Carlisle ... ... 30 

Bleer-e'ed, blear eyed 71 38 

Bleets, blights 38 

Blin, blind ... ... 4 51 

Blissin, blessing 
Blown milk, milk from 
which the cream has 
been removed by blow- 
ing 142 



Song 
Bluid, blood ... ... 4 

Bluim, bloom ... ... 16 

Bluitert, naked, deserted ... 81 
Blusteration, the noise of a 

braggart 35 

Boddem, Boddom, to drink 
to the bottom of the 
drinking-vessel ... S4 

Bodder, bother ...8,79 50 

Boggle, hobgoblin ...3, 14 32 
Boilies, boiled bread and 

milk ... ... ... 94 

Bonnie, pretty ... 3, 7 9 

Bonnyprat, Napoleon I. 3 15 
Borrowdale, a vale near the 

head of Derwentwater 60 
Bout, a turn, a " spree " ... 4 
Boutcher, butcher 
Bower, a parlour, the inner 

room of a cottage ... 53 
Bow-hough'd, having crooked 

houghs ... ... ... 47 

Bowt, bought ... 3, 26 

Bra', Braw, handsome ... 65 
Brack, Brak, broke, 2, 4, 39, 41 
Brackens, Breckans, fern . . 63 
Brag, boast, .. 4,74,49, 83 

Braid, broad 27 54 

?Bramery 3 

Brang, brought. See Brong. 
Bran new, quite new ... 2 

Brant, steep 

Branton — Brampton, a small 
market town, lom. east 
of Carlisle ... 35 63 

Brass, a common word mean- 
ing money. See Kelter. 

51 39 
Brast, burst. See Brust. 
Brat, a coarse apron or 

pinafore ... 10 a8 

Bravely, in a good state of 

health ... 2 60 

Bray, to beat 35, 30 79 

Breader, broader 
Breed, bread ... 25 30 

Breeks, breeches ... 24,55 63 
Breer, brier ... ... 34 

Brees'd, bruised ... ... i 

Breest, breast ... ... 25 

Breet, bright 14, 57 31 

Brek, break, 25, 75 61 

Brench, branch ... ... 183 

Breyde, bride ... i, 4 76 

Breydegruim, bridegroom 4 76 
Breydle, bridle ... ... 57 

Bridewain — Bidden-weddin 
See Dr. Prevost's Glos- 
sary. 



GLOSSARY. 



329 



Song 

Brig, bridge ••• 3 

Briggadeer, Brigadier, the 
officer commanding a 

brigade ^5 

Brock, badger 2° 

PBrocklebank, Cumberland 

surname and place name 76 
Brong, Brang, brought, did 

bring 4. 39. 59- 78 25 

Brough-seyde, residing near 

Burgh 4 

Bruff, the local pronouncia- 

tion of Burgh 

BruUiment, broil 5° 

Brummel-keytes, bramble 

berries '03 

Brunt, burnt, 4. 24, 38, 57 7t> 
Brust, burst. See Brast 6 44 
Buckabank, a township in 

the parish of Dalston 3° 
Buckram, coarse linen cloth 

stififened with glue ... 66 
Buck up, to subscribe ; to 

advance ; to dress up 3° 

Buff, the bare skin 53 

Buik, book ; the Testament 25 
Buin, above (for abuin) 8 43 

Suits, boots 39 

Bumbealie, a bailiS 76 

Bumm'd, struck, beat ... 33 
Bunc'd, Buns'd, bounced ; 

an action of haste 47 53 
Burd, bird ... 67 80 
Burgh (pr. Bruff), a village 
about 6 m. from Car- 
lisle 9 44 

FBurkheeds 76 

Buss, to kiss ; to dress ; a 

bush 24, 52 53 

Butter-shag, a slice of bread 

spread with butter ... 13 
See Shag. 
Butter-sops, bread soaked in 
melted butter and sugar 

16, 4 76 

Bwor'd, bored 29 

Bworn, born 12 <j 

By, a dwelling. A Danish 
termination to several 
local names, as Hivcrby 34 
Uegcane, bytjonc, past 
Byre, cow-housc, I, 22, 2i, j7 79 
Byipel, mischievoui, full of 

vice 

Byzen. See Biien 28 

See note. 



C. 

CabbUb, cabbage 



76 43 



Song 
Cadger, a retailer of small 
wares, having a cart ... 77 

CaS, Chaff 4-60 61 

?Cairds, Cairdins, cards 40 50 

rCaldew 

Calep,— Caleb 28-38 42 

Callan, a stripling, a lad ... 4* 

Caller, fresh, cool 

Canny, decent-looking, well- 
made 5-49, 40, 66, 71 76 
Cap, to beat, to excel, 4-20 49 
Capper, one who excels ... 20 
Cap'ring, dancing in a frolic- 
some manner ... .•■ 4 

Car, cart 2, 76 74 

Car-gear, harness for draught 

horses. SccCar-Stang 2 8 
Carel,— Carlisle, 3, 5, 6, 76, 

37 60 
Carel Fair, on 26th Aug. 2 11 
Carel-Sands, between the 
river Eden and Kicker- 
gate 35 

Carras, cart house ; a shed 

wherein carts are kept 3 76 
Car-stang, cart shaft 

Cassel, castle 81 

Catch'd, caught 7 

Cat-witted, silly and con- 
ceited 41 

Cauda, the vulgar pronunci- 
ation of Caldew 

Caul, Cauld, cold, 69, 11, 79. 

59 62 
Caw, call I, 71. 76, 67 14 

Caw'd, called 5 7^ 

Cawn, calm. Nanc^' Peal 

Cawshens, cautions, advises 
See CowsHENs. 

Ccakcs, cakes 4 

Ceyder, cider 2 

Chammerley— chamber-lye, 

stale urine ••• ••• '08 

Chamuier-pot, chamber pot 69 
Chang, the cry of a pack of 
hounds ; uproar ; loud 

talk 

Chap, a general term for 

man ... ••• ■•■ 30 

Chawk, chalk 

?Chawk. near Thursby ... 58 
Chcatcry, Chcatrie, cheating, 

deceit 44 

Chceny, china cups, &c. ... 167 

Chcvdc, chide 7 

Chid, a voung fellow 
Chillip, the cry of a young 

bird 

Chimley, chimney 60 



330 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 

Chinse, Chintz, chints, cotton 
cloth, printed in five or 
six diflercnt colours ... 22 
Chirm, to make a mournful 

sound ... ... 6 

Chops, mouth, jaws ... 4 

Choups, Choops (pr" shoops"), 

hips, the fruit of briars 103 
Claes, clothes ... ... 50 

Clarty, miry ... ... 50 

Clash, tittle-tattle, scandal ; 
to throw down heavily 
or clumsily ... ... 19 

Claver, to climb ... ... 2 

Clay Daubin, a thatched 
cottage, the walls being 
built of clay ... ... 53 

Clcadin, Cleedin, clothing i5 79 
Cleath, the table cloth ... 23 

Clecd, Clead, to clothe 10 43 
Clcek, to catch as with a 

hook ... ... 4, 21 76 

PCIeutie ... ... ... 3 

Click-clack, the ticking of a 

clock ... ... ... 7 

Clink, a blow ; a jingling 

sound ... ... ... 44 

Clipt dinment, a thin, mean- 
looking fellow. See 
Dinment ... ... 39 

Clipt-an-heel'd, properly 
dressed, like a cock 
prepared to fight ... 30 

Clish-clash, Clish-ma -claver, 

idle talk, scandal 
Cliver, clever ... ... 30 

Clog, a sort of shoe, the upper 
part erf strong hide 
leather, and the soles of 
birch or alder i, 2, 7 39 
Clowsin, closing ... ... 31 

Cluff, cuff, a blow ... ... 53 

Clwoak, cloak ... ... 61 

Clwose, close. See Clowsin 78 
Co', come, or came 
PCobbles, cobble stones ... 76 
?Cock Brig Nathan 

Cocker, a feeder or fighter 

of cocks, 4, 12, 41, 48 58 
Cockin, cock-fighting ... 30 

Codageate — Caldewgate 
Codbeck, — Caldbeck, a town- 
ship about 8m. from 
Wigton ... ... 76 

CoddJe, to pillow or sleep ; 

to embrace ... 51 76 
Codlin tree, an apple tree 2 24 
?Cokert, caulkered ... ... 81 

Collop, rasher of bacon 16 63 



Song 

Collop Monday, the first 

Monday before Lent 5 
Com, came ... 5, 9 12 

Compleens, complains ... 3 

?Corbie, the carrion crow, 

the raven 
Corby, a village nr. Wetberal 

49 118 
Corp, corpse ... ... 24 

Cottinet, cotton ... ... 57 

Cow'd-leady, pudding made 

of flour and suet ... 76 

Cow'd-lword, pudding made 

of oaimenl and suet 35 43 
Cowp, to exchange ; to over- 
turn, to tumble 2, 38 76 
Cowr'd, crouched ... 56 

Cowshens, cautions, advises 183 
Cowshious, cautious ... 99 

Cowt, colt ... ... ... 3 

Crack, chat ; to boast : to do 

anything quickly 2, 3, 5 11 
Cracket, cricket ... ... 32 

Crammel, to perform any- 
thing awkwardly ... 28 
Crap, crept, did creep 4 30 
Creetcher, creature 
Creyke, creek ... ... 44 

Creyme, crime ... ... 60 

Cried i' the Kurk, having 
the banns of marriage 
published. See Ax. 36 

?Crivet, cravat ... ... 70 

Croft, a field behind the 

iiouse ... ... 10, 38 47 

?Croglin ... ... ... 24 

Cronie, an old acquaintance 9 
Crosset, Crosthwaite 44 58 

Cross the buckle, a peculiar 

step in dancing ... 30 

Crouse, lofty, haughty 4, 50 29 
Crowdy, composed of raw 
oatmeal and the marrow 
of beef or mutton 
bones ... ... 57 26 

Crowks, croaks ... ... 54 

Cruds, curds ... 5, 16 

Cruik'd, crooked ... ... 59 

Cruin, to bellow, to hum 

a tune ... ... 2 55 

Crum, crumb ... ... 38 

Cubbert, cupboard ... ... 146 

Cud, could ... 

Cuddent, couldn't. 

Cuddy Wulson— Cuthbert 

VVilson ... ... I 

Cuif, a silly person, a simple- 
ton 8 

Cuik, cook. Ill-gien Weyfe 



GLOSSARY. 



331 



Song 

Cuil, cool 8 

Cum, a prefix to several 

local names ... ... 5 

Cummerlan— Cumberland ... 49 
Cummersdale, a village about 

3m. from Carlisle ... 30 

Cunn'd, counted sg 

Curchey'd, curtseyed ... 4 
Curlv pow, curled head. 

See Pow. 
Cursen'd, christened, bap- 
tised 12 

Cursenin.Cursnin, christening 41 
Cursenmas, Cursmas, Christ- 
mas 9, 57, 34, 50 76 
Cursty, Christopher ... 4 
Curtchey'd, curtseyed ... 4 
Curthet, Curthwaite 49 94 
Cushat, the ringdove 
Custom, usage ... ... 7 

Cutten, cut down 58 41 
Cutter'd, whisper'd, 

wheedled ... 30, 83 56 

Cutty, Scutty, short ... 32 

Cwoach, coach ... 3 5 

Cwoal, coal 2, 25 74 

Cwoat, Cwot, coat, 2, 8, 24, 

42, 44. 63 

Cwoax, coax ... ... 71 

Cwoley, Collie, a farmer's or 
shepherd's dog, 3, 24, 7 

57 40 

Cwoni, comb ... ... 71 

Cwom, corn 16, 38 61 

Cworse, coarse ... ... 74 

Cwort, court ... 34 53 
Cwose-house, corse bouse 
in which a corpse is 

lying 3 182 

Cwot, coat. See Cwoat. 

Cwozy, cosey, snug ... 73 



Daddle, band : also, to 

work slowly ... ... 5 

Daddle, waddle, to walk 

slowlv ... ... 69 76 

Daft, half-wiso ; sometimes 

wanton 21, 24, 29 39 

Dagtry, drizzly 3 

DaUton, a village }m. from 

Carlisle. Sec Daw- 

tton. 
Dander, Daunder, to bobble, 

to saunter 64, 23 38 

bang, an oath ... ... 76 

Dapper, neatly dressed ... 30 
Darknin, evening twilight 53 57 



Song 
Darr ! an oath or excla- 
mation 

Darrak, Darg, Darrick, day 
work, a day's labour, 

S3. 16, 41 
Darter, active in performing 

a thing 50 55 

Daubin, a cottage built of 

clay S3 

Dawston — Dalston ... 30 55 
Dawstoners, inhabitants of 

Dalston 30 55 

Dawtie, daughter, a darling 75 

De, do I, 25 61 

Dee, die ... 4, 7. 41. 5<> 27 

Deame, dame, 24, 53, 57, 60 43 
Deavie — David ... i 5 

Debby, Deborah ... 20 40 

Ded, Deddy, father 6 

Deef, deaf 8, 69, 29, 41 51 

Deet, died ; to clean 3, 42 53 
Deeth, death, 3, 5, 6, 10, 16, 

25 78 
Deetin, winnowing corn 50 66 
Deevil, devil ... ... 2 

Deil, devil ... ... 3 6 

Deil bin (an oath), devil 

take ... 4, 19, 41, 42 76 
Dein, Deein, doing 4 9 

Deleyte, delight ... ... 72 

Desarve, deserve, to earn 

by service ... ... 37 

Dess, to adorn ... 60 81 

Deuce, the Devil, ... 3, 7 41 
Deyke, Dike, Dyke, 

hedge 2, 64, 16 7 
Deyl'd, Deylt, moped, spirit- 
less I, 42 56 

Deyne, dine ... 60 61 

Dibbler, Dubbler, a pewter 

or wooden plate ... 30 

Dick, Dicky — Richard 2 4 
Diddle, to hum a tune ... 2 
Dike, hedge. See Deyke. 
Din, noise, " Mair din nor 
dow " — more talk than 
work ... ... ... 43 

Ding, to punch, strike, dash 

down ... ... ... 54 

Dinment, a wetlicr sheep in 
its second year : also, 
a thin mean-looking per- 
son ... ... ... 39 

?Dint, energy 

Dis, does ... 8 17 

Dispcrt, Dcspart, desperate, 

inveterate ... 37 35 
Dissen'd, distanced, out- 
stripped 44 



332 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 
Dissnins, a distance in 
horse-racing, the eighth 
part of a mile ... ... 44 

Divarsion, diversion 44 53 

Divvent, do not. Div and 

Duv, do ... 13, 24 60 

Dofi — do-off — to undress i 4 
X>on— do-on — to dress i 39 

Donnet — a do-nowi — an ill- 
disposed woman ... 28 
Dour, hard, bold, gloomy, 

sullen ... ... ... 78 

Douse, jolly, or sonsy-look- 
ing ; grave, prudent 30 76 
Dow, help, usefulness, profit i 
?Dowie, dull ... ... 67 

Downa, Downet, cannot ; 
when one has the power, 
but wants the will to do 
anything ... ... i 

Dowter, daughter ... 32 12 
61, 42, 73 
Dozen'd, spiritless, impotent 50 
Dree, to endure, to suffer, to 

feel ... ... 103 78 

Drissin, dressing ... ... 37 

Drores, drawers ... ... 108 

Drucken, drunken ... ... 55 

Drumleenin, Drumleaning, a 
hamlet im. from Aik- 
ton ... ... ... 20 

Dry, thirsty ... ... 60 

Dub, a small collection of 

stagnant water ... 4 

Dubbler, Dibbler, a pewter 

or wooden plate ... 30 

Dud, did ... ... 38 41 

Duds, coarse clothes, 28 

24, 62 76 
Duffle, coarse woollen cloth, 

generally blue ... ... 74 

Dui, do, 3, 4, 28, 55, 61 71 
Duin, done, doing, 8, 45 76 
Duir, door, 13, 24, 32, 28, 59 79 
Dulbert, a dull person ... 167 
Dunch, to strike with the 

elbows ... ... ... 4 

Dulciney, Dulcinea, a lady- 
love ... ... ... 93 

Dumb weyfe. Dumb people 
were thought to have 
the power of foretelling 
the future ... ... 5 

Dung owre, knocked over, 

exhausted ... ... ig 

Dunnet, do not ... 59,37 21 
Durdar, near Blackwell, 

3 m. from Carlisle 
Durdem, broil, hubbub, 15 20 



Song 

Durt, dirt 8 46 

Durtment, anything useless 

or tawdry ... ... 5 

Dust, a name for money ; al- 
so, a disturbance 2, 44 4 
Duzzens, dozens ... ... 35 

Dvvoated, doted, Dwoatin, 

doting ... ... 10 55 

Dyke, hedge. See Deyke. 

E. 

E, sometimes used for I 3 5 
Ebenin, evening ... ... 80 

Edder, adder ... ... 55 

Eddie, Addle, to earn, 

Eddlin brass. 
Eden, a river which flows 
past Carlisle.and empties 
itself into Solway Firth 

49, 52 80 
E'e, eye. Een, eyes 3 12 

Efter, after. Efternuin, af- 
ternoon ... 49, 3 12 
Eg on, Egge on, to urge on ... 
Elcy, Alice ... 21 50 
Eldin, fuel, sticks for the fire 
Eleeben, eleven ... ... 30 

EUek, Alexander ... 8 43 

En', end, 41, 54, 30 58 

Eneugh, enough ... 1 6 

Er, are 44, 53 79 

Er, ere, before The aul Hol- 
low Tree 
Esh, ash. Eshes, ashes, ash 

trees ... ... 45, 41 60 

Est, nest ... 8 

•Etty 6 34 

*Eytonfield-street ... ... 76 

F. 

Fadder, father, i, 2, 8, 3, 40 57 

Faikcns, an oath ... ... 54 

Fain, glad, 5, 9, 7, 24, 40, 

32, 79 60 

Famish, famous, 27, 30, 55 81 

Fan, found, felt, 18, 23, 32 76 

?Far-larned ... ... ... 55 

Fares-te-weel, fare-thee-well 

2 50 
Fash, trouble, i, 2, 67, 40, 41 

58 59 
Faul, farm-yard ; the fold 

7, .39. 45 76 

PFaulders, Fuilduirs ... 76 

Faut, fault, 21, 32, 46 56 

Faw, fall. Fawn, fallen, 27 41 

Feace, face. Feacin, facing 60 

Feale, fail, to fall short ... 21 



GLOSSARY. 



333 



Song 
?Feard, failed ... ... 21 

Feckless, feeble, effectless, 

69. 37 29 

Fedder, feather 76 

Feegh, alas 76 

Feght, Feight, fight, 3-4-15, 

53. 76 54 

Feghter, fighter ... 41 58 

Fell, a rocky hill 5, 24, 60 49 
Fellen, Fellon, a disease in 

cattle 58 

Fellow 28 

Fell-seyde, the edge or boun- 
dary of a fell 24, 74, 76 
Fen, to fare ... ... ... 44 

Fettle, order, condition, 

„ . 44. 50 53 

Fenlish, Fuilish, foolish ... 63 

Fewsome, shapely, becoming 

PFeykes 

Feyne, fine, nice, beautiful, 

T- jj. ''•'*• 7- "' 39. 58. 55 60 

Fiddlestick 4 

Filly, a female foal ; a young 

mare ... ... ... 39 

Fit, foot ; fought ... 4, 8 49 
Fit-baw, foot b.iU, 27 50 
Fin, to find, to feel, i, 49, 60 56 
Flacker-d, fluttered 
Flang, threw, flung down ... 4 
Flate, frightened. See Flay. 
Flay, fright, 21, 47, 78 16 
Flay-crow, a scarecrow ... 66 
Flaysome, frightful ... ... 79 

Flee, a fly ... ... ... 58 

Fleek, Flick, flitch 4 

Fleer, floor. Sec Fluir. 
Flegmag:iries, useless frip- 
peries of female dress i 
Heytc, Flyte, to scold, to 

rebuke ... ... 78 

Flinders, splinters or shreds 81 

Flit, to remove 

Flowc, wild, stormy 

Fluet, a sharp blow 

Fluid, flood ... ... 31 

Fluik, a flounder, a kind of 

fish ... ... 54 76 

Fluir, floor. Sec Fleer. 

30, 72 76 
Flyre, to laugh ; to gibe 29 36 
Flyte, to jeer, to scold 
Foddcr'd, supplied with 

fodder or food ... ... 3 

Font, fond, foolish i 

Forby, beside*, 2, 8, 9, 33 44 
Forrct, forward ... ... 30 

Forteakc, forsake, abandon 23 



Song 

Fou, full ; to fill 52 

Foumert, a polecat, a foul- 
mart ... ... ... 20 

Foun, found 

Fourscwore, fourscore ... 69 

Fowt, a fondling ... ... 34 

Frae, from ... ... ... i 

Frae t', from the ... ... 60 

Frase, a fray ... ... 1 

Fratch to scold ; a quarrel i 30 

Fratchin, a scolding ... 3 

Fray, an attack, or affray 4 24 
Freeten, to frighten, to 

alarm 54, 63 14 

Freet, to grieve ; to fret 13 78 

Freetfu, fretful 78 

Fremm'd, strange ... ... 50 

Frettin, fretting ... ... 183 

Frien, a friend ... 643 

Frostet, frosted, frozen ... 3 

Frow, a worthless woman i 95 

Fught, fought ... 26 49 

Fuil, fool, I, 4, 31, 41 55 
Fuilduirs (in some editions) 

— See Faulders. 
Fun, found. See Fan 

?Fur-bank, Heed ... ... 142 

Furbelows, useless silks, 
frills, or gauzes of a 

female dress ... ... 4 

Furra, Fwurm, form, bench, 

or long seat ... ... 4 

Furst, first, foremost, 2, 4, 

T^ . 57 76 
Furze, firs 

Fuss, bustle, tumult ... 47 
Fustin, fustian, coarse cotton 

cloth ... ... ... 57 

Fuz-baw, the puff ball fungus 105 

Fwoal, foal ... ... 38 

Fwok, Fwoke, folk, people, 53 

Fworc'd, forced ... 2, 13 xg 
Fwurm, a form. See Furm. 



Ga, Gae, to go ... 41 61 

Gager, the ganger or excisc- 
■ officer ... ... ... 55 

Gaily, pretty well in health 44 
Gaiirn, yarn ... ... 32 6t 

Gam, game 14, 24 69 

Gambalcery, a kind of lea- 
ther from which the 
better sorts of " Sunday 
«hoon " were made ... 57 
Gamlcrs, gamblers 44 58 



334 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 
Gammelsby, Garaelsby, a 
hamlet 3m. from Wig- 
ton 41 

Gammle, to gamble ... 12 

Gammerstang, a tall 
awkward person of bad 

gait 4 

Gan, began 

Gander, a name of contempt 8 

Gane, gone. See Geane. 

Gang, to go i, 2, 25 80 

Gar, to compel 13, 11 5 

Garrak, awkward, stupid ... 

Garth, orchard, garden, 80 39 

Gat, got 55 

Gate, road, path. See Geate. 
Gavelick, Geavelick, an iron 

crowbar or lever ... 50 

Gawn, going ... 5 40 

Gawvison, a foolish person 44 
Gayshen, a smock-faced, silly 
looking, emaciated per- 
son ... ... ... 2 

Geane, gone ...i, 3, 11 42 

Geape, gape ... 54 63 

Gear, wealth, money ; the 
tackling of a cart or 
plough ... 60, 4 12 

Geate, Gate, road or path, 22 23 
Geavin, staring vacantly ... 76 
Gedder, gather ... ... 75 

Geuse, goose ... 4 76 

Gev, give, gave ... ... 11 

Geyle, guile 

Gig, a light two-wheeled 

carriage ... ... 61 

Gilsden — Gilsland, 18 m. 

from Carlisle ... ... 13 

Girdle. See Gurdle. 
Girn, Gurn, grin, 4, 29, 30 60 
Gilderoy, a famous robber... 47 
Girt, great, 3, 4, 54, 12, 16 27 
60 
Git, get I, 3, 53 

Gizzern, gizzard, the throat 
Gleid, the kite, the glede ... 54 
Gleymin, Glymin, to look 

sideways ... 28 42 

Glifi, a glance, a transient 

view ... ... ... 20 

GUme, Gleyme, to look 

obliquely ... 81 29 

Glowre, Glower, to stare, 8, 

29 60 
Glowrin, staring 
Glump'd, gloom'd ... ... 11 

Gob, mouth ... 35 55 

Goddy, godmother ... 41 



Song 
Gomas, a simpleton ... 39 

Gomoral, Gomraarel, a stu- 
pid fellow ... ... 24 

?Gonny ... ... ... 59 

Gow, go. See G.\ ... ... t 

Gowden, golden ... ... 25 

Gowd i' gowpens, gold in 

handfuls ... 8 41 

Gowdspink, goldfinch To Mary 
Gowk, the cuckoo ; a thought- 
less, ignorant fellow ... 40 
Gowl, to cry sulkily ; to 

weep I, 24, 54 8i 

Gowpens, a handful ; the 
two hands full. See 
Gowd. 
Graith, to make ready, to 

clothe ... 
Graith'd, dressed, accoutred 

34 35 
Grandideer, grenadier 25 26 
Granfader, Granfadder, 

grandfather 58 

Granny, grandmother ... 4 

Granson, grandson ... ... 41 

Gratena, — Gretna ... ... 9 

Grater- feac'd, marked with 

small-po.K ... ... 3 

Greace, Grace ... x 40 

Greapt, grasped ... ... 60 

Greave, grave ... ... 8 

Greet, great ; ?also to weep 
Gretna : Sec Gratena. 
?Greybeard ... ... 53 

Greymin, Grimin, a thin 

covering of snow ... 45 

Greype, a three-pronged in- 
strument for the purpose 
of cleaning cow-houses, 

&c 53 

Grizzy ... ... ... 38 

Groat, fourpence ... ... 5 

Grossam, Grousome, grim 50 
Grummel, to grumble, 8, 38 16 
Guff, Goff, a fool, I, 35 42 
Guid, Gud, good, 58, 79 61 
PGuidman ... ... ... 32 

Guidepwost, guidepost ... 8 
Gulder, to speak amazingly 
loud, and with a dis- 
sonant voice ... ... to 

Gully, a large knife ... 19 

Gurdle, girdle, the iron plate 
on which cakes are 
baked ... ... 4 

Gurn, grin. See Girn. 
Gurse, gorse, or furze ; also, 

grass ... ... ... 76 

Gusty, savoury ... ... 76 



GLOSSARY. 



335 



Song 



Gwordie, George 
Gwoat, goat 



?Hack'd, won everything ... 5° 
Hae, have ... ••• ^ * 
Hafiet, the forehead or tem- 
ple 

Haggish. haggU "" 

Haked, weary, tired ... 
Hal£, Heale, whole, 58, 28 66 
HaUan, Hallen, partition- 
wall 21 30 

Han, hand - 4 5 30 

Hangrell, a long hungry fel- 
low. SeeMASNiEL. 
Hankitcher, handkerchief 44 

Hannel, handle, hence to use 

46 63 
Hanniel, Hangrell, .i worth- 
less person ■•• 7^ °' 
Hantal, HaiUel, l:irge quan- 
tity. See Lock .-• 4' 

Hap, to' cover 4 

Hard, beard „ ••• »- 

Hardleys, Harlej-s, hardly ... 42 
Harraby, im. from Carlisle 34 
Harry, to plunder, to spoil 

Hat, hit ^ ■•• 4 

Haud, Hauld, hold; shelter 13 
Uaveril, a conceited foolish 

fellow ... 
Havey-scavey, all in con- 
fusion ... ••• ••• 4 

Haver, Havver, oaU .• 50 

Haw, hall 53 49 

? Hawbuck, a country clown 
Hawf, half 3. 8, 12 41 

Hawflin, a fool 47 

Hay-bay, hubbub, distur- 
bance 44. 53. 76 81 

Hav-stack 5 

Hay-cruik, a rod with a barb 
at its end ; nietapliori- 
caDy a long, lang. greedy 
man ... ... •■• 7'> 

?Hayket-yett ... Saih«n 

?Havton 'o7 

Hcad-wark, head-ache ... 30 
Hrilc, whole, healthy 8 
Heaine. home «. 2. 3. 8 

Hcartsomc. cheerful. Days 

that are geant 
Hea\te. h.i»te ... « >o 

Hercup'd, hiccup'd ... 4 

Hed. had '° 

?Heddcr»Kill «7.5 

Hee.hlgh 3. «» 47 



Song 
Heed, head ... 3, I5 76 

Heed-wark, head-ache ... 30 

Heet, height 4 

?Height, The 7^ 

Helter, halter ? 

Helter-skelter, in rapid con- ^ 

fusion ... ••• 4 

Hentails, coarse, worthless 
Mat-grass, a worthless 
person ... ••• 7(> 

Herrin-pon, Herring-pond, 

the ocean ... .-• 14^ 

Hersel, herself 42 

Hes, has ^° 

?Hesket 7o 

Het, hot 4. » 

Hether-feaced, rough faced 42 
Heup, hoop ; a six-quart 

measure ... Kurn [Mnnin 
Hev, have 3. >2 25 

Heyde, to hide 66 

Hiddcr, hither 76 

Highget, Highgate 60 

HiUibuloo, a great «oise or 

shouting 76 

Hilthy, healthy 61 

Hing, hang 27 

Hinmost, hindmost 

Hinney, honey 9^ 

Hirple, to limp 4 

Hirplin, limping ... 4 35 

Hiverby, Upperbv, 2ra. from 

CarUsle. See By 3° 

Hizzy, huzzy or hussy ... 3° 
Hod, hold 2, 3. 5. SO 44 

Hodden grey, cloth made 

from undyed wool 
Holcsomc, wholesome ... 60 

Hoo, how 

Hopeths, half-penn>-worths 
■^ Da/t Dick 

?Hops ^ ••■ 20 

Horse-cowper, horse-dealer 44 
See Cowp. 

?Hotch, to shake 

Hout ! pshaw ! 

Howdev, Howdv, a mid- 
wife 4 35 

Hiiwe, empty ... 76 5> 
Howc-strowe, ia great con- 
fusion Fralch 

H<rwk, to dig. to scoop 
Howmcs. holms, flat land 

near watei ... ••• 73 

?Howncv, cmplv, drcarv ; 
spoken of a house deple- 
ted of furniture 
Hug, to squeeze ... ... 44 

Hulk, a lazy, clumsy fellow jfi 



336 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 
Hoy-boy, hautboy, a high- 
toned wooden wind in- 
strument ... ... 8i 

Humiliation, corr. of illu- 
mination ... ... 3 

Hunsup, scold, quarrel ; a 

tumult ; the hunt's up... lo 

Hur, her 78 

Hursle, to raise up the shoul- 
ders 53 

Hush ... ... ... ... 43 

Hussy, huzzy, housewife ... 24 
See Hiz'zY. 

I 

r, contraction of In ... 24 

Ilk, Ilka, each, every, 78, 14, 

21 n 
'111, contraction of Will 
?Imps ... ... ... 14 

Inde, East Indies ... ... 9 

Ingle, fire 

Intack, an inclosure of waste 

land 
Inveyted, invited ... ... 76 

Irthin, Irthing, a river near 

Brampton ... ... 73 

I's, contr. of lis — I am 11 24 
It II, contT. oi li will ... 41 

Ither, other ... ... 7 

Iver, ever ... ... 46 49 



Jacep, Jacob ... ... 60 

Jant, jaunt ... ... 16 

Jaunice, jaundice ... ... 58 

Jaw, mouth. See Gob. 

Jemmy, James ... ... 25 

Jen, Jenny, Jane, 25, 13 10 

Jew-trumps, Jews-harps ... 20 

{eybe, jibe ... ... 25 

iUet, a jUt 75 

Jilous, jealous ... ... 45 

Jimp, neat ... ... ... 57 

Jobby, Jwoseph, Joseph, 

3. 13 41 

?Jock ... ... 14 2r 

JoUop, jalap ... ... 76 

Jwohnny, John ... 7 56 
Jwoke, joke, jest, 4, 40, 53, 

30 25 

K 

Keale, kail, broth, 8, 20 26 

Keame, comb ... ... 71 

Kcatey, Keatie, Kate ... 71 
Keave, to leap about in an 

awkward manner 4 39 

Keek, to peep ... 33, s 16 

?Kelavey 4 



Soas 
Kclter, money ... 74 81 

Kemp, to strive with 
Ken, to know. Kent, 

known ; knew, 2, 41, 60 13 
Ken-guid, the example by 
which we are to learn 
what is good ... ... 28 

Kep, to catch ... ... 54 

Kest, cast, to reckon ... 4 

Keswick, i8m. from Pen- 
rith ... ... ... 49 

Kevvel. See Keave. 
Keyndly, kindly, benevo- 
lent 78 

Keyte, Kyte, the belly ... 53 
Kill-dried, dried in a kiln, 
a parched and withered 
face ... ... ... 24 

Kilt, killed 69 

Kingwatter, near to Asker- 

ton and Gilsland ... 63 

Kinnel, kindle ... Fratch 

Kist, chest ... ... 69 

Kith, kindred, acquaint- 
ances ... ... ... 18 

Kittle, to tickle ... 44- 53 
Kneave, Knave ... ... 60 

Kuockle, knuckle ... ... 57 

Knop, a tub having two 

stave-handles ... 19 81 
Kurk, kirk, church, 4, 7 58 

Kurkaa'rew, Kirkandrew. 

Rob Lowrie 
Kurk-garth, church-yard ... 80 
Kurk-gawn, church going 34 66 
Kurn, Kern, churn 2, 38 76 
Kurn-supper, a feast after 

reaping is finished ... .50 

Kurn Winnin ... ... H4 

Kye, cows, kine, cattle, i, 4, 

22 38 
Kyte, Keyte, the belly ... 53 



Laal, Lile, Leyle, little. See 

Lal. 
?Lace, to flavour ... ... 95 

?Ladle ... ... ... 63 

Laggen, the angle between 
the side and bottom of 
a wooden pail ... ... 4 

Laik, to play ... 24, 32 41 

Laird, a proprietor of land, 

2. 4. 39 53 
Lait, to seek ... ... 42 

Lake, to play. See Laik. 
Lal, Laal, Lile, Leyle, little, 

3 75 
Lan, land ... ... ... 39 



GLOSSARY. 



337 



Song 
Lang, long. Langsome, 

wearisome ... i, 3 4 

Laalword, landlord 39 56 

Lant, a game at cards ; 

three-card Loo ••• 3° 

Lanters, the players at Lant 

?Lanty i5 

Lap, leapt 4, 9> 3° 7i 

Lapsten, Lapwtean, lapstone 

on which a shoemaker 

beats his leather 30 81 

Lam, learn. Larnin, learning 74 
Lash away, an exclamation 
of encouragement 

Lass, Lassie, girl 7 

Latch, a wooden sneck ... 32 

Lave, the rest 34 

Lavrick, Lavrock, the lark Mary 
Lea, Ley, arable land in grass 49 
Leace, lace ... ... ... 5 

Leady, lady 9 

Leady-Fair, at VVigton, on 

Lady-Day, 25th March 8 
Leame, lame. Leam'd, lam- 
ed 4. 6 3S 
Leane, alone {all one), 21, 

38, 71. 75 73 

L«ar, Leear, liar 60 

Leate, late. Leately, lately 9 
Leath, loth, unwilling ... 17 

Ledder, leather 19 

Ledder, to strike with a 

leather 3 

Ledder-de-patch, a plunging 
step in a Cumberland 
dance ... ... 30 105 

Leddcr-hungry, a poor sort 
of cheese! See W hilly 

MER ... 53 

Lee, a lie. Leein, lying 19 78 
Leed, lead (a metal) 55 81 

Leet, Leet on, to meet with ; 

to alight ... 8, 39 41 

Leet, to light, to set on fire 25 
Leethearted, lighthearted 
Lcethet" lass, Lewthwaitc's 

lass 48 

Leetsomc, lightsome ... i 

Leeve, Leve, live ... 6 57 

?Lernan, Lcmman, a lover... 
Leuf, Lcuv, Luif, the palm 

of the hand ... ... 76 

Leum, Luim, loom ... 35 

Leyfe, life ... ... ... 6 

Lcyke. hke, 2, 69, 75 80 
Leyte, little. Sec Lal. 
7L«yne, a river flowing 

through Kirklinlon To Crilo 



Song 
Lig, to lie, to lie down, r, 12, 

22 41 

Liggin, lying ... ... 2 

Likker, liquor ... ... 74 

Lile, little. See Lal. 

Lilted, sang cheerfully ... 4 

?Limmer, mischievous 

Link, to walk arm in arm ... 83 

Lish, Leesh, active, strong 2 18 

Lissen, listen ... ... 5 

Loavins, an exclamation of 

surprise or delight ... 55 
Lock, a small quantity or 

number. See Hantal 9 44 

Loff, Laaf, Lofe, oSer ... 19 
Loft, the upper apartment of 

a cottage ... 4 22 
Lonnin, a narrow lane 5 8 
Lopper'd, coagulated, cur- 
dled 76 

Loup, leap. See Lowp. 
?Lounderin. large, immense 

Lout, an wkward clown ... 47 

Low-wood Nuik ... ... 142 

Lowe, flame, blaze ... 9 
Lowp, Loup, a leap, to leap, 

5. 20 27 

Lowse, to untie, to loose ... 14 

?Lowthet Green 76 

Lug, a pull ; to pull 44 55 

Lug, car ... 4, I5, 39 47 
Luif, palm of the hand. See 

Leuf. 

Luik, Leuk, look i, 2, 4, 5, 9 '4 

Luikste, lookest thou ... 146 

Luim, Leum, loom ... ... 35 

Luive, love ... 2 8 

?Lunnen Duns ... ... 81 

Lunnon, London ... ... 4 

Lurry, to pull roughly, to 

hurry eagerly ... 76 44 

Lword. Laird, lord, 5. 44 57 

Lwordly, lordly ... ... 78 

Lwosers, loseri ... ... 44 

Lythey, thick 30 

H 

?MafT 76 

Mnflle, to blunder, to mislead 
Mailin. a farm 

Main, the chief prize ... 116 

Mair, more ... ... i 

Mai<t, Mcast. most ... 4 

Maislcr, master, 14, 50 42 

Mak, ni.ikc, to make ... i 

Sec MlAKK. 

Maks, sorts. Aw maks, all 

sorts ... ... 35 81 



338 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 

?MaUy 76 

Mangrel, mongrel ... ... 46 

Mant, to stutter 

Mautin, stuttering ... 38 54 
Mappen, it may happen ... 24 
March, a landmark or boun- 
dary 

Marget, Margaret, 64, 38, 41 1« 
Marra, Marrow, equal, 20, 27, 

56 78 
Marraless, Marrowless, not 

of the same sort •.• 8 

Matty, Martha 9 

Maun, Mun, must 61 

Mauna, Munnet, must not ... loi 
Mazle, Mazzle, Maze, to won- 
der as stupified 9 42 
Meade, made 4. 3. 25 41 

Meake, Mek, make 

See Mak. 
?Meanders, murmurs ... 73 

Meast, Maist, most ... 4 

Meat-heal, meeat-heal, heal- 
thy ; having a healthy 
appetite 
Meedow, meadow 5, 9 57 

Meeght, Med, Mud, might ... 61 
Meer, a mare ■ • . Peet -Cadger 

?Meer' lad ... ... ... 4 

Jlell, to meddle 

Mense, to improve ... ... 61 

Slensefu, hospitable, gener- 
ous 
Mess, indeed, truly, " by the 

•' mass \ " ... 3. 10 ifl 
Mey, mv. Meyne, mine ... 69 
Meynd.'mind, don't neglect 63 
?Meyner ... ... ... 76 

Meyte, mite, a small quan- 
tity 62 

Mickle, Muckle, Mitch, much 

3. 4 9 
Midden, a dunghill ... 4 8 

Mid-neet, midnight, 46 52 
Mid-thie, mid-thigh ... 39 

Mind, remember, call to 

mind ... 8, 9, 14, 41 

Minnywhits, minuets ... 105 

Mittens, Mits, gloves 19, 51 
Moider'd, bev/ildered, con- 
fused 
Moilin, pining, drudging ... n 
Monie, many ... r, 2, 4 

?Mosstroopers, border free- 
booters 
Mouter, multure, toll or fee 

for grinding corn ... 76 

Mowdywarp, mould thrower, 

a mole 44 



Song 

Mowdywarp Farm 

Muck, dung ; to carry out 

the dung ... i 3 

Muckle, great. See Mickle. 70 
Mud, might or must. See 

Meeght. 3, 5. '2 55 

Mudder, mother, i, 3, 7 
Muin, Meun, Mooan, moon, 

17, 3. 8 57 

Mump, to sulk ... ... 38 

Mun, must 3> 5- 7 

Munnet, must not 2 72 

Murrv, merry ... 41 3 
Murry-neet or Tansy, a 

liight appropriated to 

mirth i, 3° 52 

Mustert, mustard ... ... 76 

Mworn, morn ... ... 2 

Mwornin, morning ... ... 9 

Mwosey, Moses ... .•• 54 

?Mwosin, musing ... ... 58 

My leane, ato»^, by myse//... 67 

Mysel, myself ... ... 2 



Nabab, Nabob, anyone who 

returns to his native 

district, after realising 

an ample fortune ... 60 

Nae, Nea, Nee, no, 3, 4, 28 

Naig, horse, 3. 4. 39. 57 63 

Nar, near 3 76 

Narlins, nearly ... Naihan 

Narrashen, for Narration ... 60 
Nattle, to strike slightly ... 53 
Nattier, a player on the 
" bones " or short pieces 
of bone held between the 
fingers and shaken ... 76 
Naturable, for natural ... 81 
Navies, fleets of ships ... 14 

Nayshen, nation 
Neaf, Neeaf, list. See Neef. 
Neame, name 8, 25 28 

Neane, none ... •.• 38 

Neb, nose ••. 35 

Neckleth, neckcloth, hand- 
kerchief 60 

Nee, no. See Nae. 

Neef, Neeve, fist. See Neap 2 

Neegers, negroes ... ... 58 

Ne'er ak, never mind 6, 44 76 
Neest, Neist ... 2 4 

Neet, Neeght, night, 1,2, 3, 

5. 8, 9 78 



GLOSSARY. 



339 



Song 
Neibor, Neybor, neighbour 

24, 32, 4I1 78 
Nether Welton ... ••• 7o 
New-fangled, new-fashioned 12 
?Xewlans, Newlands .-• 76 

Neyce, nice 1.5.7 39 

Nichol 3. 15 "2 

Ninunel, nimble .■• ••. 29 
Nin. none , 41. sS, 52 5» 

Nit, not ; also a nut 2 3 

Niver, never ... 3. 8, 9 

Nobbet, only, nought but i, 

2, 3. 5 o 
Noggin, a little mug ; an 

eighth part of a quart 33 
?N'one-such ... :- •.- youth 

Noo, now ... ... — 

?Nope, a blow on the head ... 
Nor, used for than ... 2 54 

Nout, Nowt, nothing, not 

aught 59 

Nowt, cattle 3 

Nowt at dowe, not over 

good. See Dow i 95 

Nowther, neither ...12,16 56 
Nuik, Neuk, nook, corner. 

2, 41 56 
NwoWe, noble .- 37 44 

Nwose, nose 54. 55 59 

Nwotion, notion ... 12 

Nwotice, Nwotish ... ... 7° 



Oald, old. See Aul. 
Oaners, owners. See Aw- 

NER6. 

Od, an oath ... ••. 2 

Od wheyte leet on, God's 

blame fall on ... .•• 2 

Oddments, articles of no great 

value ... ... ... 53 

Odswinge, a rustic oath. 

God's wounds ... ... 3 

Odswunters, an oeth ... 60 

OKen, often ... 

?Oegle 76 

Ome, Ony, any i, 3 39 

Onset, onstead, dwelhng- 

bouse and out buildings 9 

On't, foro/ it 44 

Oor, our 

Oot, out 

Oppem'd, opened ... ... 44 

Or, ere, before ... 3. 4 68 

Ought, aught, anything ... 76 
Ouien, oxm 
Ower, Owre, over, 2, 3, 4, 8, 

12 9 
0«-ther, either ... x.g 3* 



P Song 

Paddock rud, frog sprawn ... 38 
Palace, Palles, cor. of P^Wsse 61 

Pang'd, quite full 3o 

Pant, a cistern, or reservoir 76 
Parfet, perfect ... 24 56 
Parlish, wonderful ... 
Pash, very wet ; to throw 
down with great force ... 
Parson, intended for person 60 
Pasture, grass-field for graz- 
ing 5 

Pat, put 2 10 

Pate, head ... ... ... 4 

Patrit, Patriot (Carlisle news- 
paper) ... Gilsden Spaw 
Paughtv, proud and haughty 
Paul, to walk heavily, as a 

goose does ... ... 4 

Pawky, sly, too familiar ... 
Paw ihair,' stir more ... 27 

Peat. See Peet. 
Pech, to pant with a stifled 

groan ... ... ... ^ 

Peed, one eyed ... ... i 

Peer, Puir, poor i, 2, 4, 13 16 
Peet, Peat, a fibrous moss 

used for fuel ... 4 36 

Peet-heet, the height of a 

peat ; about knee high 6 16 
Pel-mel, quickly ... ... 2 

Penny-pie, a fall on the ice 103 
Pennysteancs, stones used 
instead of pennies for 
quoits ... ... 50 

Pontes, penthouse ... ... 54 

Pet, a sudden fit of peevish- 
ness, petulant ... ... 38 

Pettikits, petticoats ... 55 

Pett'rel, Petteril, river flow- 
ing into the Eden ... 126 
Pev/dcr, pewter, an alloy of 

lead and tin ... 105 30 
Peyne, pine 

Peype, pipe ... 5 5 32 

Pez, pease 43, 44 53 

Pez-stack ... ... ... 38 

Pez-strae, pease straw ... 53 

Pick, pitch 22 

Pick'd the fwoal, foaled be- 
fore the natural time ... 3S 
Picgen, a wooden dish 35 76 
Pilgarlic, a simpleton 3 60 

Pinchbeck, alloy of copper 

and line .■■ 76 

Fitter, of cocks, a cocker ... 

Pittin, put 20 

Plack. a very small copper 

coin 58, 6t 6 



340 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 

Pleacc, place i, 3, 5 50 

Pleague, plague ... ... 69 

Pleanin, Pleenin, complain- 
ing 41 

Pleugh, plough ... ... 2 

Plewman, ploughman ... 16 
Plied, read his book ... 32 
Plishure, pleasure ... 62, 67 80 
Pluiks, Plouks, Pleuks, pim- 
ples 54 

Poddish, pottage, porridge 

26 56 

Point, salt ... ... ... 63 

Pome, poem ... ... 99 

Pops an pairs, a game at 

cards ... ... ... 47 

Por, poker ... ... 84 105 

Posset, milk curdled with 

wine or acid ... ... 57 

Potticary, Pottiker, apothe- 
cary 34 

Pou, pull. Poud, pulled 4 8 

12, 40 60 

Pouder, powder ... ... 74 

Pow, Powe, Powl, the head, 

the poll ... 74 78 

Powney, pony ... ... 81 

Pox, the cow-pox ... ... 3 

Prent, print ... ... 35 

Preyde, pride ... ... 6i 

Preyme, to fill ... ... 76 

Prickly board, when a person 

is penniless 

Prod, thrust ... ... 13 

Pruive, prove, 3, 7, 38 41 

Puil, pool ... ... 39 

Puir, Peer, poor 

Puirtith, poverty ... Mary 

Pun, pound ... 6 21 

Punch, to strike with the feet 4 
Purn, Pirn, a cylinder of 
wood, round which the 

weft was wound ... 63 

Puzzen, poison 9. 35 41 81 
Pwoke, poke, Pwokie, a 

Uttle poke ... ... 29 

Pwort, port ... ... 72 

Pwosey, posy, a bouquet ... 

Q 

Quality, applied to ladies 
and gentlemen 



Rader, Raider, rather 78 81 

Rafi, Ralph 64 

Rakin, rambling idly ... 10 
Ram, rank, strong, offensive 

smell or taste ... 

Rammel, ramble ... ... 81 



Song 
Rash, a rush ; also brisk, 

hearty ... ... 41 59 

Rattens, rats ... ... 51 

Reace, race ... ... 44 

Reake, rake ... ... 2 

Reape, Rape, rope ... 47 

?Rear, to rise ; to rally 
Reave, to roam about or 
talk in a state of great 

energy 56 66 

Reavelled an tewt, so much 
entangled that it can 
scarcely be undone 
Reed, red, 2, 8, 25, 59 67 
Reed-watter ... ... ... 58 

Reek, smoke ... ... 4 

Reel, right ... i, 3, 8 18 

Resh, rush. See Rash. 

Reyder, rider ... ... 44 

Reydin, riding ... ... 72 

Rheyme, rhyme ... ... 66 

Rickergeate, Rickergate, a 

street in Carhsle ... 81 

?Riever, a border freebooter 
Riff-raff, a disorderly per- 
son ; a low crowd 26 76 
Rin, run ... ... i 7 

Rock, the distaff ; an in- 
strument used in spin- 
ning ... ...16, 38 69 

Rosley, a village 4m. from 

VVigton ... I 46 

Roughness, plenty, store ... 22 
Roun, round ... 411 

?Rowe 

Row up, to devour 175 

Rowth, abundance 
Royster'd, vociferated, 

laughed loudly 
Ruddy, ready 

Rumpus, disturbance, up- 
roar 
Ruse, arose, got up, 4, 23, 31 61 
Russel, wrestle ... ... 27 

Russlin, wrestling ... 120 27 
Rust, rest, repose ... 41 56 
Rwoar, roar. Rwoarin, 

roaring ... 4 30 

Rwogue, rogue ... ... 57 

Rwose, rose 

Rwosie, rosy ... ... 23 

S 

Sackless, orig. innocent, 
guiltless ; now feeble, 
useless, incapable of ex- 
ertion 
Sae, so ... ... 1 3 

Sair, sore ... ... i, 4 38 

Sairy, sorry, pitiable i 9 



GLOSSARY. 



341 



Song 

Sal, shall ... ... 13 41 

Sailer, cellar ; a cell under 

ground ... 54 60 
Sampletta, sampler, orna- 
mental canvas work ... 27 

San, sand 4 72 

Sang, song ... 40 

Sark, shirt or shift, 2, 3, 20, 

51 60 
Sarra, to serve. Sarrat, 

served ...2 50 61 

Sarten, certain ... 55 57 

Sarvant, servant ... 50 56 
Sattle, a settle, or long seat 

41, 61 

Sattled, settled 22 

Sault, Saut, Sawt, salt, 6, 69 72 

?Sawney, Nickname ... 4 

Scalder'd, scawder'd, scalded 19 
Scar, Scaur, a bare place on 

the side of a steep hill 38 

Scart, Scrat, scratch 54 78 
Sceape-grace, scapegrace, a 

graceless fellow i 76 
Scearce, Skearce, scarce 

Schuil, school 3, 8, 57 
Scon, Scone, a cake made of 

wheat or barley meal ... 53 

Scotty kye, Scotch cows ... 
Scowp, scoop ; a tin or iron 

dish 

Scraffle, struggle, scramble 6 
Scrat, scratch. See Scart. 
Screap, to collect ; to scrape 

. up 9 41 

Scnbe of a pen, a line by way 

of letter ... ... 32 

Scrudge, squeeze ... ... 44 

ScrufSns, ruffians ... ... 76 

Scwore, score ... ... 32 

Scworn, scorn ... ... 51 

Seafe, safe 3, 38 78 

Seamc, same, identical i, 2 5 

Seap, Seapc, soap, 14 78 

Seave, save, except ... 78 

Sebemteen, seventeen ... 5 

Sec, Seccan, Siccan, such ... 1 
Secbem, Secben, seven, 3, 6, 

c^^ ... 57 58 

Seed, saw, did see 2, 3, 10 

Seesh, sigh, 7, 32, ig, 40 56 
Se«k, sick ... ... ... 103 

S«er, «ure. Sccrly, surety 

47, 56, 60 81 
See't, contr. of ue it 
Seevy, rushy. Sccvy caps, 
tall comical caps made 

of rush ... ... 14 

Sect, sight ... 9, 2j 78 81 



Song 
Sel, self ... ... ... I 

Selt, sold ... ... 6 12 

Sen', seyne, since 
Serous, serious 
Set, Sett, to be a partner in 
a dance ; to accom- 
pany in a walk, i, 8, 23 70 
Setterday, Saturday ... 2 

Seugh, Sough, Sowe, ditch 50 
Seyde, side, 2, 6, 24 50 

Seyke, Syke, a gutter, a 

stream 
Seyne, since ... 2 4 

Seypers, Sypers, those who 

drink to the last drop 30 
Shaft', Shaugh, chaff, non- 
sense ... 76 81 
Shag, a slice. See Butter 

SHAG ... ... ... 13 

Sha' not, Sannot, shall not... 46 
Sheame, Shem, shame 32 45 
Sheap'd, shaped ... ... 8 

Shearing, reapin 

Sheer, Shear, to reap 

Shek'd, shaken ... ... i 

Shek, Sheck, shake i, 3 8 

Shettle, schedule, inventory 53 
Shevin, a shaving ... ... 40 

Sheyne, shine. Sheynin, 

shining ... 61 73 

Shift, Skift, to remove ... 44 
Shilapple, Shieldapple, Chaf- 
finch ... ... ... 8 

ShJU-house, cold, chill ... 38 
Shoon, shoes. See Shun. 

12, 24, 51 61 
Shot, a reckoning ... ... 16 

Shot of, freed from 

Shouder, shoulder ... ... 76 

Shoul, shovel ... ... 53 

Shuffle, to scrape with the 

feet ; to evade 
Shuik, shook ... 24 32 

Shun, for Shoon, shoes ... 81 
Shwort, short ... 72 78 

Shwort-keakes, rich fruit 
cakes as presents to 
sweethearts ... 7 44 

Sibby, Sibcl ... ... ... 47 

Silly, a term of symp.ithy or 
respectful endearment 
Sin', since ... ... ... 77 

Sin' seyne, since that time 15 19 
Siplin, sapling, twig full of sap 60 
Sizel, Sizle, to go about, to 

saunter ... 60 76 

Skeap'd, escaped ... ... 34 

?Skale, to spread or throw 
about 



342 



GLOSSARVr. 



Song 
Skcape-greace, scape-grace i 76 
?Skelp, to whip or beat 
SUcwball. A person who 
sings Skewball, sings 
without time or tune ... 39 
Skeybells, good-for-nothing 

persons ... 58 76 

?Skiddaw, mountain near 

Keswick ... 26, 60 67 

Skift, Shift, to remove 
Skirl, to shriek ... 8 50 

Slae, slee, sloe or blackthorn 
Slap, a smack ; to beat ... 19 
Slape, slippery ... ... 35 

FSlatter, spill 

Sleate, slate ... ... 20 

Slee, sly 

Slee-black, Slae-black, black 

as sloes ... ... 6 

?Sleuth-hound, the blood- 
hound ... 
Slink, an idle person 
Sliak, to walk away abjectly; 

to sneak ... ... I 

Slocken, to quench thirst 115 76 
Smart, smart money ... 25 

Sma", Smaw, small 4 70 

Smiddy, smithy ... ... 3 

?Smittal, Smittle, to infect ; 

infectious 
Sraudder, smother 
Smuik, smoke 4, 18, 41 69 

Smutty, obscene ... ... 30 

Snafflin, a trifling, contemp- 
tible fellow 
Snap, a small gingerbread 
cake. Also, a dog's 
name ... ... 44 79 

Snaw, snow ... 7 13 

Sneck, Snick, the latch of a 

gate or door ... ... 10 

Sneck posset, a disappoint- 
ment 
Snell, sharp, biting (of wind) 
Saeype, a snipe ... ... 63 

Snift rin, sniffling, sneaking 53 
Snip, Snippy, a byname 

for a tailor ... 4 8 

Snout-banded, having an iron 

plate on the toe of a clog 81 
Snurl, to snarl, to wrinkle 59 
Snwore, snore. Snworin, 7 

snoring 
Sonsy, lucky, generous, plump 

and in good condition 23 
Souple, supple, phant ... 4 
Soun, sound, weighty ... 37 

Sour-milk, butter-milk ... 4 



25 
76 
46 
44 
60 

4 
42 

4 
24 
57 

7 

34 53 
76 
60 
76 
53 



66 



Song 
Sous, a French coin, the 

sou ... ... ... 12 

Souse, to plunge or imraerge 40 
Sowdger, soldier 

?Sowerby 

Spak, spoke 

Speatry 

Speckets, spectacles 

Speyce, spice 

Speyte, in spite of ... 

Splet, split ... 

Spot, a place of service 

Spuin, spoon 

Spunky, sparkling ... 

Spwort, sport 

PStairnmire 

Stan, stand 

Standert, standard ... 

Starken, to tighten, to stiffen 

Statesman, an estatesman 

one living on his own 

land 
Staws, stalls 
Stays, corsets 
Stean, stone 
Stean- deef, stone-deaf 
Steek, Steuk, to shut 
Stegshe-Stagshaw, 2 m. from 

Corbridge. Noted for 

Horse Fairs 
Stewt, stewed 
Steyfe, steam, dust 
Steyle, stile 
Steyme, Styme, a light ; the 

faintest form of any 

object ... 

Stibble, stubble 

Stick in 't, a glass of spirits 

added to the pint of beer 
Sticks, furniture 
Stomich, stomach ... 
Stoun, a sudden and tran- 
sient pain 
Stour, Stoure, dust 
Stoury, Stoory, dusty 
Stown, stolen 
Stowre, a stake 
Stowt, to furnish 
Stowter, to struggle 

walk clumsily I 
Strack, struck 
Strae, Strea, straw 
Strang, strong 
Strappin, tall 
Streemn, strainin ... ... 35 

Streyt, straight 59 

Strowe ... ... ... 120 

Stuid, stood 4, 9, 24 



76 
36 



- 34 
... 24 
... 28 
41 60 
125 146 
... 115 
to 

38 81 

2 4 

21 24 

57 



GLOSSARY. 



343 



Song 

Stuil, a stool 20, 4, 3, 69 24 

Stuil, Stule, stole ... 20 64 

Strujve, strove ... ... 21 

Struttin, strutting ... ... 55 

Stur, stir ... ... ... 55 

Stut'rin, stuttering ... 4 

Stwory, story ... ... i 

Subscription, for description, 

an address ol a letter ... 60 

Sud, should ... 3, 32 2 
Suds, to be in, to be sullen 

or peevish ... ... 76 

Suggar, Sugger, sugar 4 20 
Suit, soot 

?Sukey 28 

Summet, somewhat, some- 

tb'ing 29 60 

Sumph, a block-head 2 33 

Suppwort, support ... ... 62 

?Susy, Susan, or Susanna 66 

Swally, to swallow ... ... 54 

Swap, Swop, to e.xchange 3 

Swat, sit down ... 41 81 
PSweer, lazy, averse 

Sweyne, swine ... ... 2 

Sweyne-hull, a small shed 

for pigs 79 

Swop, to exchange. See 

Swap. 

»Swope, asup 34, 52, 26 

Sworrofu, sorrowful... ... 3 

Sworry, sorry ... 6, 9 11 
Syke, Seyke, a gutter, a 

stream 

'Symie i 70 

Sypers. See Sevpers. 



Ta, this. Ta year — this year 

SeeTE. 
Ta'en, taken 
Tailyor, tailor. See Teay- 

LEAR 

Taistrel, Waistrel, a scoun- 
drel ... ... ,2 

Tak, take 

Tamer — Taraar 4-9 

Tane, Teanc, the one 13 

Tam'd, ill-natured 

Tarraby, a hamlet im. from 
Carlisle 

Tatey, potato ... 75 

Taw, tall ... 

Tawi, a strap of leather slit 
into several tails, and 
used for punishment ... 

Te, this. Te year — this year 

Teable, table 



_ , . Song 

Teakin, taking ... ... 70 

Teale, tale 3 15 

Teane, the one. See Take. 

Teane, ta'en, taken ... 35 

Tearan, Tearin, tearing ... 50 
?Tease, to importune, to 

pester ... 

Teasty, tasteful ... «, 

Teath, teeth 40 

Teaylear, Teylear, a tailor 4 8 

Tee, thee ... i 

Te-dee, Te-dea, Te-dui, to do 

Teeght, tight 54 

PTegedder, together 

Tek, Tak, take .•• 3 4 6 

Telt, telled, told ... '..T u 

Tem, them ... 

Teugh, tough ... ... 53 

Tew, to fatigue 

Teyde, the tide ... ... 72 

Teydey, tidy, 16, 23, 28 66 

Teydins, tidings 20 

Teyme, time 4, 61, 76 81 

?Teyney, tiny, small 

?Teype, type 

Thar, Thur, these or those ... 

Thee, for thy ... .. 

Theek, thatch ... Z 

Theer, there 

Theer's, there is 

Thick, friendly, intimate .... 

Thie, thigh ... ... ... 3,^ 

Thimmel, thimble 47 

Thirl, to pierce. See Thurl. 
Thivel, Thyvel, a porridge 

_ stick 105 

Thockin, a lisping mode of 

pronouncing shocking... 4 
Thof, though ... ... 175 

Thoo, thou ... 

Thore, those. See Thur. 

Thorpe, a village 

Thou'U, Tou'll, thou wilt ... 10 

Thoum, Thoom, Thum, 

thumb ... 15 19 

Thowt, thought,4, 8, 9, 15, 37 60 
Thrang, throng, 2, 6, 55 

Threap, threcp, to argue ; to 

^ ^"^'^ - 35 81 

Tlirecd, thread ... ... 3 

Threcpin, arguing ... ... 35 

Threesome, three together, i 76 
?Threlkct, a village near Kes- 
wick ... ... ... ^i 

Thruyce, thrice 

Thropple, the windpipe ... 30 
Throssle, throstle, Auld 
Hollow Tree 



344 



GLOSSARY. 



Song 

Thrwoat, throat 8i 

Thuirsby, a village 6m. 

{rem Carlisle ... 4 34 

Thum, thumb. SeeTHOUM 15 
Thur, these or those 16 28 

Thurl, Thirl, to pierce ... 66 

Thurteen, thirteen 14 

Thurty, thirty "8 

Thysel, thyself i 

Tig, to touch lightly ... 21 

Tig-touch-wood, a game ... 14 

Ti', Till, to 9-12 39 

Tindal Fell, a few miles from 

Brampton ... •.• 2 
Titter, sooner ... ... 183 

Titty, sister ...i, 19 22 

Tizzy, sixpence ... .■• 55 

Toddle, to walk unstably, 11 24 
Tom-beagle, the cock-chafer. 

Youth 
To-mworn, to-morrow ... i 
Top, Topper, of a good 

quality, 3. 22, 27 4 
Torkin, a hill near Crofton 

HaU 54 

Tou. thou I, 10 

Xou's— thou is, for thou art lo 

Tou'll, thou wiU 10 

Tought, taught 

Towerts, towards ... 72 76 
?Towertly, kindly, willingly 
Trepan, to allure, to catch 24 

Trible, treble 58 

Trig, tight ; neat, trim ... 29 
Trimmel, tremble ... ... 21 

Trinkums, trinkets, useless 

finery ... •■■ .•• I 

Trippet, a small piece of wood 
obtusely pointed, and 
used for a game 8 50 

Trouncin, a beating ... 28 

Trow, to believe 4 

Trowin, truant ... 97 12 

Tudder, the other, 3, 30, 25 57 
Tui, too, or<o ... 7 61 

Tuik, took, 2, 4, 9. 32 4i 

Tuith-wark, tooth-ache ... 38 

Tuil, Teul, tool 46 

TuU, to 41 70 

Tummel, tumble ... 3 26 

Tuppens, two-pence ... 5 

Turney, attorney 58 

Twea, Twee, two, i, 2, 11 6 
Tweesome, two in com- 
pany II 56 

Tweyce, twice 41. 6i 25 

Tweyne, twine 22 

Twontv, twenty 5° 



Tworn, torn 

Two to, the whole lot 



Song 
■• 74 



U 

Udsbreed, an oath ... ... 37 

Unco, Unket, very ; strange 44 
Unlarned, unlearned, un- 
taught 14 

Unsarra'd, unserved ... 38 

Upbank, uphill, upwards, 58 6<> 
Uphod, uphold, warrant, 

vouch for ... ... 60 

Upperby, near Carlisle. See 

HiVERBY. 

Upseyde, upside 

Upshot, a merry meeting in 

a barn, for music and 

dancing 
Urchin, hedgehog. Used 

jocosely for a child ... 38 



Vaprin, vapouring, boast- 
ing - 4 

Varmen, Varment, vermm 

Varra, very 2, 3. 4 7 

Varse, verse 58 

Vathly, a lisping mode of 

pronouncing vastly ... 4 
Veyle, vile ... 

W 

Waak, weak ... ... 78 

Wa or Wey, dang it, an oath 2 
Wad, wouW ... 4 8 

Waddle, to walk from side 

to side ... J 

Wadden't, Wadn't, would 

not 4 S 

Wae, sorry, sorrowful, a woe 53 

WafBer, a waverer 27 

Waistrel, a scoundrel 
Wake, weak. See Waak. 
Wale, choice. See Weale. 
Waraple, Wampool ... ... 4 

Wan, did win 27 

Wanter, a person who wants 

a wife or a husband 40 71 
War, Warse, worse, 1, 9, 38, 

25, 60 72 
War-day, work-day 28 39 

Wark, work ... 2, 4 13 

Warl, Warld, world, 2, 5, 7 18 
Warn, to assure, to uarratit 

Warnell 76 

Warse, worse. See War. 
Watna — wot not, do not know 66 



GLOSSARY. 



345 



Song 

Walter, water ... 8 22 

Watty, Walter ... 2 24 

Waw, wall 41 53 

Wawby, a personal surname 4 

Weade, wade ... ... 8 

Weage, wage ... 24 60 

Weager, wager ... 5 76 

Weale, to choose. See Wale 40 

Weame, breast, stomach ... 76 

Weast, the waist ... 55 ^9 
Weastcwoat, waistcoat, 27, 

55 60 

Weastry, wastefulness ... 76 
Webster, a weaver. See 

WOBSTER. 

Wedder, a wether sheep ... 3 
Weddet, wedded ... 54 71 

Wee, Uttle 52 

Weel, well 2-3 4 

Weel-shep'd, well shaped ... 
Welton, Nether Welton ... 
Weshin, washing ... ... 76 

Wey, why ! 12 

Weyde, wide ... ... 73 

Weyde-gobb'd, wide 

mouthed 
Weyfe, wife, i, 5, 32, 41 71 
Weyl, wUd. Weyldly, wild- 
ly 72 

Weyne, wine ... 60, 61 

Weyte, Wyte, blame ... 38 

Weyte, weight 

Whack, thwack or blow ... 4 
Whae, Whea, Whee, who ... 

Whaker, Quaker 8 

Whang, a blow ... ... 4 

Whart, a quart, 3, 54 76 

Whee, who. See Whae 2 6 
Wheel, the spinning wheel ... 72 
Wheezlin, drawing the breath 

with difficulty 38 

Whey-feaced, smock-faced 39 
Wheyle, a while, until ... 4 
Wheyles, sometimes ... 3 

Wheyn'd, whined, 2, 41 55 

Wheynin, whining. See 
Whinin'. 

Wheyte, quite ; white, 1,3, 8 
60, 61, 72 

Wheytcfit, nickname ... 2 

Whiet, quite. Whictly, quiet- 
ly 38. 55 69 

Whiff, a puff ; a blast ... 3a 

Whilk, which 

Whillymcr, Whillmoor. A 

poor sort of cheese ... 27 

Whingc, to weep, to whine 25 

Wbinm, whining. See 
Whevnin 



Song 
Whisht ! hush ! quiet !, 

I. 2, 7 35 
Whissen-Monday, Whit 

Monday ... ... 35 

Whitten, Whitehaven ... 28 

Whoal, whol, a hole 

Whoar, where 

Whoar, whether 

Whop, Whope, hope, 3, 11 14 

PWhoms ... ... ... 60 

Whompeype, hornpipe, 4 24 
Whupper snapper, a term of 

contempt 
Whuppin, whipping 
Whurry, wherry ... 3 4 

Whusky, whisky ... ... 53 

Whussenday, Whit Sunday, 

2 35 
Whussel, Whustle, whistle 16 39 
Whuzzin, whizzing ... ... 15 

Whiet, quiet 

Whye, Wheye, Quey, a 

heifer ... ... ... 3 

Wi', Wid, with ... 11 20 

Widout, without, 3, 5, 6 40 

?Wiggaiiby 34 

Win, wind, 22, 41, 51, 57,63, 79 
Windy, noisy, talkative 
Winna, will not. See Wun- 

NET. 

Winnins, winnings ... 

Wizzan, Wizzen, the gullet 53 

Woath, oath ... ... 74 

Wobster, Webster, a weaver 35 

Worchet, orchard, 11, 41, 57 

Worder'd, ordered ... ... 60 

Wordy, worthy ... 49 58 
Worton, Orton, 5m. from 

CarUsle ... 4, 76, 44 

Wosler, hostler ... ... 76 

Wot, oat ... 4, 51 60 

Wrang, wrong, i, 4, 20 

WuU, will 43 

Wullin, willing 

Wully, William, i, 4, 13 43 

Wun, to dwell ... ... 29 

Wunnet, Winna, will not, 

I, 6, 7, 41 67 

Wurried, worried ... ... 3 

Wursle, wrestle ... ... 41 

Wustler, wrestler 

Wyte, blame. See Weyte. 



Yable, able. See Yebel. 
Yacre, acre ... ... ... 39 

Yad, Yaud, a mare ... i 31 



346 



GLOSSARY. 



Yage. Yeage, age, 5, 13, 51 
YaUow, yellow 
Yat, Yeat, gate, 
Yebel, yable, able 

?Ved(iy 

Yek, oak 

Yell, ale 2,3 

Yell-house, ale-house 
Yen, one. Yence, once, 
I, 2, 



SoBg 



13. 


51 


18 




27 


55 




7 


30 

81 

?4 




38 


60 


4. 


41 


81 


ce 


41 


52 


III 


20 


40 



Yer leane, by yourself 
Yerth, earth 
Ye's, ye shall 
Yestreen, yesterday 
Youngen, young one 
Youngermak, Youngermer, 
the younger persons, 32 
Yubben, oven 
Yuk, to itcji 



Song 



When the compiler of this Concordance first offered it to me for the 
Centenary Edition it was four or five times its present size, for in n 
work of years Mr. Crowther had written out full definitions of evey 
word, and under each word liad likewise written out each quotation 
in which it occurs. I saw at once that this size must exclude it from 
the work. I suggested to Mr. Crowther, therefore, to reduce it to tlie 
smallest compressible compass. He willingly worked at reducing it, 
bring'ng it to concise definitions — often single words almost — and left 
out all quotations of passages, so as to reduce it to its present form. 
Then another difficulty occurred, omitting the illustrative quotations 
had made it cease to be a Concordance at all. I suggested reference 
by numbers from the Glossary to the Index and from the Index to the 
Page. These I worked out myself, and it took me two or three weeks 
of incessant work. I hope, however, the result will be found to be of 
service, and in taking my leave of it I may bear this wdling witness to 
the industrious Compiler, that if again so engaged I could not desire 
to have a more kind, helpful and accurate colleague in any literary 
work. — Editor. 



INDEX. 

BarbaryBeii ... 2 and 3 



No. P^Se 

I Betty Brown 



3 Nichol the Newsmonger 4 

4 The Worton Weddin 7 

5 SaUyGray ^o 

6 Will an Keatie ^2 

7 The Impatient Lassie ■•• — *3 

8 The Bundle of Oddities ^5 

9 Luckless Jonathan *7 

10 Dick Walters »° 

11 The Lass abuin Thirty 20 

12 Tom Linton ... ... ■.• ••• ••• ••• •■• ^^ 

13 The Happy Family 23 

14 The Author on Himself ~S 

15 Peace ... ... ..• ••• •■• ■■• •■• ••• '2 

16 The Cummerlan Farmer 20 

17 Luive disappointed ... ... — •■• ••• ■■• 30 

x8 Aul Market 3* 

19 First Luive ... ... .•• ••• ••• ••• ••• 33 

20 Leyle Steeben ... ... ••• ••• ••■ ••• •■• 34 

21 The Bashfu Wooer 35 

22 TheAuntv 3* 

23 'I"he Rural Visit 3» 

24 Croglin Watty 44 

2j Jenny's Complaint ... ... ... .-• ••• ••• 43 

26 Corprel Gowdy's Letter 44 

27 Matthew Macree 4° 

28 Calep Crosby 4» 

29 Feckless WuUy 49 

30 The Bleckell Murr>neet 50 

31 The Delights of Love 5* 

32 Ruth 53 

33 The Peck of Punch 54 

34 The Thuirsby Witch 56 

35 The Village Gang 57 

36 Dicky.Glcndinin ... ... ••. ••. ••• ••■ 59 

37 The Invasion ... ... ... •■• ••• ••• ••• ^^ 

38 Grizry 02 

30 GwordieGill ^3 

40 A Weyfc for Wully MiUer 64 

41 The Twee Aul Men ^6 

42 Uncle Wully 69 

43 Guid Strang Yell 70 

44 Brufl Rcaces 7* 

45 Biddy 74 

46 Dinah Dufton 75 

47 Ned Carnaughan ... ... ... .•• ..• ••• 7o 

48 The Cocker o" Codbcck 77 

49 Canny Aul Cummerlan 7» 



34S INDEX. 

No Page 

50 Jeff an Job ... ... ... ... ••■ ••• ••■ 81 

51 Tib an her Maister ... ... ... 82 

52 Jwohnny and Mary... ... ... ■.• ... ••• 84. 

53 The Clay Daubin ... ... ••• .•• ••• ••• 85 

54 The Fellows round Torkin ... 87 

55 The Dawston Player-Fwok 90 

56 Our Jwohnny ... ... ... .•■ ••• ..• 93 

57 King Roger ... ... ... ... ... ••• 94 

58 KitCraflet 96 

59 Elizabeth's Burthday 99 

60 Borrowdale Jwohnny ... ... ... ... ■•• loi 

61 Lang Seync ... ... ... ... .•• .•• ■•• 104 

62 TheAul'Beggar 105 

63 The Buck o' Kingwatter 107 

64 Marget o' the Mill 108 

65 Madam Jane 109 

65 Young Susy ... ... ... ... ... ... ••. no 

67 Reed Robin m 

68 Reed Robin's Answer ... ... 112 

69 Threescwore and Nineteen ... ... ... ... •.• 113 

70 SiUy Andrew 115 

71 Aul Robby Miller ii6 

72 Nanny Peal ... ... ... ... ... ... ••• ii7 

73 Andrew's Youngest Dowter ... ... 118 

74 Soldier Yeddy "9 

75 The Dawtie 121 

76 The Codbeck VVeddin 122 

77 The Peat Cadger 127 

78 The Ill-Gien Weyfe 128 

79 The Beggar an Keate ... 131 

80 The Happy Couple 133 

81 Carel Fair i34 

82 Stranger 140 

83 Peggy Pen 141 

84 Cursmas Eve... ... ... ... ... — ••. '43 

85 Jack Spang ... ... ... ... ... ... — I45 

86 Calep an VVuUy i47 

87 The Flow'r o' the VUlage I49 

88 KitCapstick 150 

89 Our Lanlword an Lanleady ... -.• .•• ••■ 152 

90 Jwohnny an Jenny ... ... ... ... ... ••• I54 

91 The Sailor I55 

92 Jean i57 



} 



Aw the war'ls a Stage ... ... ... ••• ... 158 

Sarvent Ned ... ... ... ... ... ... •■. 160 



93 
9+ 
94 Jerry's Cursnin ... ... ... ... ■•. ••• i6r 



96 To Jwohnny... ... ... ... ... ... ... 164 

97 Leyle Deavie... ... ... ... ... ... ... 165 

98 Adveyce to Nanny ... ... ... ... ... ••. 166 

99 Gilsden Spa ... ... ... ... ... ... ••• 167 

100 On Parting I70 

loi The Rwose in June ... ... ... ... ••. ••• '72 

102 Be Merry to-day I73 

103 Youth 173 

104 Non-Such ... ... ... ... ... ... ..■ 175 

105 Cram, or Nichol an Cuddy ... 176 

106 Luive-lworn Bess ... ... ... ... ... •.• i8r 

107 Anne ... ... — 162 

108 Mistress Cieake's Tea Party 183 

109 Lily o' the Valley 186 



INDEX. 349 

No. Page 

no Approach o' Winter 'O/ 

111 When shall we meet ageane loo 

112 Jack an Tom ^°9 

113 ToCrito 190 

114 Hard-hearted Hannah ^92 

115 WullvanMarv '94 

116 Cockfeght 195 

117 Lennet ... ■•• •.• ••• ••■ •■• ••• *97 

118 Corby I9B 

119 Laird Jwohnny ... ... ... ••■ •■• ••• 200 

120 Fadder's Lecture ... 2or 

121 Flow'r o' them aw ... ... .•■ ..• ••• •■• 203 

122 Gud Adveyce ... ... ... ••• — ■•• 204 

123 Invitation ... ... ... ■.■ ••• ••• ••• 205 

124 Levfe's Comforts 206 

125 Gud-for-Nowt Weyfe 207 

126 The Lass that lo'es me 2°° 

127 Poverty's nae sin ... ... ••. •.• ■•■ ■•• 209 

128 Tamer an Matty 210 

129 Yage an Poverty ... ... .-. •■• ••• ••• 213 

130 Contrast 214 

131 Jack an Fanny ••• ••• ••■ 215 

132 Jovs of Contentment ... ... ..■ •■• ••• 216 

133 Sailor's Return 217 

134 True Luive ... ... ... •.• •■• ••• ■•• 219 

135 My Luive is but a Lassie yet 220 

136 Oor Awn Fire Seyde ... ... ... .•• •■• 221 

137 Luive as it sud be ... ... ••. ■■. ••• ••• 223 

138 Lament 225 

139 Aul Englan ••• 220 

140 Mad Mary 227 

141 Nathan an Winny 228 

142 Winny an Nathan ... ... ... •-. ■•• ••• 231 

143 Primrwose Banks ... ... .•• ••. ••• ■•■ 233 

144 Author's Birthday ••■ ••• ••• 234 

145 Mudder an Jemmy ... ... 235 

14(5 Michael the Miser 238 

147 Shepherd's Complaint ... ... ... ••. ■•• 239 

148 Frien in Prison 240 

149 Dinah... ... ... ... .■• ••• ••• ••• 242 

150 Marv ov Carlattan 243 

151 Dandy Dan I 244 

152 Dandy Dan II 245 

153 False Luive ... ... ... ... •.• — ■•• 247 

154 Farewell to Carel 240 

155 Northumbrian Lasses ... ... ■.• ■.• ••• 249 

156 Mudder an Dowter ... ... ... ... ••• ■•• 251 

157 Bormy Lass wi apron blue ... ... •■■ •■• 252 

158 To Marget 253 

159 Author^ Reflection ... ... ... ••■ ••• ••• 255 

160 Weyfc's Anxiety 256 

161 Raff an the Squire ■•• ■•• ■•• 257 

162 Lassie ov Hay ton ... ... ••. ••. ••• •■• 25" 

163 Daft Dick 259 

164 Taxes fluni; by 262 

165 Preydc o' the Border ... 203 

166 Mad Bess 2^5 

167 Blithe Jwohnny Graeme 266 

168 Willie that's far on the Wave 20° 

169 Fortune Teller - 27© 



350 INDEX. 

No. Pagp 

170 Luive's Keyndness ... ... ... ••• ••■ ••• 272 

171 Betty o' Branton 273 

172 Heame's Heame ... .•• ■•• •■• ••• ••• 274 

173 Btty Bell 277 

174 Our Maister an Deame ... ... .•• .•• ... 278 

175 Heddersgill Kcatie ... .•■ ■.• ... 280 

176 Aul Ben's Courtship 281 

177 Invitation to Crito ... 283 

178 Sally ovirthin 285 

179 I'll neer luive anudder ... ... ... ... ... 287 

180 Quilters 289 

i8i Reform 29" 

182 Nichol's Deeth 293 

183 Aul Hollow Tree 295 

184 Leyfe's Changes 298 

185 Ballad Singer 299 

186 Farewell to the Muse 304 

187 Jubileeof a Cumberland Marriage 307 

188 The Gud Schuilmaister 308 

189 Wigton True Singer 3'° 

190 Hard-workin Jwosep ... ... •. ■■. ■■• 3" 

191 Fain to dui Reet ■.■ ••• 3'* 

192 Redbreast 3^3 

193 Summer Weather •.■ 3^4 

194 Deavie the Beggar 3^4 

195 Bonny Greace ... ... ••• ■•. •■• ••• 3^5 

196 Bondship ... ... ... ... •.• .•■ •■• 3^7 

197 Bonny Stampt Gown ... 3*° 

198 The Author on Himself 3^9 

199 Birthday of Robert Bums 320 

200 Adieu to Erin •■■ 32* 



The order of the Ballads as here given is in a great measure 
the order of date of composition as marked by Anderson in MS. 
and followed by editions of 1805 and 1808, and also very generally 
by all future editions. In the second hundred cf Ballads I have^ 
with some notable exceptions given, so far as I .knew it, the 
Ballads ia order of time. [Editor.] 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Portrait of Robert Anderson 
Kirklinton Church and Churchyard 

Sanderson's Tomb 

Mural Tablet to Anderson 
Anderson's Headstone 
Cottage of "Saliy Gray" ... 
Banks o' the Leyne 
Sanderson's Well 



FrotUispiece. 

facing page vii. 

,. xvi. 

... page xvft. 

,, xviii. 

faciag page lo 

191 

294 



We have to thank G. and T. Coward, of Carlisle, for leave 
to copy Portrait of Anderson. 

The Kirklinton Photographs were most kindly taken for us 
by G. J. Bell, Esq., and his son; also the cottage of "Sally 
Gray." 

View of Mural Tablet and Headstone were kindly lent for 
this work by Francis Jossph Bigger, editor of Ulster Journal 
of Arclneology. 



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