BERKELEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 ^6/U)St3Jl 
 

rh^M' 
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 witii funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.arcliive.org/details/balladsincumberlOOandericli 
 
BALLADS, 
 
 IN THE 
 
 CUMBEELAND DIALECT, 
 
 CHIEFLY BY 
 
 R. ANDERSON, 
 
 WITH 
 
 NOTES AND A GLOSSARY: 
 
 The remainder by various Authors. 
 
 The Song beguiles dull Care, at Night's black hour, 
 Now calls a starting tear from Sorrow's eye ; 
 
 Then grant me, Fate, awhile the soothing pow'r 
 To charm the rustic with wild minstrelsy. 
 
 If, midst coarse weeds, he find a simple flow'r. 
 The learned critic's frown I'll proud defy !— R. A. 
 
 COCKERMOUTH : 
 
 Printed at the Office of I. Evening, 
 
 STATION street. 
 
 18 70. 
 
1. EVENINa, PRINTEB, COCKERMOUTH. 
 
baJ. 
 
 CUMBEELAND BALLADS, /.^y^ 
 BALLAD I. 
 
 BETTY BEOWIT. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — "John Anderson my Jo.*\ 
 
 — — 
 
 WULL Y. 
 
 1 OME, Gwordie lad, unyoke the yad, 
 
 Let's gow to EosLEY Fair ; * 
 ilLang Ned's afore, wi' Symie' lad, 
 Peed Dick, and monie mair. 
 
 My titty Greace and Jenny Bell 
 
 Are gangen bye and bye, 
 Sae doff thy clogs, and don thysel — 
 
 Let fadder luik to t' kye. 
 
 GWOEDIE. 
 
 0, Wully ! leetsome may ye be ! 
 
 For me, I downa gang ; 
 I've often shek'd a leg wi' tee, 
 
 But now I's aw wheyte wrang. 
 
 ♦ See Note I, at the end of the volume. 
 
 401 
 
4 CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 
 
 My Stomich's gaene, nea sleep I get ; 
 
 At neet I lig me down, 
 But nobbet i3ech, and gowl, and fret, 
 
 And aw for Betty Brown, 
 
 Sin' Cuddy Wulson' murry-neet. 
 
 When Deavie brees'd his shin, 
 I've niver, niver yence been reet, 
 
 And aw for her, I fin. 
 
 Tou kens we danc'd a threesome reel. 
 
 And Betty set to me — 
 She luik'd sae neyce, and danc'd sae weel, 
 
 What cud a body de ? 
 
 My fadder fratches sair enough, 
 
 If I but steal frae heame ; 
 My mudder caws me peer deyl'd guff. 
 
 If Betty I but neame. 
 
 At ween the twee there's sec a frase, 
 
 but it's bad to beyde ! 
 Yet, what's far war, aye Betty says 
 
 She wunnet be my breyde. 
 
 WULLY. 
 
 Wey, Gworge ! ton's owther fuil or font, 
 
 To think o' sec a frow ; 
 In aw her flegmagaries donn'd. 
 
 What is she — nought 'at dow. 
 
 There's sceape-greace Ben, the neybors ken, 
 
 Can git her onie day — 
 Ere I'd be fash'd wi' sec a yen, 
 
 I'd list, or rin away ! 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 5 
 
 Wi' aw her trinkums on her back, 
 She's feyne eneugh for t' sqnire ; 
 
 A' sairy weyfe, I trow, she'd mak. 
 At cudn't muck a byre. 
 
 But, whisht ! here comes my titty Greace, 
 
 She'll guess what we're about — 
 To mworn-o'mworn, i' this seame pleace. 
 
 We'll hae the stwory out. 
 
 December 19, 1801. 
 
 BALLAD 11. 
 BABBABY BELL. 
 
 Tune — ^'Cuddle and cuddle us aw thegether." 
 — — 
 
 ^H, but this luive is a serious thing ! 
 
 It's the beginner o' monie waes ; 
 /'And yen had as guid in a helter swing. 
 As luik at a bonny feace now-a-days ; 
 
 Was there ever peer deevil sae fash'd as me ? 
 
 Nobbet sit your ways still, the truth I's tell, 
 For I wish I'd been hung on our codlen tree, 
 
 The varra furst time I seed Barhary Bell, 
 
 Quite lish, and nit owre thrang wi' wark, 
 I went my ways down to Carel fair, "' 
 
 Wi' bran new cwoat, and brave ruffl'd sark. 
 And Dicky the shaver pat flour i' my hair ; 
 
 ♦ Sco Note ir. 
 
6 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Our seyde lads are aw for fun, 
 
 Some tuik ceyder, and some drank yell ; 
 Diddlen Deavie he strack up a tune, 
 
 And I caper' d away wi' Barhary Bell. 
 
 Says I, **Bab," says I, "we'll de weel eneugh. 
 For tou can kurn, and darn, and spin ; 
 
 I can deyke, men car gear, and hod the 
 pleugh, 
 Sae at Whussenday neist we'll t' warl begin." 
 
 *'I's turn'd a gayshen, aw t' neybors say, 
 I sit like a sumph, nae mair mysel ; 
 
 And up or a-bed, at heame or away, 
 I think o' nought but Barhary Bell" 
 
 Then whee sud steal in but Eob o' the Nuik,* 
 Dick o' the steyle, and twee or three mair ; 
 
 Suin Barb'ry frae off my knee they tuik, 
 **Wey, dang it ! " says I, *'but this is nit fair!" 
 
 Eobbie he kick'd up a dust in a crack, 
 And sticks and neeves they went pel-mel. 
 
 The bottles, forby the clock feace they brak — 
 But fares-te-weel, wheyte-fit, Barhary Bell. 
 
 'Twas nobbet last week, nee langer seyne, 
 I wheyn'd i' the nuik, I can't tell how. 
 
 '*Get up," says my f adder, **and sarra the 
 sweyne." 
 **rs bravely, Bab," says I, ** how's tou ?" 
 
 Neist mworn to t' cwoals I was fworc'd to gang. 
 But cowp'd the cars at Tindle Fell, 
 
 For I cruin'd aw the way, as I trotted alang, 
 ** that I'd niver kent Barhary Bell ! " 
 
 ♦ See Note III. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 7 
 
 That varra seame neet, up to Barbary' house, 
 When aw t' auld fwok were liggin asleep, 
 
 I off wi' my clogs, and, as whist as a mouse, 
 Claver'd up to the window, and tuik a peep. 
 
 There whee sud I see but "Watty the laird — 
 Od wheyte leet on him ! I munnet tell ! 
 
 But on Satterday neist, if I live and be spar'd, 
 I'll wear a reed cwot for Barbary Bell. 
 
 Ajpril UtJi, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD III. 
 ITZCBOL THE NEWSUONQtSR. 
 
 Tune — " The Niglit before Larry was stretched.'' 
 — — 
 
 V^ OME, Nichol, and gi'e us thy cracks, 
 jf/jg^ I seed te gang down to the smiddy ; 
 ^l^I've fodder'd the naigs and the nowt, 
 And wanted to see thee 'at did e. 
 
 Ay, Andrew lad ! draw in a stuil. 
 And gi'e us a shek o' thy daddle ; 
 
 I got aw the news, far and nar,'-' 
 Sae set off as fast's e could waddle. 
 
 In France they've but sworrofu' times, 
 For Bonnyprat's t nit as he sud be ; 
 
 America's nobbet sae sae ; 
 
 And England nit quite as she mud be : 
 
 * See Note IV. t Bonaparte. 
 
8 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Sad wark there's amang blacks and wheytes,'*' 
 Sec tellin plain teales to their feaces, 
 
 Wi' murders, and wars, and aw that — 
 But, hod — I forget where the pleace is. 
 
 Our parson he gat drunk as muck. 
 
 Then ledder'd aw t' lads round about him ; 
 
 They said he was nobbet hawf reet. 
 And fwok mud as weel be widout him. 
 
 The yell's to be fourpence a whart — • 
 
 Odswinge, lad, there will be rare drinking ! 
 
 Billy Pitt's mad as onie March hare, 
 Ajid niver was reet fwok are thinking. 
 
 A weddin we'll hev or it's lang, 
 
 Wi' Bet Brag and lal Tommy Tagwally ; 
 Jack Bunton's far off to the sea — 
 
 It'll e'en be the deeth of our Sally ; 
 
 The dogger has bowt a new wig ; 
 
 Dalston singers come here agean Sunday ; 
 Lord Nelson's ta'en three Spanish fleets. 
 
 And the dancin schuil opens on Monday. 
 
 Carel badgers are monstrous sad fwok. 
 The silly peer de'ils how they wring up ! 
 
 Lal bairns ha'e got pox frae the kye,t 
 
 And fact'ries, like mushrooms they spring up, 
 
 If they sud keep their feet for a while. 
 And government nobbet pruive civil. 
 
 They'll build up as hee as the muin. 
 For Card's a match for the deevil. 
 
 * Alluding to the insurrection of the blacks, t Cow Pox. 
 
CUMBKIAN BALLADS. U 
 
 The king's meade a bit of a speech, 
 And gentlefwok say it's a topper ; 
 
 An alderman deet tudder neet, 
 Efter eatin' a turkey to supper. 
 
 Our squire's to be parliment man, 
 
 Mess, lad, but he'll keep them aw busy ! 
 
 Whee thinks te's come heame i' the cwoach, 
 Frae Lunnon, but grater-fac'd Lizzy. 
 
 The cock-feghts are ninth o' neist month, 
 I've twee, nit aw England can bang them ; 
 
 In Ireland they're aw up in arms. 
 It's whop'd there's nee Frenchmen amang 
 them, 
 
 A boggle' s been seen wi' twee heads,* 
 Lord help us ! ayont WuUy C arras, 
 
 Wi' girt saucer een, and a tail — 
 
 They dui say 'twas auld Jobby Barras. 
 
 The muin was at full this neet week ; 
 
 The weather is turn'd monstrous daggy ; 
 I' th' loft, just at seeven last neet, 
 
 Lai Stephen sweethearted lang Aggy. 
 
 There'll be bonny wark bye and bye. 
 
 The truth 'U be out, there's nee fear on't. 
 
 But I niver say nought, nay, nit I, 
 
 For fear hawf the parish sud hear on't. 
 
 Our Tib at the cwose-house has been. 
 
 She tells us they're aw monstrous murry. 
 
 At Carel the brig's tummel'd down. 
 And they tek the fwok owr in a whurry. 
 
 * See Note Y. 
 
10 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 I carried oui* whye to the bull ; 
 
 They've ta'en seeven spies up at Dover: 
 My fadder compleens of his hip ; 
 
 And the Grand Turk has enter'd Hanover. 
 
 Daft Peg's got hersel, man, wi' bairn, 
 
 And silly Pilgarlic's the fadder ; 
 Lai Sim's geane and swapp'd the black cowt, 
 
 And cwoley has wurried the wedder. 
 
 My mudder has got frostet heels, 
 And peace is the talk of the nation, 
 
 For papers says varra neist week. 
 There's to be a grand humiliation. "^ 
 
 Aunt Meable has lost her best sark. 
 And Cleutie is bleam'd varra mickle ; 
 
 Nought's seafe out o' duirs now-a-days, 
 Frae a millstone e'en down to a sickle. 
 
 The clock it streykes eight, I mun heame, 
 
 Or I's git a deuce of a fr at chin. 
 When neist we've a few hours to spare. 
 
 We'll fin out what mischief's a hat chin. 
 
 July 5, 1807. 
 
 BALLAD IV. 
 
 THE WOBTOIT WEDDIXTG. 
 
 Tune — " Dainty Davy" 
 — 
 
 f^iv ^^^ ^ weddin I've been at ! t 
 
 De'il bin, what cap'rin, feghtin, vap'rin ! I 
 /^Priest and clerk, and aw gat drunk — 
 Rare deins there war there. 
 
 • Illuminatioii. t See Note VI. t See Note VII. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 11 
 
 Tlie Thuirsby Lads tliey fit the best, 
 The Worton Weavers drank the meast ; 
 But Brougli-seyde Lairds bang'd aw the rest 
 For braggin o' their gear, 
 
 And singing — "Whurry whum, whuddle 
 whum, 
 Whulty, wlialty, wha, wha, 
 
 wha, 
 Andderry dum, diddle dum, 
 Perry eyden dee. 
 
 Furst helter skelter frae the kurk, 
 
 Some off like fire thro' dub and mire ; 
 **Deil tek the hindmost V Mere' lad cries — 
 
 Suin head owre heels he flew. 
 ** God speed ye weel," the priest rwoar'd out, 
 *' Or neet we's ha'e a hearty bout ; " 
 Peer Meer' lad gat a bleaken'd snout, 
 He'd mickle cause to rue — 
 
 It spoil' d his — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 When on the teable furst they set 
 The butter'd sops, sec greasy chops, 
 
 'Tween lug and laggen ! oh what fun 
 To see them girn and eat ! 
 
 Then lisping Isbel talk'd sae feyne, 
 
 ^' 'Twas vathly thockin"^' thutli to dine ; 
 
 Theck grivetht wark to eat like thwayne !" | 
 It made her sick to see't. 
 
 Then we sung — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Neist stut'rin Cursty up he ruse, 
 
 Wi' a-a-a, and ha-ha-ha ; 
 He'd kiss Jen Jakes for aw lang seyne, 
 
 And fearfu' wark meade he. 
 But Cursty, souple gammerstang, 
 
 * Vastly shocking, f Such grievous. % Swine. 
 
12 CUMBRIAN BALLADS* 
 
 Ned Wulson brong his lug a whang ; 
 Then owre he flew, the peets amang, 
 And grean'd as he wad dee. 
 But some sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Aunt Ester spoil'd the gurdle ceakes, 
 
 The speyce left out was wrang, nae doubt ; 
 Tim Trummel tuik nine cups o' tea, 
 
 And fairly capp'd them aw. 
 The kiss went roun ; but Sally Slee, 
 When Trummel cleek'd her on his knee, 
 She dunch'd and punch'd, cried ''full, let be !" 
 Then strack him owre the jaw. 
 And we sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Far maist I leugh at Grizzy Brown, 
 
 Frae Lunnon town she'd just come down. 
 
 In furbelows and feyne silk gown — 
 Oh, man, but she was crouse ! 
 
 Wi' Dick the footman she wad dance. 
 
 And wonder' d people could so prance ; 
 
 Then curtchey'd as they dui in France, 
 And pautet like a geuse. 
 
 While aw sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Young sour-milk Sawney, on the stuil, 
 
 A whornpeypedanc'd, and^keav'd and pranc'd 
 
 He slipp'd and brak his left-leg shin, 
 And hirpl'd sair about : 
 
 Then cocker Wully lap bawk heet. 
 
 And in his clogs top teyme did beat ; 
 
 But Tamer, in her stockin feet. 
 She bang'd him out and out. 
 And inted — Wliurry whum, &c. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 13 
 
 Now aw began to talk at yence, 
 
 0' naigs and kye, and wots and rye, 
 
 Andlaugli'dandjwok'd,andcougli'dandsmuik'd 
 And meade a fearfu' reek. 
 
 The furm it brak, and down they fell, 
 
 Lang Isaac leam'd auld grandy Bell ; 
 
 They up, and drank het sugar' d yell, 
 Till monie cudn't speak. 
 But some sang— Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 The breyde she kest up her accounts 
 In Eachel' lap, then pou'd her cap ; 
 
 The parson' wig stuid aw ajy ; 
 The dark sang Andrew Carr ; 
 
 Blin Staig, the fiddler, gat a whack. 
 
 The bacon fleek fell on his back. 
 
 And neist his fiddle-stick they brak, 
 'Twas weel it was nee war. 
 
 For he sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 Now on the midden some were laid. 
 
 Aw havey, scavey, and kelavey ; 
 The dogger and the teaylear fit. 
 
 Peer Snip get twee black een ; 
 Dick Wawby he began the fray. 
 But Jemmy Moffat ran away. 
 And crap owre head amang the hay, 
 
 Fwok say nit varra clean ; 
 
 Then they sang — Whurry Whum, &c. 
 
 Neist Windy WuU o' Wample seyde. 
 
 He bang'd them aw, beath girt and smaw ,* 
 
 He flang them east, he flang them west. 
 And bluidy pates they gat ; 
 
14 CUMBEIAN BALLADS, 
 
 To him tliey war but caff and san ; 
 He split the teable wi' his han, 
 But in the dust wi' dancin Dan, 
 They brunt his Sunday hat ; 
 
 Then aw sang — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 The breyde now thowt it time for bed ; 
 
 Her stockin doff'd and flang 't quite soft — 
 It hat Bess Bleane — Wull Webster blush'd 
 
 And luik'd anudder way ; 
 The lads down frae the loft did steal ; 
 The parish howdy, Greacy Peel, 
 She happ'd her up, aw wish'd her weel. 
 
 Then whop'd to meet neist day. 
 And sing her — Whurry Whum, &c. 
 
 The best on't was, the parson swore 
 His wig was lost, a crown it cost, 
 
 He belsh'd and heccupp'd in and out, 
 He said it wasn't fair. 
 
 Now day-leet it began to peep. 
 
 The breydegruim off to bed did creep, 
 
 I trow he waddn't miclde sleep. 
 But, whisht ! — I'll say nee mair, 
 Nobbet sing — Whurry whum, &c. 
 
 July 10, 1802. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 15 
 
 BALLAD V. 
 SALLY GRAY. 
 
 Tune — " The mucTcing o' Gwordie's hyre." 
 
 OME, Deavie, I'll tell thee a secret, 
 But tou mun lock't up i' thee breast, 
 ll waddn't for aw Dalston parish, 
 It com to the ears of the rest. 
 Now I'll hod te a bit of a weager, 
 A groat to thy tuppens I'll lay, 
 Tou cannot guess whee I's in luive wi', 
 And nobbet keep off Sally Gray, 
 
 There' s Cumwhitton, Cumwhinton, Cumranton, 
 
 Cumrangen, Cumrew, and Cumcatch, 
 And monny mair cums i' the county. 
 
 But nin wi' Cumdivock can match : 
 It's sae neyce to luik owre the black pasture, 
 
 The fells abuin aw, far away— 
 There is nee sec pleace, nit in England, 
 
 For there lives the sweet 8ally Gray. 
 
 I was sebenteen last CoUop-Monday, "^ 
 
 And she's just the varra seame yage ; 
 For ae kiss o' the sweet lips o' Sally, 
 
 I'd freely give up a year's wage. 
 For in lang winter neets when she's spinnin. 
 
 And singin about Jemmy Gray, 
 I keek by the hay-stack, and lissen. 
 
 For fain wad I see Sally Gray. 
 
 * Note VIII. 
 
16 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Had tou seen her at kurk, man, last Sunday,* 
 
 Tou cou'dn't ha'e thought o' the text ; 
 But she sat neist to Tom o' the Lonnin, 
 
 Tou may think that meade me quite vext. 
 Then I pass'd her gawn owre the lang meedow, 
 
 Says I, *^ Here's a canny wet day ! " 
 I wad ha'e said mair, but how cou'd e, 
 
 When luikin at sweet Sally Gray, 
 
 I caw'd to sup cruds wi' Dick Miller, , 
 
 And hear aw his cracks and his jwokes ; 
 The dumb wife was tellin their fortunes,} 
 
 What ! I mud be like other fwokes. 
 Wi' chalk on a pair of auld bellows, 
 
 Twee letters she meade in her way, 
 S means Sally the wide warl owre, 
 
 And G stands for nought else but Oray, 
 
 was I but Iword o' the manor, 
 
 A nabob, or parhment man, 
 What thousands on thousands I'd gi' her. 
 
 Wad she nobbet gi' me her han. 
 A cwoach and six horses I'd buy her. 
 
 And gar fwok stan out o' the way, 
 Then I'd lowp up behint like a footman — 
 
 Oh ! the warl for my sweet Sally Gray. 
 
 They may brag o' their feyne Carel lasses, 
 
 Their feathers, their durtment, and leace ; 
 God help them I peer deeth-luikin bodies, 
 
 Widout a bid reed o' their feace ! 
 But SaUy's just like allyblaster. 
 
 Her cheeks are twee rwose-buds in May — 
 lad ! I cou'd sit here for ever. 
 
 And talk about sweet Sally Gray, 
 
 * Note IX. t See Note X. July 24, 1802. 
 
CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 17 
 
 BALLAD VI. 
 WILL AlTD SATE. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — *' John Anderson my jo." 
 
 j'OW, Kate, full forty years ha'e flown * 
 
 Sin we met on the green ; 
 )Frae that to this, the saut, saut tear 
 Has oft stuid i' my een. 
 For when the bairns were some peet-heet, 
 
 Ton kens I leam'd my knee — 
 Lai toddlen things, in want o' bread — 
 that went hard wi' me ! 
 
 Then ton wad cry, ** Come, WuUie lad, 
 
 Keep up thy heart — ne'er fear ! 
 Our bits o' bairns '11 scrafile up, 
 
 Sae dry that sworry tear. 
 There's Matthew's be an alderman, 
 
 A bishop we'll mak Guy, 
 Lai Ned sal be a dogger, 
 
 Dick sal work for tee and I." 
 
 Then when our crops were spoil'd wi' rain. 
 
 Sir Jwohn mud hev his rent ; 
 What cud we de ? nee geer had we — 
 
 Sae I to jail was sent. 
 'Twas hard to starve i' sec a pleace, 
 
 Widout a frien to trust ; 
 But when I thought o' thee and bairns. 
 
 My heart was like to brust. 
 
 * See Note XI. 
 
18 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Neist Etty, God was pleas'd to tek, 
 
 Wliat then, we'd seeven stil ; 
 But whee kens wliat may happen — suin 
 
 The smaw-pox did for Bill. 
 I think I see his slee-black een, 
 
 Then he wad chirm and talk, 
 And say, ded, ded ; mam, mam, and aw, 
 
 Lang, lang ere he cud walk. 
 
 At Carel, when, for six pound ten, 
 
 I selt twee Scotty kye. 
 They pick'd my pocket i' the thrang, 
 
 And de'il a plack had I. 
 ** Ne'er ack !" says tou, *' we'll work for mair, 
 
 It's time eneugh to fret ; 
 A pun o' sorrow wunnet pay 
 
 Ae single ounce o' debt." 
 
 Now, todlen down the hill o' leyfe, 
 
 Auld yage has brought content ; 
 And, God be thank' d, our bairns are up. 
 
 And pay Sir Jwohn his rent. 
 When seyde by seyde aw day we sit, 
 
 I often think and grieve, 
 It's hard that deeth sud part auld fwok. 
 
 When happy then can live. 
 
 Julij 29, 1802. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 19 
 
 BALLAD VII. 
 THE Z2SFATZE1TT LASSIE. ' 
 
 — 
 
 Tune, — *'Low down in the hroom.'* 
 
 plEUCE tek the clock, click-clackin sae, 
 *^ / Still in a body's ear ; 
 _ i)It tells and tells the time is past, 
 When Jwohnie sud been here. 
 
 Deuce tek the wheel, 'twill nit rin roun— 
 
 Nae mair to-neet I'll spin, 
 But count each minute wi' a seegh, 
 
 Till Jwohnie he steels in. 
 
 How neyce the spunky fire it burns, 
 
 For twee to sit beseyde ! 
 And there's the seat where Jwohnie sits. 
 
 And I forget to cheyde ! 
 My fadder, tui, how sweet he snwores ! 
 
 My mudder fast asleep ; 
 He promis'd oft ; but oh ! I fear 
 
 His word he wunnet keep ! 
 
 What can it be keeps him frae me ? 
 
 The ways are nit sae lang, 
 And sleet and snaw are nought at aw, 
 
 If yen were fain to gang ! 
 Some ither lass, wi' bonnier feace. 
 
 Has catch'd his wicked e'e, 
 And I'll be pointed at at kurk 
 
 Nay ! suiner let me dee ! 
 
 * See Note Xir. 
 
20 
 
 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 durst we lasses nobbet gang -■' 
 
 And sweetheart them we leyke, 
 I'd rin to thee, my Jwohnie lad, 
 
 Nor stop at bog or deyke. 
 But custom's sec a silly thing. 
 
 For men mun hae their way, 
 And monnie a bonny lassie sit. 
 
 And wish frae day to day. 
 
 But whisht ! I hear my Jwohnie's fit — 
 
 Aye ! that's his varra clog ! 
 He steeks the faul yeat softly tui — 
 
 hang that cwoley dog ! 
 Now, hey for seeghs and sugar words, 
 
 Wi' kisses nit a few — 
 but this warl's a paradise, 
 
 When lovers they pruive true ! 
 
 July 31, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD VIII. 
 THE BUITDLE OF ODDITIES. 
 
 Tune — " Fie, let us a' to the Bridal " 
 
 ffIT down, and I'll count owre my sweet- 
 j" hearts, f 
 ) For faith a brave number I've had, 
 Sin I furst went to schuil wi' Dick Kailton, 
 But Dick's in his greave, honest lad ! 
 
 * See Note XIIL f See Note XIV. 
 
CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 21 
 
 I mind, wlien lie cross'd tlie deep waiter, 
 
 To get me the shilapple 'est 
 How lie fell owreliead, and I skiii'd sae, 
 
 Then off we ran heame, sair distrest. 
 
 Then there was a bit of a teaylear. 
 
 That work'd at our house a heale week, 
 He was sheap'd aw the warl like a trippet, 
 
 But niver a word durst he speak. 
 I just think I see how he squinted 
 
 At me, when we* sat down to meat ; 
 Owre went his het keale on his blue breeks. 
 
 And de'il a bit Snippy cud eat. 
 
 At partin he poud up his spirits. 
 
 Says he, *' Tou hes bodder'd my head, 
 And it sheks yen to rags and to tatters 
 
 To sew wi' a lang double thread." 
 Then, in me akin a cwot for my f adder, 
 
 (How luive dis the senses deceive) 
 Forby usin marrowless buttons. 
 
 To th' pocket-whol he stitch'd a sleeve. '^ 
 
 The neist was a Whaker, caw'd Jacob, 
 
 He turn'd up the wheyte o' his een. 
 And talk'd about flesh and the spirit — 
 
 Thowt I, what can Gravity mean ? 
 In dark winter neeghts, i' the lonnins. 
 
 He'd weade thro' the durt 'buin his knee. 
 It cuil'd his het heart, silly gander ! 
 
 And there let him stowter for me. 
 
 A lang blue-lipt chap, like a guide-pwost, 
 (Lord help us and keep us frae harm !) 
 
 Neist talk'd about car-gear and middens. 
 And the reet way to manage a farm. 
 
 * See Note XV. 
 
 I 
 
2355 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 'Twas last Leady Fair * I leet on him, 
 He grumbled, and spent half-a-crown ; 
 
 God bless him ! hed he gowd i' gowpens, * 
 I "wadn't hae hed sec a clown. 
 
 But stop ! there was lal wee deef Dicky, 
 
 Wad dance for a heale winter neet, 
 And at me aw the time wad keep glowrin — 
 
 Peer man, he was nobbet hawf reet ! 
 He grew jealous o' reed-headed EUek, 
 
 Wi' a feace like a full harvest muin ; 
 Sae they fit till they just gat enough on't, 
 
 And I laugh'd at beath when 'twas duin. 
 
 There's anudder worth aw put together — 
 
 I could, if I wad, tell his neame — 
 He gangs past our house to the market, 
 
 And monie a time he's set me heame. 
 wad he but ax me this question, 
 
 ** Will tou be my partner for life ? '* 
 I'd answer widout ony blushes. 
 
 And aye try to mek a guid wife, 
 
 August 1, 1802. 
 * See Note XVI. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 28 
 
 BALLAD IX. 
 LUCKLESS JOITATHAIT. 
 
 Tune — *' Erin go hragh." 
 — — 
 
 f^^ heale be thy heart ! my peer merry auld 
 cronie, 
 And never may trouble draw tears frae 
 thy e'e ; 
 
 It's reet, when he can, man sud rise abuin 
 sorrow, 
 For pity's nit common to peer fwok like me. 
 "When I think how we lap about mountain and 
 meedow. 
 Like larks in a mwornin, a young happy pair, 
 Then I luik at mysel, and I see but a shadow, 
 That's suffer'd sae mickle, it cannot beyde 
 mair. 
 
 Tou minds, when I buried my honest auld 
 fadder, 
 how cud I ever get owre that sad day ! — 
 His last words were, "Jonathan, luik to thy 
 mudder. 
 And God '11 reward thee; " — nea mair cud 
 he say. 
 My mudder she stuid, and she fain wad ha'e 
 spoken, 
 But tears wadn't let her — man, it was 
 hard ! — 
 She tuik till her bed, and just thurteen weeks 
 efter, 
 Was laid down ayont him in Aikton kurk- 
 yard. 
 
2S4 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 My friend, Jemmy Gimston, went owre seas 
 to Indie, 
 For me, his auld comrade, a venture he'd tak ; 
 I'd scrap'd up a lock money — he gat it — but 
 leately 
 Poor Jemmy was puzzen'd, they say, by a 
 black. 
 'Twas nit for my money I fretted, but Jemmy, 
 
 I'll ne'er forget him, as lang as I've breath ; 
 He said, ''Don't cry, mudder! I'll mek you a 
 leady ! " 
 But sauy auld Tamer! 'twill e'en be her death. 
 
 To mek bad far war, then I courted lal Matty, 
 Her bonnie blue een, how they shot to my 
 heart ! 
 The neet niver com but I went owre to see her, 
 And when the clock struck we were sworry 
 to part. 
 An Aunt ayont Banton a canny house left her, 
 (What but health and contentment can 
 money nit buy ?) 
 Wi' laird Hodgson o' Burgh* off she canter'd 
 to Gretna, 
 The varra seame mworn we our forture sud 
 try. 
 
 'Twas nobbet last Cursmas I fain wad be murry, 
 Sae caw'd in Dick Toppin, Tom Clark, and 
 Jwohn Howe ; 
 We sung, and we crack' d, but lal thowt ere 
 neist mwornin. 
 That aw our heale onset wad be in a lowe. 
 They gat me poud out, and reet weel I remem- 
 ber, 
 
 * See Note XVII. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 26 
 
 I stamp'd, ay, like mad, when the sad seet I 
 saw, 
 For that was the pleace my grandfadder was 
 bworn in, "^ 
 Forbye my twee uncles, my f adder and aw. 
 
 Now, widout owther fadder, or mudder, or 
 sweetheart, 
 
 A friend, or a shelter to cover my head, 
 I mazle and wander, nor ken what I's dein. 
 
 And wad, (if I nobbet durst), wish I were dead. 
 heale be thy heart ! my peer merry old cronie. 
 
 And niver may trouble draw tears frae thye'e; 
 It's reet, when he can, man sudrise abuin sorrow, 
 
 For pity's nit common to peer fwok like me. 
 
 August 1, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD X. 
 DICK WATTBES. 
 
 — — 
 Tune — ^^Crowdy," 
 
 fH, Jenny ! Jenny ! where's tou been ; 
 Thy fadder is just mad at tee; 
 He seed somebody i' the croft. 
 And gulders as he'd worry me. 
 
 monie are a mudders whopes. 
 And monie are a mudder 's fears, 
 
 And monie a bitter, bitter p^ng, 
 
 Beath suin and late her bosom tears ! 
 
 ♦ See Note XVII 1. 
 B 
 
26 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 We brong tliee up, pat thee to schuil, 
 And clad tliee weel as peer fwok can ; 
 
 We larn'd thee beath to dance and read, 
 But now ton's crazy for a man. 
 
 0, monie, &c. 
 
 When tou was young, and at my knee, 
 I dwoated on thee, day and neet ; 
 
 But now ton's rakin, rakin still. 
 And niver, niver i' thy seet. 
 
 0, monie, &c. 
 
 Ton's proud, and past aw guid adveyce — 
 Yen mud as weel speak till a stean ; 
 
 Still, still thy awn way, reet or wrang — 
 Mess, but tou'll rue't when I am geane I 
 
 0, monie, &c. 
 
 Dick Waiters, I ha e telt thee oft, 
 Ne'er means to be a son o' mine ; 
 
 He seeks thy ruin sure as deeth, 
 
 Then like Bet Baxter tou may whine. 
 
 0, monie, &c. 
 
 Thy fadder's comin frae the croft, 
 A bonny hunsup faith he'll mek ; 
 
 Put on thy clogs and auld blue brat — 
 Haste, Jenny, haste ! he lifts the sneck ! 
 
 0, monie, &c. 
 
 August 2, 1802. 
 
CTTMBRIAN BALLADS. 27 
 
 BALLAD XI. 
 THE LASS ABT7ZIT THZETY. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — ** Jocky's grey breeks,^* 
 — — 
 
 f'VE wonder'd sin I kent mysel, 
 What keeps the men fwok aw frae me ; 
 (S) I's as guid-hke as cousin Tib, 
 And she can ha'e her choice o' three. 
 
 For me, still moilin by mysel, 
 Life's just a bitter widout sweets, 
 
 The simmer brings nae pleasant days, 
 And winter tires wi' lang, lang neets. 
 
 I had some whopes o' WuUy yence, 
 
 And WuUy was the only yen ; 
 I dreamt and dreamt about him lang. 
 
 But whopes and WuUy aw are geane, 
 
 A kiss he'd hev, I gev him twee, 
 
 Eeeght weel I mind amang the hay ; 
 
 Neist time we met he glump'd and gloom'd, 
 And turn'd his head anither way. 
 
 A feyne pink sash my uncle sent 
 
 Frae Lunnon yence ; about my waist 
 
 I wore't and wore't, but de'il a lad 
 At me or sash a luik e'er cast. 
 
 My yellow gown I thought was sure 
 To catch some yen at Carel Fair, 
 
 But, oh, fareweel to gown and sash, 
 I'll niver, niver wear them mair ! 
 
28 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 The throssle, when cauld winter's geane, 
 Aye in our worchet welcomes spring — 
 
 It mun be luive, did we but ken, 
 Gars him aroun his partner sing. 
 
 The cock and hen, the duck and drake, 
 Nay e'en the smawest birds that flee ; 
 
 Ilk thing that lives can get a mate, 
 Except sec sworry things as me. 
 
 I often think how married fwok 
 Mun lead a sweet and happy life ; 
 
 The prattlin bairns rin toddlin roun, 
 And tie the husband to the wife. 
 
 Then, oh ! what joy when neet draws on t 
 She meets him gangen frae his wark. 
 
 But nin can tell what cheerfu' cracks 
 The tweesome ha'e lang efter dark. 
 
 The wise man lives nit far frae this, 
 
 I'll hunt him out suin as I can ; 
 He telt Nan Dobson whee she*d wed, 
 
 And I'm as likely, sure, as Nan, 
 
 But still, still moilin, by mysel. 
 Life's just a bitter widout sweets ; 
 
 The summer brings nae pleasant days. 
 And winter tires wi' lang, lang neets ! 
 
 August 3, 1802. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 29 
 
 BALLAD XII. 
 TOM LI IT TO IT. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — ''Come under rmj 'plaidie.''* 
 — — 
 
 fep OM Linton was bworn till a brave canny 
 
 !^ fortune, 
 
 t5^ His auld f adder screap'd aw the gear up 
 
 he cud ; 
 But Tom, country booby, luik'd owre hee abuin 
 him, 
 And mix'd wi' the bad, nor e'er heeded the 
 good. 
 At the Town he'd whore, gammle, play hell, 
 and the deevil. 
 He wad hev his caper, nor car'd how it com. 
 Then he mud hev his greyhounds, guns, setter, 
 and hunter. 
 And king o' the cockers they aw cursen'd 
 Tom. 
 
 I think I just see how the lads wad flock roun 
 him. 
 And oh they were fain to shek Tom by the 
 han ! ^ 
 Then he'd tell how he fit wi' the barbers and 
 bullies. 
 And drank wi' the waiter till nowther cud 
 stan. 
 His watch he wad show, and his lists o' the 
 horses. 
 And pou out a guinea, and offer to lay. 
 
30 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Till our peer country lads grew uneasy and 
 lazy, 
 And Tom cud ha'e coax'd hawf the parish 
 away. 
 
 Then he drank wi' the squire, and laugh'd wid 
 his worship, 
 And talk'd of the duke, and the deevil kens 
 whee ; 
 He gat aw the new-fangl'd oaths i' the nation, 
 And mock'd a peer beggar man wanting an 
 e'e. 
 His fields they were mortgaged, — about it was 
 whisper'd. 
 A farmer was robb'd nit owre far frae his 
 house ; 
 At last aw was selt his auld f adder had toil'd 
 for. 
 And silly Tom Linton left nit worth a sous. 
 
 His fortune aw spent, what ! he'd ha*e the laird's 
 dowter, 
 But she pack'd him off wid a flee in his ear ; 
 Neist thing, an auld comrade, for money Tom 
 borrowed 
 E'en pat him in prision, and bad him lig 
 there. 
 At last he gat out, efter lang he had suffer'd 
 And sair had repented the sad life he'd led ; 
 Widout shoon till his feet, in a soldier's auld 
 jacket. 
 He works on the turnpike reet hard for his 
 bread. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 31 
 
 ITow folly seen into, ragg'd, peer, and down- 
 hearted. 
 He toils and he frets, and keen want's daily 
 press ; 
 If cronies ride by, wey, alas ! they've forgot him, 
 For whee can remember auld friends in dis- 
 tress ? 
 pity, what pity, that, in every county 
 Sae monie'''' Tom Lintons may always be 
 found ! 
 Deuce tek aw girt nwotions, and whurligig 
 fashions. 
 Contentment's a kingdom, aye, aw the warl 
 round ! 
 
 August 4, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD XIIL 
 THE HAFF7 FAMZLT.f 
 
 — — 
 Tune — *'0*er hogie.'* 
 — — 
 
 fHE hollow blast blows owre the hill, 
 And comin down's the sleet ; 
 God help them, widout house or hauld, 
 This dark and stormy neet I 
 
 Come, Jobby, gi'e the fire a prod, 
 
 Then steek the entry duir ; 
 It's wise to keep cauld winter out, 
 
 When we ha'e't in our pow'r. 
 
 * See Note XIX. t See Note XX. 
 
32 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Heaste, Jenny ! put the bairns to bed, 
 And mind they say their pray'rs ; 
 
 Sweet innocents ! their heads yence down, 
 They sleep away their cares ! 
 
 But gi' them furst a butter-shag, 
 When young, they munnet want. 
 
 Nor ever sal a bairn o' mine, 
 While Tve a bite to grant. 
 
 wife ! that weary rheumatism, 
 E'en gars thee luik but thin ; 
 
 1 mind when tou was fresh and fair. 
 And fattest o* thy kin. 
 
 But yage comes on, dui what we can. 
 
 We munnet think it hard : 
 A week at Gilsland tou salt try, 
 
 Neist summer, if we're spar'd. 
 
 Now, seated at my awn fire-nuik. 
 
 Content as onie king. 
 For hawf an hour afwore we sleep, 
 
 Bess, quit thy wark and sing. 
 
 Try that about the beggar lass, 
 'Twill please thy mudder best. 
 
 For she, tou kens, can always feel 
 For peer fwok when distrest. 
 
 Nay, what its owre ! tou cannot sing. 
 
 But weel I guess the cause ; 
 Young Wulliam sud ha'e come to neet. 
 
 Consider, lass, it snaws I 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 83 
 
 Another neet '11 suin be here, 
 
 Sae divvent freet and whine : 
 Co' when he will, he's welcome still 
 
 To onie bairn o' mine. 
 
 I'll ne'er forget, when we were young, 
 
 (Thy mudder kens as weel,) 
 We met but yence a month, and then 
 
 Out she was fworc'd to steal. 
 
 The happiest day we e'er had known, 
 
 Was when I caw'd her mine, 
 But monie a thousand happier days 
 
 We beath ha'e kent sin-syne. 
 
 August 6, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD Xiy. 
 THE ATTTHOB OIT BIISSELF. 
 
 
 
 Tune — ^'The Camhells a/re coming.** 
 — — 
 
 n^^ Eden ! whenever I range thy green banks, 
 
 jj|\^. And view aw the scenes o' my infantine 
 
 '^^^^ pranks. 
 
 Where wi' pleasure I spworted, ere sorrow be- 
 gan, 
 
 I sigh to trace onward frae boy to the man. 
 
 To memory dear are the days o' yen-s youth, 
 
 When, enraptur'd, we luik'd at each object wi' 
 truth, 
 
 And, like fairies, a thousand wild frolics we 
 play'd — 
 
 But manhood has chang'd what youth fondly 
 pourtray'd. 
 
84 CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 
 
 I think 0' my playmates, "^^ dear imps, I lov'd 
 
 best ! 
 Now divided, like larks efter leaving the nest I 
 How we trembl'd to schuil, and wi' copy and 
 
 buik, 
 Oft read our hard fate in the maisters stem 
 
 luik. 
 In summer let lowse, how we brush' d thro' 
 
 the wood. 
 And meade seevy caps on the brink o' the flood, 
 Or watch 'd the seap-bubbles, or ran wi'the kite. 
 Or lauch'd paper navies, how dear the delight. 
 
 There was Jock Smith the boggle, I mind him 
 
 reet weel. 
 We twee to Blain's hay-loft together wad steal, 
 And of giants, ghosts, witches, and faries oft 
 
 read. 
 Till sae freeten'd, we hardly durst creep off to 
 
 bed. 
 Then in winter we'd caw out the lasses to play. 
 And tell them the muin shone as breet as the 
 
 day; 
 Or scamper, like wild things, at hunting the 
 
 hare. 
 Tig-touch- wood, four corners, or twenty gams 
 
 mair. 
 
 Then my fadder, God bless him ! at thurteen 
 
 oft said, 
 ** My lad, I mun get thee a bit of a trade ; 
 0, cud I afford it, mair larnin thou'd get ! " 
 But peer was my fadder, and I's unlarned yet. 
 
 * See Note XXII. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 35 
 
 And tlien my furst sweetheart, an angel was 
 
 she ! 
 But I only meade luive thro' the tail o' my e'e. 
 I mind when I met her I panted to speak, 
 But stood silent, and blushes spread aw owre 
 
 my cheek. 
 
 At last, aw the play-things o' youth laid aside, 
 Now luive, whope, and fear did my moments 
 
 divide. 
 And wi' restless ambition deep sorrow began, 
 But I sigh to trace onward frae boy to the man. 
 To memory dear are the days o' yen's youth. 
 
 hen enraptur'd, we luik'd at ilk object wi' 
 Wtruth, 
 And, like fairies, a thousand wild frolics we 
 
 play'd — 
 But manhood has chang'd what youth fondly 
 
 pourtray'd. 
 
 August 5, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD XV. 
 
 FEACE. 
 
 — 
 
 Tune — " There's nae luclc about the house.* 
 
 f^TJOW, God be praised, we've peace at last, 
 For Nichol he's been down, 
 )And sec a durdum, Nichol says, 
 They've had in Lunnon town. 
 
86 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 The king thouglit war wad ruin aw, 
 
 And Bonnyprat the seame, 
 And some say teane, and some say beath 
 
 Ha'e long been much to bleame. 
 
 Now monie a wife will weep for joy,^ 
 
 And monie a bairn be fain 
 To see the fadders they'd forgot, 
 
 Come safe and sound again. 
 And monie a yen will watch in vain, 
 
 Wi' painfu' whopes and fears, 
 And oft the guilty wretches bleame, 
 
 That set fwok by the ears. 
 
 My cousin Tommy went to sea. 
 
 And lost his left-hand thum ; 
 He tells sec teales about the fight. 
 
 They mek us aw sit dum. 
 He says its reet fearfu' wark. 
 
 For them that's fworc'd to see't — 
 The bullets whuzzing past yen's lugs, 
 
 And droppin down like sleet. 
 
 But Peter, our peer sarvent man. 
 
 Was far owre proud to work ; 
 They said a captain he sud be, 
 
 Alang wi't' Duke o' York. 
 Wi' powder' d head away he march'd. 
 
 And gat a wooden leg ; 
 But monie a time he's rued sin-syne, 
 
 For now he's fworc'd to beg. 
 
 Ay, but our Sally wull be fain, 
 
 Sud Lanty but come back ! 
 Then owre the fire, i' winter neets, 
 
 We wull ha'e monie a crack. 
 
 ♦ See Note XXI. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 37 
 
 He'll tell us aw the ins and outs, 
 
 For lie can write and read ; 
 But Sally's heart for sure '11 brek, 
 
 If he's amang the dead. 
 
 ! but I us'd to wonder much, 
 
 And think what thousands fell ; 
 Now what they've aw been feghtin for, 
 
 The de'il a yen can tell. 
 But, God be prais'd ! we've peace at last, 
 
 The news has spread afar ; 
 may our bairns and bairns' bairns hear 
 
 Nae mair o' murd'rous war ! 
 
 August 6, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD XYI. 
 THE CTTMBSELAITD FABIffEB. 
 
 
 ^'VE thought and I've thought, ay agean 
 'fw and agean, 
 
 ' Sin I was peet-heet, now I see it quite plain. 
 That farmers''' are happier far, tho' we're peer. 
 Than thur they caw gentlefwok, wi' aw their 
 
 gear. 
 Then why about riches aye mek sec a fuss, 
 Gi'e us meat, drink, and deeding, it's plenty 
 
 for us. 
 Frae the prince to the ploughman, ilk hes but 
 
 his day. 
 And when Deeth gi'es a beckon we aw mun 
 
 obey. 
 
 * See Note XIII. 
 
38 CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 
 
 There's our squire, wi' his thousands, jant 
 
 jantin about 
 "Wiiat ! he'd gi'e aw his gear to get shot o' the 
 
 gout : 
 Nowther heart-achnor gout e'er wi' rakinhadi. 
 For labour brings that aw his gold cannot buy. 
 Then he'll say to me ** Jacob, thou whussels 
 
 and sings. 
 Mess, lad, but you've ien times mair pleasure 
 
 than kings ; 
 I mean honest simpHcity, freedom, and health ; 
 These are dearer to man than the trappins o' 
 
 wealth." 
 
 Can ought be mair sweet than, like larks in 
 a mworn. 
 
 To rise wi' the sunshine, and luik at the cworn ? 
 
 Tho' in winter, its true, dull and lang are the 
 neets. 
 
 But thro' life fwok mun aye tek the bitters wi' 
 sweets. 
 
 When God grants us plenty, and hous'd are 
 the crops, 
 
 How we feast on cruds, collops, andguid butter- 
 sops. 
 
 Let your feyne fwok in town brag o' dainties 
 whee will. 
 
 Content and the country for my money still. 
 
 They may tell o' their gardens as lang as they 
 
 like, 
 Don't the flowers bluim as fair under ony 
 
 thworn dike ? 
 The de'il a guid bite they wad e*er git I trow, 
 Wer't not for the peer man that follows the 
 
 plough. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 89 
 
 If we nobbet git plenty to pay the laird's rent, 
 And keep the bairns teydey, we aye sleep con- 
 tent ; 
 Then, ye girt little fwok, niver happy in town, 
 Blush, blush, when ye laugh at a peer country 
 clown. 
 
 August 25, 1870. 
 
 BALLAD XYII. 
 THE DZSAFFOIITTXIIEITT. 
 
 — 
 
 Tune — "Etrick hanhs.'* 
 — — 
 
 fHE muin shone breet at nine last neet, 
 When Jemmy Sharp com owre the muir 
 t:^ Weel did I ken a lover's fit. 
 
 And heard him softly tap the duir. 
 My f adder started i' the nuik ; 
 
 ** Bin, Jenny ! see what's that," he said. 
 I whisper'd, ^' Jemmy, come to-mworn,'' 
 And then a leame excuse suin meade. 
 
 I went to bed, but cudn't sleep. 
 
 This luive sae breks a body's rest. 
 The mwornin dawn'd, then up I gat, 
 
 And seegh'd, and aye luik'd tow'rds the west. 
 But when far off I saw the wood, 
 
 "Where he unlock' d his heart to me, 
 I thought o' monie a happy hour. 
 
 And then a tear gush'd frae my e'e 
 
40 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 To-neet my fadder's far frae heame, 
 
 And wunnet come this three hours yet ! 
 But, ! it pours, and I'd be leath 
 
 That Jemmy sud for me get wet ! 
 Yet, if he dis, guid heame-brew'd yell 
 
 Will warm his cheerfu' honest heart ; 
 Wi' him, my varra life o' life ! 
 
 I's fain to meet, but leath to part. 
 
 August 28, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD XYIII. 
 
 J^ULD Marget in the fauld she sits, 
 ^ And spins, and sings, and smuiks by fits, 
 5 And cries, as she had lost her wits — 
 ■ this weary, weary warl ! " '^^ 
 
 Yence Marget was as lish a lass 
 As e'er in summer trod the grass ; 
 But fearfu' changes come to pass 
 In this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 Then at a murry-neet or fair. 
 Her beauty made the young fwok stare ; 
 Now wrinkl'd is that feace wi' care — 
 this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 Yence Marget she had dowters twee, 
 And bonnier lasses cudna be ; 
 Now nowther kith nor kin has she — 
 this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 ♦ See Note XXIV. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 41 
 
 The eldest, wi' a soldier gay, 
 Ean frae her heame ae luckless day, 
 And e'en lies buried far away — 
 this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 The youngest she did nought but whine, 
 And for the lads wad fret and pine, 
 Till hurried off by a decline — 
 this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 Auld Andrew toil'd reet sair for bread ; 
 Ae neet they fan him cauld, cauld dead, 
 Nae wonder that turn'd Marget's head — 
 this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 Peer Marget ! oft I pity thee, 
 Wi' care-worn cheek and hollow e'e, 
 Bow'd down by yage and poverty — 
 this weary, weary warl ! 
 
 August 28, 1802. 
 
 BALLAD XIX. 
 FIRST LUIVE 
 
 — — 
 
 Ttjne, — " Cold and raw,'* 
 
 — — 
 
 ^^T'S just three weeks sin Carl fair, 
 o|\ This sixteenth o' September ; 
 Qy There the furst loff of a sweetheart I gat, 
 Sae that day I'll remember. 
 
42 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 This luive meks yen stupid — ever sin-syne 
 I's thinkin and thinking o' Wully ; 
 
 I dung owre the knoh, and scawder'd my fit, 
 And cut o' my thum wi the gully. 
 
 how he danc'd ! and how he talk'd ! 
 For my life I cannot forget him ; 
 
 He wad hev a kiss — I gev him a slap — 
 But if he were here I'd let him. 
 
 Says he, " Mally Maudlin, my heart is thine !" 
 And he brong sec a seegh, I believ'd him. 
 
 Thought I, Wully "Wintrep, thou's welcome to 
 mine. 
 But my head I hung down to deceive him. 
 
 Twee yards o' reed ribbon to wear for his seake, 
 Forby ledder mittens, he bought me ; 
 
 But when we were thinking o' nought but luive, 
 My titty, de'il bin I com and sought me. 
 
 The deuce tek aw clashes ! off she ran heame. 
 And e'en telt my tarn'd auld mudder ; 
 
 There's sec a te-dui — but let them fratch on-r- 
 Miss him, I'll ne'er get sec anudder ! 
 
 Neist Sunday, God wuUin ! we promised to meet, 
 I'U get frae our tweesome a baitin ; 
 
 But a lee mun patch up, be't rang or be't reet. 
 For Wully he sha'not stan waitin. 
 
 The days may seem lang, and lang are the neets, 
 And, waes me ! this is but Monday ! 
 
 1 seegh, and I think, and I say to mysel, 
 that to-morrow were Sunday ! 
 
 September 16, 1802. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 48 
 
 BALLAD XX. 
 LAL STEFHEIT. 
 
 — — 
 
 TvN-E—" Hallow Fmr.'* 
 
 i 
 
 AL Stephen * was bworn at Kurkbanton, 
 
 Just five feet three inches was he ; 
 But at ploughin, or mowin, or shearin, 
 His match you but seldom cud see. 
 
 Then at dancin, he was a capper ! 
 
 He'd shuffle and lowp till he sweat ; 
 And for singin he ne'er had a marrow, 
 
 I just think I hear his voice yet. 
 
 And then wid a sleate and a pencil, 
 
 He capp'd aw our learned young lairds ; 
 
 And play'd on twee jew-trumps together. 
 And aye com off winner at cards. 
 
 At huntin a brock, or an otter, 
 
 At trackin a foumert or hare, 
 At pitten a cock, or at shootin, 
 
 Nae lad cud wi' Stephen compare. 
 
 And then he wad feght like a fury. 
 And count, fast as hops, aw the stars ; 
 
 And read aw the news i' the paper. 
 And talk about weddins and wars. 
 
 And then he wad drink like a Briton, 
 And spend the last penny he had ; 
 
 And aw the peer lasses about him. 
 For Stephen were runnin stark mad. 
 
 * See Note XXV 
 
44 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Our Jenny she writ him a letter, 
 And monie a feyne thing she said. 
 
 But my fadder he just gat a ghff on't, 
 And faith a rare durdum he meade. 
 
 Then Debhy, that liv'd at Drumleenin, 
 
 She wad hev him aw till hersel, 
 For ae neet when he stuil owre to see her, 
 
 Wi* sugar she sweetn*d his keale. 
 
 Then Judy she darn'd aw his stockins. 
 And Sally she meade him a sark, 
 
 And Lizzy, the laird's youngest dowter. 
 Kens wee! whee she met efter dark. 
 
 Aunt Ann, o' the wrang seyde o' fifty, 
 E'en thought him the flow'r o' the flock — 
 
 Nay, to count yen by yen aw his sweethearts. 
 Wad tek a full hour by the clock. 
 
 ! but I was vex'd to hear tell on't. 
 When Nichol the teydins he brought. 
 
 That Stephen was geane for a sowdger — 
 Our Jenny she gowl'd, ay, like ought. 
 
 Sin' that we've nea spwort efter supper, 
 We nowther get sang or a crack ; 
 
 Our lasses sit beytin their fingers. 
 Aw wishin for Stephen seafe back. 
 
 November 15, 1802. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 45 
 
 BALLAD XXI. 
 THE B^SHFU' WOOEB. 
 
 Tune — '* Dainty Davy." 
 
 ^\T;THENE'EE ye come to woo me, Tom, 
 0\^ Dunnet at the window tap, 
 oL>-» Or cough, or hem, or gi'e a clap, 
 
 To let my fadder hear man. 
 He's auld, and feal'd, and wants his sleep, 
 Sae by the hallan softly creep. 
 Ye need nae watch, and glowre and peep, 
 
 I'll meet ye, niver fear man. 
 
 If a lassie ye wou'd win, 
 
 Be cheerfu' iver, bashfu' niver ; 
 
 Ilka Jock may get a Jen, 
 If he has sense to try, man. 
 
 Whene'er we at the market meet, 
 Dunnet luik like yen hawf daft. 
 Or talk about the cauld and heat, 
 As ye were weather-wise, man. 
 Hod up your head, and bauldly speak, 
 And keep the blushes frae yer cheek, 
 For he whee hes his teale to seek. 
 We lasses aw despise, man. 
 
 If a lassie, &c. 
 
 I met ye leately, aw yer leane. 
 
 Ye seem'd like yen stown frae the deed, 
 Yer teeth e'en chatter'd i' yer head, 
 But ne'er a word o' luive, man. 
 
46 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 I spak, ye luik^d anudder way, 
 Then trimmel'd as ye'd got a flay, 
 And owre yer sliou'der cried, **guid day," 
 Nor yence to win me struive, man. 
 
 If a lassie, &c 
 
 My aunty left me threescwore pun, 
 But de'il a yen of aw the men. 
 Till then, did bare-legg'd Elcy ken. 
 Or care a stree for me, man ; 
 Now, tiggin at me suin and late. 
 They're cleeking but the yellow bait ; 
 Yet, mind me, Tom, I needn't wait, 
 "When I ha'e choice o' three, man. 
 
 If a lassie, &c. 
 
 There Hves a lad owre yonder muir. 
 He hes nae faut but yen — he's i3uir; 
 Whene'er we meet, wi' kisses sweet, 
 He's like to be my deeth, man ; 
 And there's a lad ahint yon trees. 
 Wad weade for me abuin the knees : 
 Sae tell your mind, or, if ye please, 
 Nae langer fash us beath, man. 
 
 If a lassie, & - 
 Jan. 6, 1803.] 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 47 
 
 BALLAD XXII. 
 THE AUNTY. 
 
 ^xVTE'VE rougliness amang hands, we've 
 oXM kye i' the byre, 
 
 oL>^ Come live wi' us, lassie, it's aw I desire ; 
 I'll lig i' the loft, and gi'e my bed to thee. 
 Nor sal ought else be wantin that guidness 
 
 can gi'e. 
 Sin the last o' thy kin, thy peer aunty, we've 
 
 lost 
 Thou freets aw the day, and e'en luiks like a 
 
 ghost. 
 
 I mind, when she sat i' the nuik at her wheel. 
 How she'd tweyne the slow thread, and aye 
 
 counsel us weel. 
 Then oft whisper me, ** Thou wad mek a top 
 
 wife. 
 And pray God to see thee weel sattl'd for life ; "~ 
 Then what brave funny teales she cud tell the 
 
 neet through. 
 And wad bless the peer fwok, if the stormy 
 
 win blew. 
 
 That time when we saunter' d owre leate at the 
 
 town, 
 'Twas the day, I weel mind, when ton gat thy 
 
 chintz gown. 
 For the watters were up, and pick dark was 
 
 the neet, 
 
48 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 And she lissen'd and cry'd, and thought aw 
 
 was'nt reet. 
 But, oh ! when you met, what a luik did she 
 
 give ! 
 I can niver forget her as lang as I live. 
 
 How I like thee, dear lassie ! thou's oft heard 
 
 me tell ; 
 Nay, I like the far hetter than I like mysel ; 
 And when sorrow forseakes thee, to kurk we'll 
 
 e'en gang, 
 But ton munnet sit pinin thy leane aw day 
 
 lang; 
 Come owre the geate, lassie, my titty sal be 
 A companion to her that's aye dearest to me. 
 
 January 6, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXIII. 
 THE BT7I&AL VISIT. 
 
 — 
 
 Tune, — "TTie sutor's dowter" 
 
 (^ Went to see young Susy, 
 ^^ Bonny, teydey, blithe was she ; 
 (5) I slyly kiss'd her cherry lips. 
 And mark'd the magic 0' her e'e, 
 That in my fancy rais'd desire. 
 
 But purer passion never burn'd 
 
 In onie lover's bosom ; 
 And aye may sorrow wet his cheek, 
 
 Who'd crush sae rare a blossom. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 4^ 
 
 And now the rwosie lassie 
 
 The cleath she laid, and teable spread 
 Wi' monie a dainty quickly, 
 
 And monie a welcome thing she said ; 
 But nit sae sweet the honeycwom. 
 
 As Susy's temptin cherry lips, 
 
 That fir'd at once my bosom 
 may no rude destroyer dare 
 
 To crop sae fair a blossom ! 
 
 And now, to greet the stranger, 
 The wearied auld fwok dander'd heame, 
 
 And village news recounted ; 
 
 The guid man bade his sonsy deame 
 Trim up the fire and mek the tea. 
 
 The gurdle-cakes, as Susy turn'd, 
 
 I watch' d her heaving bosom, 
 And pleasure beam'd in ilka feace, 
 
 To see sae sweet a blossom. 
 
 And now, to please the auld fwok. 
 The sang and teale went gaily round, 
 
 Till Neet had drawn her curtain 
 
 Some ^Ye full hours ; I ruse and fan 
 Young Susy half consenting, 
 
 To set me out a mile o'geate ; * 
 
 I held her to my bosom. 
 And parting, kiss'd, and pray'd kind Heaven 
 To guard the beauteous blossom. 
 
 January 8, 1830. 
 * See Note XXVI. 
 
 
50 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 BALLAD XXIV. 
 "WATTY. 
 
 Tune, — " Ihe lads o* Dunce" 
 — — 
 
 fF you ax where I come frae, I say the fell 
 seyde, 
 Where fadder and mudder, and honest fwok 
 beyde ; 
 And my sweetheart, bless her \ she thought 
 
 nin leyke me, 
 For when we shuik hands the teaar gush'd frae 
 
 her e'e. 
 Says I, *'I mun e*en get a spot if I can, 
 *^But, whatever beteyde me, I'll think o* thee, 
 Nan." 
 
 Nan was a parfect beauty, wi' twee cheeks 
 like codlin blossoms ; the varra seet on her 
 meade my mouth aw watter. **Fares-to- 
 weel, Watty!" says she; * 'ton's a wag 
 amang t' lasses, and I'll see thee nae mair! — 
 **Nay, dunnet gowl. Nan !" says I, 
 
 *^ For, mappen, ere lang, I's be maister mysel." 
 Sae we buss'd, and I tuik a last luik at the fell. 
 
 On I whussl'd and wonder' d — ^my bundle I 
 
 flung 
 Owre my shou'der, when Cwoley he efter me 
 
 sprung, 
 And howl'd, siUy feUow ! and fawn'd at my fit, 
 As if to say, Watty, we munnet part yet ! 
 At Carel I stuid wi' a strae i' my mouth, '^ 
 And they tuik me, nae doubt, for a promisin 
 
 youth. 
 
 • See Note XXVIL 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 51 
 
 The weyves com ronn me in clusters ; 
 *' What weage dus te ax, canny lad " seys 
 yen. *^ Wey, three pun and a crown ; 
 wunnet beate a hair o' my beard." — **What 
 can te dui ? " says anudder. ** Dui ! wey I 
 can plough, sow, mow, sheer, thresh, dike, 
 milk, kurn, muck a byre, sing a psalm, mend 
 car-gear, dance a whornpeype, nick a naig's 
 tail, hunt a brock, or feght iver a yen o' my 
 weight in aw Croglin parish." 
 
 An auld bearded hussey suin caw'd me her man; 
 But that day, I may say't, aw my sorrows be- 
 gan. 
 
 Furst Cwoley, peer fellow ! they hang'd i' the 
 
 street, 
 And skinn'd, God forgi'e them! for shoon to 
 
 their feet. 
 I cry'd, and they caw'd me peer haK-witted 
 
 clown. 
 And banter'd and follow'd me aw up and down. 
 Neist my deame she e'en starved me, that 
 
 niver liv'd weel ; 
 Her hard words and luiks wou'd ha*e freetn'd 
 
 thede'il:— 
 
 She had a lang beard, for aw t' warl like 
 a billy goat, wi' a kiln-dried frosty feace; 
 and the smawest leg o' mutton in aw Carel 
 market sarrad the cat, me, and her for a 
 week. The bairns meade sec gam on us, 
 and thundr'd at the rapper, as if to waken a 
 corp. When I opened the duir, they threw 
 etour i' my een, and caw'd me daft Watty. 
 
5^ OUMBBIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Sae I pack'd up my duds when my quarter was 
 
 out, 
 And, wi* weage i' my pocket, I sauntered about. 
 
 Suin my reet-hand breek pocket they pick'd in 
 
 a fray, 
 And wi' fifteen whyte shillings they slipp'd 
 
 clean away, 
 Forby my twee letters frae mudder and Nan, 
 Where they said Carel lasses wad Watty trapan. 
 But 'twould tek a lang day just to tell what I 
 
 saw. 
 How I sceap'd frae the gallows, the sowdgers 
 
 and aw. 
 
 Ay, there were some forgery chaps bad me 
 just sign my neame. * * Nay, ' ' says I, * 'you've 
 gotten a wrang pig by the lug, for I canno 
 write." Then a fellow like a lobster, aw 
 leac'd and feather'd, ax'd me, *< Watty wull 
 te list ? thou's owther be a general or a 
 gomoral." — **Nay I wunnet — that's plain. 
 I's content wi' acwoato' mudder's spinnin." 
 
 Now, wi' twee groats and tuppence, I'll e'en 
 
 toddle heame, 
 But ne'er be a sowdger wheyle Wattys my 
 
 neame. 
 
 How my mudder 'U gowl, and my fadder '11 
 
 stare, 
 When I tell them peer Owoley they'll niver see 
 
 mair ; 
 Then they'll bring me a stuil ; — as for Nan, 
 
 she'll be fain. 
 When I kiss her, God bless her, agean and 
 
 agean ! 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 63 
 
 The barn and the byre, and the auld hollow 
 
 tree, 
 Will just seem like cronies yen's fidgin to see. 
 
 The sheep '11 nit ken Watty's voice now I 
 The peat-stack we ns'd to lake roun '11 be 
 brunt ere this ! As for Nan, she'll be owther 
 married or broken hearted ; but sud aw be 
 weel at Croglin, we'll ha'e feastin, fiddlin, 
 dancin, drinkin, singin, and smuikin, aye, 
 till aw's blue about us. 
 
 Amang aw our neybors sec wonders I'll tell, 
 But niver mair leave my auld Mens or the fell. 
 
 January 10, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXV. 
 JEN2T7'S COXAPLAZITT. 
 
 — — 
 Tune — "Nancy's to the greenwood gome." 
 
 LASS ! I've fearfu' news to tell ! 
 What thinks te's come owre Jemmy ? 
 ^The sowdgers hav e'en pick'd him up. 
 And sent him far, far frae me. 
 
 To Carol he set off wi' wheat ; 
 
 Them ill reed-cwoted fellows 
 Suin wil'd him in * — then meade him drunk ; 
 
 He'd better geane to th' gallows. 
 
 The varra seet o' his cockade. 
 
 It sets us aw a-cryin ; 
 For me, I fairly fainted tweyce ; 
 
 Tou may think that was tryin. 
 ♦SeeNoteXXVm 
 
64 CTTMBRIAN BALLLDS. 
 
 My f adder wad ha'e paid the smart, 
 
 And show'd a gowden guinea, 
 But, lack-a-day ! he'd kiss'd the buik, 
 
 And that '11 e'en kill Jenny. 
 
 "When Nichol tells about the wars, 
 It's war than deeth to hear him ; 
 
 I oft steal out, to hide my tears. 
 And cannot, cannot bear him. 
 
 For aye he jeybes, and cracks his jwokes, 
 
 And bids me nit forsake him ; 
 A brigadier, or grandidier, 
 
 He says, they're sure to meake him. 
 
 If owre the stibble fields I gang, 
 
 I think I see him ploughin, 
 And ev'ry bit o' bread I eat. 
 
 It seems o' Jemmy's sowin. 
 
 He led the varra cwoals we burn, 
 
 And when the fire I's leetin. 
 To think the peats were in his hands. 
 
 It sets my heart a beatin. 
 
 What can I de ? I nought can de. 
 But whinge, and think about him. 
 
 For three lang years he follow' d me, 
 Now I mun live widout him ! 
 
 Brek, heart, at yence, and then it's owre ! 
 
 Life's nought widout yen's dearie. 
 I'll siun lig in my cauld, cauld grave, 
 
 For, oh ! of life I'm weary ! 
 
 Apnl 19, 1803. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 55 
 
 BALLAD XXVI. 
 
 ICATTSEW MACHEE. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — " The wee jpicMe tow.'* 
 
 — — 
 
 fIN I furst work'd a sampleth at Biddy 
 Forsyth's, 
 I ne'er saw the marrow o' Matthew 
 Macree ;'^ 
 For down his braid back hing his lang yallow 
 locks, 
 And he hes sec a cast wi' his bonny grey e'e ;- 
 Then he meks us aw laugh, on the stuil when 
 
 he stands, 
 And acts like the players, and gangs wi' his 
 
 hands. 
 And talks sec hard words as nit yen under- 
 stands — 
 0, what a top scholar is Matthew Macree ! 
 
 'Twas nobbet last Easter his cock wan the 
 main, 
 I stuid i' the ring, rejoicin to see ; 
 The bairns they aw shouted, the lasses were 
 fain. 
 And the lads o' their shou'ders bore 
 Matthew Macree. 
 Then at lowpin he'll gang a full yard owre them 
 
 aw. 
 And at rustlin, whilk aw them dare try him a 
 
 faw, 
 And whee is't that aye carries off the fit-baw, 
 But the king of aw Cummerland, Matthew 
 Macree. 
 
 • See Note XXIX. 
 
66 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 That time when he fit full twee hours at the 
 fair, 
 And lang Jemmy Smith gat a famish black 
 e'e ; 
 Peer Jemmy I yence thought wad niver paw 
 mair, 
 And I was reet sworry for Matthew Macree. 
 Then he wad shek the bull-ring, and brag the 
 
 heale town. 
 And to feght, rin, or russle, he pat down a 
 
 crown. 
 Saint Gworge, the girt champion, o' fame and 
 renown, 
 Was nobbet a waffiier to Matthew Macree, 
 
 On Sundays, in bonny wheyte weastcwoat when 
 dress'd, 
 He sings i' the kurk, what a topper is he ! 
 I hear his Strang voice far abuin aw the rest. 
 And my heart still beats time to Matthew 
 Macree. 
 Then his feyne eight-page ditties, and garlands 
 
 sae sweet, 
 They mek us aw merry the lang winter neet ; 
 But, when he's nit amang us, we niver seem 
 reet, 
 Sae fond are the lasses o* Matthew Macree. 
 
 My fadder he left me a house on the hill, 
 And Ts git a bit Ian sud my aunty dee, 
 
 Then I'll wed bonny Matthew whenever he will, 
 For gear is but trash widout Matthew 
 Macree. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 57 
 
 We'll try to shew girt fwok content in a cot, 
 And when in our last heame togther we've got, 
 May our bairns and their neybors oft point to 
 the spot, 
 Where lig honest Matthew and Jenny Macree. 
 
 June 12, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXVII. 
 CALKF CBOSBY. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — *' Auld Boh Morris.'* 
 — — 
 
 Wife ! I wad fain see our Sukey dui reet, 
 I^But she's out wi' the fellows, aye neet 
 efter neet. 
 Them that's fash'd wi' nae bairns iver happy 
 
 mun be. 
 For we've yen, and she's maister o' beath thee 
 and me ! 
 
 I can't for the life o' me get her to work,* 
 Nor aw the lang Sunday to ga near a kurk, 
 Nor frae week en to week en a chapter to reed, 
 For the Bible ligs stoury abuin the duir head. 
 
 She yence cud ha'e crammel'd, and writ her 
 
 awn neame, 
 And, Sunday and warday, was teydey at heam, 
 Now to see her whol'd stockins, her brat, and 
 
 her gown, 
 She's a shem and a byzen to all the heale town, 
 
 ♦See Note: 
 
58 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 wad she be guided, and stick till her wheel, 
 There's nin kens how fain I wad see her dui 
 
 weel ; 
 For she's thy varra picture, and aw that we 
 
 have, 
 But thur neets' warks '11 bring my grey hairs 
 
 to the grave. 
 
 'Twas nobbet last week, in a passion I flew, 
 And gev her a trouncin — but sair did I rue ; 
 Then I bade her e'en pack up her duds, and 
 
 we'd part. 
 For to strike my awn bairn it justs breks my 
 
 auld heart. 
 
 There's that ill Calep Crosby, he's niver away 
 He's gleymin and watching her beath neet and 
 
 day ; ^ 
 Sud he come i* my clutches a ken-guid he's get, 
 For, tho' auld, leame, and feeble, I'll maister 
 
 him yet. 
 
 I'll away owre to'Whitten'^ a press-gang to seek, 
 And they's lig him in irons, aye this varra week. 
 On his back he may tie her, a donnet is she. 
 And sha'not be maister o' beath thee and me ! 
 
 July 2, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXVIII. 
 
 FECELESS WULL7. 
 
 ^^T^rEE WuUy wuns on yonder brow, 
 O/yVy And Wully he has dowters twee ; 
 oL>~» But nought cud feckless Wully dui. 
 
 To get them sweethearts weel to see, 
 
 • Whitehaven. 
 
CtJMBiRlAN BALLADS. 59 
 
 For Meg she luik'd baith reet and left, 
 Her een they bwor'd a body thro' ; 
 
 And Jen was deef, and dun, and daftj 
 And de'il a yen com there to woo. 
 
 The neybor's wink'd, the neybors jeer*d 
 The neybors flyr'd at them in scworn, 
 And monie a wicked trick they play'd 
 Peer Meg and Jen, beath neet and mworn, 
 
 As WuUy went ae day to wark. 
 He kick'd a sumynet wid his shoe ; 
 
 And WuUy glowr'd, and WuUy girn'd, 
 
 *'Guide us I " quoth he, *'what ha'e we now?" 
 
 And Wully cunn'd owre six scwore pun. 
 And back he ran wi' nimmle heel, 
 
 And aye he owre his shou'der glym'd. 
 And thought he'd dealins wi' the deiL 
 
 And Wully's bought a reet snug house, 
 And WuUy's bought a bit o' Ian ; 
 
 And Meg and Jen are trig and crouse. 
 Sin he the yellow pwokie fan. 
 
 Nae mair the neybors wink and jeer. 
 But aw sliek hans wi' them, I trow ; 
 
 And ilk yen talks o' William's gear. 
 For Wully' s chang'd to William now* 
 
 And some come east, and some come west, 
 And some come monie a mile to woo ; 
 
 And Meg luiks straight, and Jen hes sense, 
 And we aw see what gear '11 dui. 
 
60 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Ye rich fwok aw, ye'll aye dui reet ; 
 
 Ye peer fwok aw, ye'll aye dui wrang ; 
 Let wise men aw say what they will, 
 
 It's money meks the meer to gang. 
 
 July 3, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXIX. 
 THE BLECEELL 1CT7BB7-ITEET. 
 
 ?Y, lad I sec a murry-neet we've hed at 
 BleckeU,* 
 The sound o' the fiddle yet rings i* my 
 ear ; 
 Aw reet dipt and heePd were the lads and the 
 
 And monie a cliver lish hizzey was there. 
 The bettermer swort sat snug i' the parlour, 
 r th' pantry the sweethearts cutter'd sae 
 soft ; 
 The dancers they kick'd up a stour i* the kit- 
 chen; 
 At lanter the caird-lakers sat i' the loft. 
 
 The dogger o' Dawston s a famish top hero, 
 
 And bangs aw the player-fwok twenty to yen. 
 He stamp'd wid his fit, and he shouted and 
 royster'd. 
 Till the sweat it ran off at his varra chin en; 
 Then he held up a han like the spout of a tea- 
 pot. 
 And danc'd cross the buckle and leather-te- 
 patch ; 
 
 * Bee Note ZXZI. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 61 
 
 When they cried, «*bonny Bell," he lap up to 
 the ceilin, 
 And aye cracked his thums for a bit of a 
 fratch. 
 
 The Hivverby lads at fair drinkin are seypers ; 
 
 At cockin the Dawstoners niver were bet ; 
 The Buckabank chaps are reet famish sweet- 
 hearters, 
 
 Their kisses just soundlike the sneck of a yeat. 
 The lasses o' Bleckell are sae monie angels, 
 
 The Cummersdale beauties aye glory in fun ; 
 God help the peer fellow that glymes at them 
 dancing, 
 
 He'll steal away heartless as sure as a gun I 
 
 The 'bacco was Strang, and the yel it was 
 lythey, 
 And monnie a yen bottomed a quart like a 
 kurn; 
 Daft Fred', i' the nuik, like a hawf-rwoasted 
 deevil, 
 Telt sly smutty stwories, and meade them aw 
 gurn. 
 Then yen sung <* Tom Linton,'' anudder ^^Dick 
 Waiters,'' 
 The auld farmers bragg d o' their fillies and 
 fwoals, 
 Wi' Jeybin and jwokin, and hotchin and 
 laughin. 
 Till some thought it time to set off to the 
 cwoals. 
 
 But, hod! I forgat — ^when the clock strack 
 eleeben. 
 The dubbler was brong in wi' wheyte breed 
 an brown, 
 
62 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 The gully was sharp, the girt cheese was a 
 topper, 
 And lumps big as lapsteans our lads gobbrd 
 down. 
 Aye the douse dapper lanlady cried, ** Eat and 
 welcome ! 
 I' God's neame step forret ; nay, dunnet be 
 bleat e !" 
 Our guts aw weel pang'd, we buck'd up for blin 
 Jenny, 
 And neist paid the shot on a girt pewder 
 plate. 
 
 Now full to the thropple, wi' head-warks and 
 heart-aches, 
 Some crap to the clock-case instead o' the 
 duir ; 
 Then sleepin and snworin tuik place o' their 
 rworin. 
 And tean abuin tudder[^they laid on the fluir. 
 The last o' December, lang, lang, we'll remem- 
 ber, 
 At five i' the mworn, eighteen hundred and 
 twee; 
 Here's health and success to the brave Jwohny 
 Dawston, 
 And monie sec meetins may we Hve to see 1 
 
 July, 4, 180B. 
 
 ^' 
 
CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 63 
 
 BALLAD XXX. 
 THE DELIGHTS OF LOVE. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — *' Farewell to Bamf,'' 
 
 fHE 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 the clowsin day, 
 
 And caw'd his partner to his nest ; 
 When I up Caldew tuik my way. 
 And met the lass I aye like best. 
 
 I gaz'd upon her matchless feace, 
 
 That fairer than a lily seem'd ; 
 I mark'd the magic o' her e'e, 
 
 That wi' luive's powerfu' leetnin beam'd ; 
 I saw her cheek of breetest red, 
 
 That, blushing, telt a lover's pain, 
 And seiz'd a kiss, if 'twas a crime, 
 
 Ye Gods ! oft may I sin again ! 
 
 Fast flew the hours — now ruse the muin, 
 
 And telt us it was time to part. 
 I set her to her mudder's duir, 
 
 Shewhisper'dlow, *' Thou' sstown my heart 1'* 
 I thro' the lattice stule a glance. 
 
 And heard her angry mudder chide, 
 Then thought of aw a parent's cares. 
 
 As frae her cottage heame I hied. 
 
64 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 I've teasted pleasures dearly bought, 
 
 And read mankind in monie a page ; 
 But woman, woman, sweetens life, 
 
 Frae giddy youth to feeble age. 
 Ye fuils, aye court coy Fortune's smile ; 
 
 Ye rakes, in quest of pleasure rove ; 
 Ye drunkards, drown each sense in wine ; 
 
 Be mine the dear delights of love ! 
 
 July 8, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXSI. 
 BTTTB. 
 
 Tune — *'My auld giddmcm" 
 
 fHE crackets were chirpin on the hearth ; 
 Our wife reel'd gairn, and sat i'th nuik ; 
 I tuik a whiff o* my cutty black peype ; 
 Lai Dick by fire-leet pHed his buik. 
 The youngermer bairns, at heeds and cross, 
 
 Sat lakm merrily in a row ; 
 The wind clash' d tui the entry duir. 
 And down the chimney fell the snow. 
 
 **0 !'* says our weyfe, then fetche'd a seegh, 
 
 ** Guidman, we sud reet thankfu' be ! 
 How monie a scwore this angry neet,* 
 
 Wad like to sit wi' tee and me. 
 Sae wad our dowter Euth, I trow, 
 
 A silly peer luckless bairn she's been ; 
 For her, nae day gangs owre my head, 
 
 But paiafa* tears gush frae my een. 
 
 • See Note XXXH. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 65 
 
 She aye was honest and weel to see, 
 I say't — she hed nae faut but yen — 
 
 She off wid a taistrel sowdger lad, 
 And never yence sent the scribe of a pen. 
 
 man ! we sud forget and forgive ; 
 The brute beast for its awn '11 feel, 
 
 Were mine aw't warl, ay ten times mair, 
 I'd gi'e't to see her alive and weel. 
 
 Whea kens, peer thing ! what she's endur'd, 
 Sin that sad hour she left her heame. 
 
 Thou turn'd her out ; it hurt me sair, 
 And aw our neybors cried out shem." 
 
 Here stopp'd our weyfe, and shuik her head, 
 While tears ran tricklin down her cheek ; 
 
 1 fan the truth o' what she said. 
 But de'il a word cud owther speak. 
 
 Just then the latch was lifted up ; 
 
 "Ay, that's a boggle ! " cried out lal Ann ; 
 In bunc'd my bairn, and, at my feet, 
 
 Cried, **0, forgi'e me ! — here's my guidman ! " 
 Our dame she shriek' d, and dropp'd her wark. 
 
 I bless'd them beath — the bairns were fain. 
 We talk'd the stormy neet away. 
 
 And, God be prais'd, we've met again ! 
 
 July 24, 1803. 
 
 ► 
 
 (TtxT"!) 
 
b CUMBKIAN BALLADS. 
 
 BALLAD XXXII. 
 THE FECE 0' FUITCS. 
 
 ij|pWAS Eob and Jock, and Hal and Jack,* 
 
 !% And Tom and Ned forby, 
 
 t!:/^Wi' Arcliy drank a Peck o' Punch, 
 
 Ae neet when they were dry. 
 And aye they j wok' d, and laugh' d, andsmuik'd, 
 
 And sang wi* heartfelt glee, 
 ** To-night we're yen, to-morrow geane, 
 
 Syne let us merry be." 
 
 Saint Mary's muckle clock bumm'd eight, 
 
 When each popp'd in his head ; 
 But ere they rose, they'd fairly drank 
 
 The sheame-feac'd muin to bed. 
 
 And aye they jwok'd, &c. ' 
 
 To monie a bonny 'Carel lass, 
 
 The fairest o* the town. 
 And monie a manly British chiel, 
 
 The noggin glass went roun. 
 
 And aye they jwok'd, &c. 
 
 A neybor's fau'ts they ne'er turn'd owre, 
 
 Nor yence conceal' d their ain — 
 Had Care keek'd in, wi' wae-worn feace. 
 
 They'd kick'd him out again. 
 
 For eye they jwok'd, &c. 
 
 The daily toil, the hunter's spoil, 
 
 The faithless foreign pow'rs, 
 The Consul's fate, his overgrown state, 
 
 By turns beguil'd the hours. 
 
 And aye they jwok'd &c. 
 
 ♦ Seo Note XXXIII. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 67 
 
 Let others cringe, and bow the head, 
 
 A purse-proud sumph to please ; 
 Fate, grant to me aye liberty 
 
 To mix wi souls like these. 
 
 Then oft we'll jwoke, and laugh, and smuik. 
 
 And sing wi' heartfelt glee, 
 <' To-night we're yen, to-morrow geane. 
 
 Syne let us merry be.'* 
 
 November 3, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXXIII. 
 
 THE THTJIRSBY WITCH- 
 
 Tune — ''O'er hogie.^' 
 
 fHEEE'S Harraby ^ and Tarraby,* 
 And Wigganby '^ beside ; 
 .>^- There's Oughterby^ and Souterby,* 
 And bys beath far and wide. 
 
 Of strappin, sonsy, rwosy queens, 
 
 They aw may brag a few ; 
 But Thuirsby for a bonny lass, 
 
 Can cap them aw, I trow. 
 
 Her mudder sells a swope o' drink, 
 It is beath stout and brown. 
 
 And ETTY is the hinny fwot 
 Of aw the country roun. 
 
 Frae east to west, beath rich and peer, 
 
 A-horse, a-fit, caw in ; 
 For whee can pass sae rare a lass. 
 
 He's owther daft or blin. 
 
 * Names of Cumberland villages. 
 
68 CUMBRIAN BALLAI>S. 
 
 Her een are like twea Cursmas sleas, 
 But twice as breet and clear ; 
 
 Nae rwose end iver match her feace, 
 That yet grew on a brier. 
 
 At town, kurk, market, dance, or fair,* 
 She meks their hearts aw stoun, 
 
 And conquers mair than Bonnyprat, 
 Whene'r she keeks aroun. 
 
 Oft graith'd in aw their kurk-gawn gear. 
 Like nowble Iwords at Court, 
 
 Our lads slink in, and gaze and grin. 
 Nor heed their Sunday spwort. 
 
 If stranger leets, her een he meets, 
 
 And fins he can't tell how ; 
 To touch the glass her han has touch'd. 
 
 It sets him in a lowe. 
 
 Tence Thuirsby lads were whea but we, 
 And cud ha'e bang'd the lave. 
 
 But now they hing their lugs, and luik 
 Like fwok stown frae the grave ; 
 
 And what they ail in head or hearty 
 
 Nae potticary knows — 
 The little glancin Thuirsby Witch, 
 
 She is the varra cause. 
 
 Of Black-ey'd Susan, Mary Scott, 
 
 The lass o' Patie's mill, 
 Of Barbara Allan, Sally Gray, 
 
 The lass o' Eichmond-hill. 
 
 • See Note XXXIV. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 69 
 
 Of Nancy Dawson, Molly Mog, 
 
 Tho' thousands sing wi' glee, 
 This village beauty, out and out, 
 
 She bangs them aw to see. 
 
 November 10, 1803. 
 
 BALLAD XXXIV. 
 THE VILLAGE aAXTO. 
 
 Tune — ^^ Jenny dang the weaver.'' 
 
 fHEEE'S sec a gang in our town, 
 The deevil cannot wrang them, 
 And cud yen get tem put i' prent, 
 Aw England cuddent bang them. 
 Our dogs e'en bite aw decent fwok, 
 Our varra naigs they kick them. 
 And if they nobbet ax their way. 
 Our lads set on and lick them. 
 
 Furst wi' Dick Wiggem we'll begin. 
 
 The teyney, greasy wobster ; 
 He's got a gob frae lug to lug. 
 
 And neb like onie lobster. 
 Dick' weyfe, they say, was Branton bred. 
 
 Her mudder was a howdey. 
 And when peer Dick's thrang on the luim. 
 
 She's off to Jwhonie Gowdey. 
 
 But as for Jwhonie, silly man,* 
 He threeps about the nation, 
 
 And talks o' stocks and Charley Fox, 
 And meakes a blusteration. 
 
 * See Note XXXV. 
 
70 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 He reads the paper yence a week, 
 The old fwok geape and wonder — 
 
 Were Jwhonie king, we'd aw be rich, 
 And France mud e'en knock under. 
 
 Lang Peel the laird's a dispert chap, ^ 
 
 His weyfe's a famous fratcher — 
 She brays the lasses, starves the lads, 
 
 Nae bandylan can match her. 
 We aw ken how they gat their gear — 
 
 But that's a fearfu' stwory, 
 And sud he hing on Carel Sands, 
 
 Nit yen wad e'er be sworry. 
 
 Beane-breaker Jwohn we weel may neame, 
 
 He's tir'd o* wark, confound him ! 
 By manglin limbs and streenin joints, 
 
 He's meade aw cripples round him. 
 Mair hurt he's duin than onie yen 
 
 That iver sceap'd a helter ; 
 When sec like guffs leame decent fwok, 
 
 It's time some laws sud alter. 
 
 The schuilmaister's a conjuror,* 
 
 For when our lads are drinkin. 
 Aw macks o' tricks he'll dui wi' cairds. 
 
 And tell fwok what they're thinkin. 
 He'll glowre at maps and spell hard words, 
 
 For hours and hours together. 
 And in the muin he kens what's duin — 
 
 Nay he can coin the weather ! 
 
 Then there's the blacksmith wi' ae e'e, 
 
 And his hawf-witted mudder, 
 'Twad mek a deed man laugh to see 
 
 Them glyme at yen anudder. 
 
 » See Note XXXVL 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 71 
 
 A tliree-quart piggen full o' keale, 
 
 He'll sup, the greedy sinner ; 
 Then eat a cow'd-lword like his head, 
 
 Ay, onie day at dinner. 
 
 Jack Mar, the hirpling piper's son, 
 
 Can bang them aw at leein ; 
 He'll brek a lock, or steal a cock, 
 
 Wi' onie yen in bein. 
 He eats guid meat, and drinks Strang drink, 
 
 And gangs weel graith'd o' Sunday, 
 And weel he may, a bonny fray 
 
 Com out last Whissen-Monday. 
 
 The doctor he's a parfet pleague. 
 
 And hawf the parish puzzens ; 
 The lawyer sets fwok by the lugs, 
 
 And cheats them neist by duzzens ; 
 The parson swears a bonny stick 
 
 Amang our sackless asses ; 
 The squire's ruin'd scwores and scwores 
 
 0' canny country lasses. 
 
 There's twenty mair, coarse as neck beef, 
 
 If yen had time to neame them ; 
 Left-handed Sim, slape-finger'd Sam, 
 
 Nae law cou'd iver teame them. 
 There's blue-nebb'd Watt, and ewe-chin'd Dick, 
 
 Weel wordy o' the gallows — 
 happy is the country seyde 
 
 That's free frae sec like fellows ! 
 
 November 27, 1803. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 BALLAD XXXV. 
 DZCE7 aLElTDIirZZT. 
 
 — — 
 Tune — '* As Patie came wp frae the glen,** 
 
 \ Y fadder was down at the mill, 
 
 My mudder was out wid her spinnin, 
 > When whea sud sHp whietly in, 
 But canny lal Dicky Glendinin. 
 
 He pou'd off his muckle top cwoat, 
 Aid drew in a stuil by the hallan, 
 
 Then fworc'd me to sit on his knee, 
 And suin a sad teale began tellin. 
 
 ** Jenny, Jenny ! " says he, 
 ** My likin for tee I can't smudder ; 
 
 It meade me as seek as a peet, 
 
 To think tou'd teane up wid anudder. 
 
 What ! there's been a bonny te-dui 
 
 About a lang hulk o' a miller ! 
 He's wide-gobb'd, and ill-natur'd tui. 
 
 But ae word says aw — he hes siller. 
 
 The lasses aye flyre and mak gam, 
 And ax me, what's got Jenny Foster ? 
 
 The lads, when we meet i' the Iwones, 
 Cry out, * Sairy Dick ! what, ton's lost her !* 
 
 When Kowley, the miller, last neet 
 I met, as we com in frae sheerin, 
 
 Had the sickle but been our lang gun, 
 I'd shot him, ay, dead as a herrin. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 73 
 
 ! lies te forgotten the time, 
 Tou said tou lik'd me best of onie ? 
 
 And hes te forgotten the time, 
 Tou said luive was better than monie ? 
 
 And hes te forgotten the time, 
 
 I mark'd our twea neames on a shillin ? 
 
 Tou promis'd to wear't neist thy heart, 
 And then to wed me tou was willin. 
 
 The furst time you're cried i' the kurk, 
 ril step my ways up, and forbid it ; 
 
 When cauld i' my coffin, they'll say, 
 »Twas e'en Jenny Foster that did it ! 
 
 My ghost the lang neet, aw in wheyte. 
 Will shek thee, and gar thee aw shiver — 
 
 0, the tears how they hop owre my cheeks. 
 To think I sud Iwose the for iver 1" 
 
 0, Dicky ! 0, Dicky ! says I, 
 I nowther heed house, Ian, or siller ; 
 
 Tou's twenty times dearer to me 
 Than onie lang hulk of a miller ! 
 
 A match we struck up in a crack. 
 
 And Dicky's got sticks and got beddin ; 
 
 My f adder and mudder are fain. 
 Then hey for a guid merry weddin I 
 
 December 10, 1803. 
 
74 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 BALLAD XXXYL 
 THE ZITVASZOIT. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — " Lingoes wedding" 
 
 I^OW fens te Dick ? There's fearfu' news- 
 Udsbreed ! the French are comin ! 
 ^There's nought at Carel but parades, 
 And sec a drum, drum, drummin. 
 
 The volunteers and brigadiers 
 Are aw just mad to meet them ; 
 
 And England e'en mun hing her head. 
 If Britons dunnet beat them 
 
 Then there's the Rangers, aw in green. 
 Commanded by brave Howard — 
 
 Of aw his noble kin, nit yen 
 Was iver caw'd a coward. 
 
 They'll pop the Frenchmen off like steyfe 
 If e'er they meet, I'll bail them ; 
 
 Wi' sec true Britons at their heads, 
 True courage cannot fail them. 
 
 Thur French are dispert wicked chiels. 
 
 If it be true they tell us, 
 For where they've been, fwok curse the day 
 
 That e'er saw sec sad fellows. 
 
 They plant the tree o' liberty, 
 
 And hirelings dance around it, 
 But millions water't wi' their tears, 
 
 And bid the de'il confound it. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 75 
 
 Our parson says,=» '' we bang'd tliem still, 
 And bang them still we mun, man, 
 
 For he desarves a coward's deeth, 
 That frae them e'er wad run, man. 
 
 What feckless courts, and worn-out states, 
 They've conquer'd just by knav'ry ; 
 
 But every volunteer will pruive 
 A Briton kens nae slav'ry. 
 
 Tve thought and thought, sin I kent ought, 
 
 Content's the greatest blessin. 
 And he that seizes my bit Ian 
 
 Desarves a guid sound dressin. 
 
 Auld England, though we count thy fau'ts, 
 
 For ever we'll defend thee ! 
 To foreign tyrants sud we bow, 
 
 They'll mar, but niver mend thee. 
 
 December 20, 1803. 
 
 ► 
 
 BALLAD XXXYII. 
 
 aszzzY. 
 
 
 
 Tune — **My auld guidmanj* 
 
 fHE witch weyfe begg'd in our backseyde,t 
 But went unsarra'd away i' th' pet ; 
 ^^Our Ester kurn'd at e'er she kurn'd, 
 But butter the deuce a crum cou'd get. 
 
 ♦ See Note XXXVII. t See Note XXXVIII. 
 
76 CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 
 
 The pez-stack fell and crush'd my fadder, 
 My mudder cowp'd owre, and leam'd hersel ; 
 
 Neist, war and war, what dud we see, 
 But Jenny' pet lam drown' d i' the well. 
 
 Auld Grizzy the witch,* as some fwok say, 
 
 Meks paddock-rud ointment for sair een. 
 And cures the tuith-wark wi' a charm 
 
 Of hard words — neane ken what they mean. 
 She milks the kye, the urchin's bleam'd ; 
 
 She bleets the cworn wi' her bad e'e ; 
 When cross' d by lasses, they pruive wi' bairn, 
 
 And if she grummel, they're seafe o» twee. 
 
 I yence sweethearted Madge o' th' mill, 
 
 And wliea sae thick as she and I ; 
 Auld Whang he promis'd tweescore pun, 
 
 A weel-theek'd house, and bit of a stye. 
 Ae neet we met at our croft head. 
 
 But Grizzy was daund'ring aw her leane, 
 And scarce a week o* days were owre. 
 
 Till Madge to kurk Wull Weer had teane. 
 
 When deef Dick Mauldlin lost his weyfe, 
 
 And sed 'twas weel it was nae war ; 
 When Jerry' black filly pick'd the fwoal. 
 
 And hawf-bHn Calep fell owre the scar ; 
 When manten Marget brunt her rock. 
 
 When smuggler Mat was lost i' the snaw. 
 When wheezlin Wully was set i' the stocks, 
 
 Auld Grizzy aye gat the weyte of aw. 
 
 Her feace is like the stump of a yek. 
 
 She stoops and stowters, sheks and walks ; 
 
 Bleer-e'e'd and tuithless, wi' a beard. 
 
 She coughs and granes, and mumps and talks. 
 
 * See Note XXXIX. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 77 
 
 She lives in a shill-house, burns dried sticks, 
 And there lies dealins wi' the de'il. 
 
 O war she whietly in her grave — 
 For where she bides few can dui weel. 
 
 February 3, 1803. 
 
 r 
 
 BALLAD XXXVIII. 
 aWOBDIE GILL, 
 
 Tune — ** Andrew wi* his cutty gun." 
 
 ?F aw the Lads I see or ken, 
 
 There's yen I like abnin the rest ; 
 ^He's neycer in his warday duds. 
 Than others donn'd in aw their best. 
 
 A boddy's heart's a boddy's awn. 
 
 And they may gi'e't to whea they will ; 
 
 Had I got ten where I ha'e neane, 
 I'd gi'e them aw to Gwordie Gill, 
 
 Whea was't that brak our lanlword' garth,''' 
 For me, when bairns we went to schuil ? 
 
 Whea was't durst venture mid-thie deep, 
 To get my clog out o' the puil ? 
 
 And when the filly flang me off. 
 And lang and lang I laid sae ill, 
 
 Whea was't gawl'd owre me day and neet. 
 And wish'd me weel ? 'Twas Gwordie GilU 
 
 • See Note XL. 
 
78 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Oft monnted on his lang-tail'd naig, 
 Wi' feyne new buits up till his knee, 
 
 The laird's daft son leets i' the faul, 
 And keaves as he wad wurry me. 
 
 Tho' fadder, mudder, uncle tui, 
 To wed this maz'lin teaze me still, 
 
 I hear of aw his Ian and brass, 
 But oft steal out to Gwordie Gill, 
 
 Frae Carel cousin Fanny com. 
 
 And brong her whey-feac'd sweetheart down, 
 Wi' sark-neck stuck abuin his lugs, 
 
 A peer dipt dinment frae the town. 
 
 He minc'd and talk'd, and skipped and walk'^d, 
 
 But tir'd a gangin up the liHl, 
 And luik'd as pale as onie corp, 
 
 Compar'd to rwosie Gwordie Gill, 
 
 My Gwordie' s whussel weel I ken,"^ 
 Lang ere we meet, the darkest neet ; 
 
 And when he lilts and sings Skewball, 
 Nit playhouse music's hawf sae sweet, 
 
 A body's heart's a body's awn. 
 
 And they may gi'e't to whea they will ; 
 
 I yence had yen, now I ha'e neane. 
 For it belangs to Gwordie GilL 
 
 February 10, 1804. 
 
 * See Note XLI, 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 79 
 
 BALLAD XXXIX. 
 
 A WEYFE FOI& WULL7 MILLEB. 
 
 Tune — '' Maggie Laivder,'* 
 — 
 
 ?OUT, WuUy, lad ! cock up thy head, 
 
 Nor fash thysel about her ; 
 ^Nought comes o' nought, sae tek nae 
 
 thought, 
 Tou's better far widout her. 
 
 Peer man ! her fadder weel we ken. 
 
 He's but an as-buD:d meaker ; 
 But she's town-bred, and, silly gowk ! 
 
 Thou'd gi'e thy teeth to teake her. 
 
 I've seen thee flyer and jwoke like mad. 
 
 At aw our country fellows. 
 But now thou seeghs and luiks like deeth, 
 
 Or yen gawn to the gallows. 
 
 Thou's sous'd owre head and ears i' luive ; 
 
 Nay, nobbet luik at Cwoley ! 
 He wags his tail, as if to say, 
 
 ** Wey, what's the matter, Wully ?" 
 
 There's lads but few in our town, 
 
 And lasses wanters plenty. 
 And he that fain wad wed a weyfe, 
 
 May waele yen out o' twenty. 
 
 There's Tamer Toppin, Aggy Sharp, 
 
 And dogger Wilkin' Tibby ; 
 There's Greacy Gurvin, Matty Meer, 
 
 And thingumbob' lal Debby, 
 
80. CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Then there's Wully Guffy' dowter Nan 
 
 At thee aye keeks and glances, 
 For ton's the apple o* their e'en, 
 
 At cardin neets and dances. 
 
 My titty, tni, ae neet asleep, 
 
 Cried, *' Canny WuU MiUar r 
 I poud her hair, she blush'd rwose reed, 
 
 Sae gang thy ways e'en till her. 
 
 Tell mudder aw the news ton kens, 
 
 To fadder talk o' the weather; 
 Then lilt tern up a sang or twea, 
 
 To please them aw together. 
 
 She'll set the out, then speak thy mind : 
 
 She'll suit thee till a shavin ; — 
 But town-bred deames, to sec as we, 
 
 Are seldom worth the havin. 
 
 Febj-uary 28, 1804. 
 
 BALLAD XL. 
 TBE TWEE ATJLD MEN*. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 hrHAT, Gabriel ! come swat thy ways 
 v/y.W down on the sattle, 
 
 <x^ I lang for a bit of a crack ; 
 Thyjgranson I sent owre the geate for some 
 'bacco — 
 The varment'U never come back ! — 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 81 
 
 Nay, keep on thy hat ; we heed nought about 
 manners. 
 What news about your en o' the town ? 
 They say the king's badly ; thur times gang 
 but oddly ; 
 The warl just seems turn'd upseyde down. 
 Ay, what alterations, and out-o'-way fashions, 
 Sin lal toddlin callans were we ! 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 0, Matthew ! they've cutten the yeks and the 
 eshes. 
 That grew owre anent the kurk waw ! 
 How often dud we lake just hke wild things 
 amang them ; 
 But suin we, like them, mun Hg low ! 
 The schuil-house is fawn, where we beath larn'd 
 our letters. 
 For thee, tou cud figure and write ; 
 I mind''' what a monstrous hard task and a 
 lickin 
 Tou gat when tou fit wi' Tom Wheyte. 
 "Wherever yen ranges, the chops and the changes 
 Oft mek a tear gush frae my e'e. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 Then, Gabey, thou minds when we brak Dinah' 
 worchet — 
 Stown apples, bairns aw think, are sweet — 
 Deuce tek this bad 'bacco ! de'il bin, it'll draw 
 nin. 
 Yen mud as weel smuik a wet peat ! — 
 What, yonder' s Kob Donaldson got a lang letter, 
 
 And some say it talks of a peace. 
 But that'll nit happen i' thy time or my time, 
 
 ♦ See Note XLIL 
 
B2 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Widont we can get a new lease. 
 Here, lass ! bring some yell in, drinkin's nae 
 failin. 
 Let's moisten our clay ere we dee. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 Ay, Matt ! What they buried auld Glaister 
 last Monday. 
 Peer Jwosep ! we went to ae scbnil ! — 
 He married deef Marget, the Gammelsby beauty, 
 
 A silly proud cat-witted fuil. 
 Ae son pruivd a taistrel, and brak up at 
 Lunnon, 
 But Jwosep he gat aw to pay. 
 Anudder, they said, turn'd out nit quite owre 
 honest, 
 Sae gat off to Botany Bay. 
 G man ! this frost pinches, and kills fwok by 
 inches. 
 It's e'en meade a cripple o' me ! 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 Ay, Gabey! its lang sin thou married Ann 
 Lawson ; 
 Tou minds when we off like the win 
 Frae kurk to the yell-house? — ^What, I was 
 weel mounted, 
 And left them all twea mile behin. 
 Then there was young Gabey, our weyfe was 
 his goddy, 
 A brave murry cursnin we had. 
 We kent nought o' tea, or sec puzzen i' thur 
 days, 
 But drank tweyce-brew'd yell till hawf mad. 
 There was Kitt and Ned Neilson, and Dan and 
 Wat Wilson, 
 They've aw geane and left thee and me. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS, 83 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 There's ae thing, guid Matthew, I've lang 
 thought of axin, 
 And that tou mun grant if ton can, 
 When I's stiff and cauld, see me decently 
 coffin'd. 
 And laid down aseyde my weyfe Ann. 
 My peer granson Jwosep, he thrives and he 
 grows up, 
 luik till him when I's low laid ! 
 Mind he gaes to the kurk, and sticks weel till 
 his larnin. 
 And get him a bit of a trade. 
 The neybors will bless thee, it wunnot distress 
 thee. 
 And happy auld Gabriel can dee. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 Keep up thy heart ! Gabey, nea guid comes o' 
 grievin. 
 Aye laugh at the warl, if thou'd thrive ; 
 I've buried three weyves, and mun e'en hev 
 anudder, 
 I's quite young and rash — eighty -five. 
 Then sec a hard drinker, a wustler, a feghter, 
 
 A cocker I've been i' my time ; 
 And as for a darrak, in barn or in meadow, 
 
 Whea match'd me, when just i' my prime ? 
 I ne'er thought o' whinin, or gowling, or 
 pinin — 
 We're wise when we chearfu' can be. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 Nay but, neybor Matthew, when ninety lang 
 winters 
 Ha'e bent yen, and powder'd the pow, 
 
84 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 We grane i' the nuik, wi' few Mens or ac- 
 quaintance, 
 And just fin we cannot tell how. 
 For me, I's sair fash'd wi' a cough and the 
 gravel, 
 And ae single tuith i' my head ; 
 Then, sin my peer bairn they tuik off for a 
 sowdger, 
 I've wish'd I were nobbet weel dead. 
 The house uncle ga'e me the squire e'en ta'en 
 frae me — 
 There's nought but the warkhouse for me ! 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 My fadder, God rust him 1 wi' pinchin and 
 pleenin, 
 Screap'd up aw the gear he cud get. 
 I've been a sad deevil, and spent gowd i' gow- 
 pens, 
 But still ha'e a hantel left yet. 
 Come gi'es thy hand, Gabey,* ton's welcome 
 as may be. 
 My purse and my ambrie to share ; 
 We'll talk of auld times, eat, drink, and be 
 merry — 
 Thy granson sail get what we spare. 
 Then leet thy pipe, Gabey, ton's welcome as 
 may be, 
 They's ne'er mek a beggar o' thee ! 
 
 March 14, 1804. 
 
 ♦ See Note XLIIL 
 
m 
 
 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. O 
 
 BALLAD XLL 
 UNCLE WXJLLY. 
 
 — — 
 Tune — *'Woo'd and married and a\" 
 
 ui'vJ^'^'^ a comical warl this we live in," 
 <: Says Calep, and Calep says reet ; 
 V For Matty, that's got aw the money, 
 
 Hes e'en geane and wedded deyl'd Peat. 
 He's, nobbet a heather-feac'd maz'lin, 
 
 And disn't ken whisky frae yell. 
 But her, weel brong up and a scholar, 
 
 Has just meade a full o' hersel ! 
 De'il bin but she'd little to de. 
 To tek sec a hawflin as he. 
 That nowther kens A, B, or C ! — 
 Nay, what sec a pair can ne'er 'gree ! 
 
 He ne'er hes a teale widout laitin. 
 
 And hardleys can grease his awn clogs ; 
 He marry a decent man's dowter ! 
 
 He's fitter to lig amang hogs ! 
 At the clock for an hour he'll keep glymin. 
 
 But de'il e'er the time he can tell ; 
 And my niece, for that ae word husband. 
 
 Has e'en geane and ruin'd hersel. 
 
 De'il bin, &c. 
 
 Her fadder, God keep him ! my billy. 
 Aye thought her the flow'r o' them aw ; 
 
 And said on his deeth-bed, *' 0, Wully, 
 Luik till her, man, when I lig low I " 
 
00 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 1 meade her beath reader and writer — 
 
 Nin bang'd her, the maister can tell ; 
 But speyte o' heath larnin and raanners, 
 She's e'en meade a guff of hersel. 
 
 De'il bin, &c. 
 
 When lasses get past aw advisin, 
 
 Ours then turns a piteous case. 
 A cwoat or sark yen may shep them, 
 
 But aw cannot gi'e them God's greace. 
 For me, I'll e'en deet my hands on her, 
 
 And this aw our neybors I'll teU ; 
 She's meade a bad bed, let her Hg on't, 
 
 And think how she's ruin'd hersel. 
 De'il bin but she'd little to de. 
 To tek sec a hawflin as he. 
 That nowther kens A, B, or C ! — 
 Nay, what sec a pair can ne'er 'gree. 
 
 April 10, 1804. 
 
 BALLAD XLIIL 
 aUZD STZ&AITG YELL. 
 
 — 
 
 Xm^UE EUek Hkes fat bacon weel,* 
 j\\M. And havver-bannock pleases Dick ; 
 ''^'^^^A cow'd-lword meks lal WuUy fain, 
 And cabbish aye turns Philip sick. 
 
 Our deame's for gurdle-ceake and tea. 
 And Betty's aw for thick pez-keale ; 
 
 Let ilk yen fancy what they wuU, 
 Still my delight is guid Strang yell. 
 ♦ See Note XLIV. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 87 
 
 I ne'er had mnckle, ne'er kent want, 
 Ne'er wrang'd a neybor, frien, or kin ; 
 
 My weyfe and bairns 'buin aw I prize, 
 There's music i' their varra din. 
 
 I labor suin, I labor leate, 
 
 And cheerfu' eat my humble meal ; 
 
 My weage can feed and dead us aw, 
 And whiles affords me guid Strang yell. 
 
 What's aw the warl widout content ? 
 
 Wi' that and health man can't be peer ; 
 We suin slip oif frae friens and foes, 
 
 Then whea but fuils wad feght for gear. 
 
 'Bout kings and consuls gwoks may fratch, 
 
 For me I scworn to vex mysel, 
 But laugh at courts, and owre-grown knaves, 
 
 When I've a hush o' guid Strang yell. 
 
 April 22, 1804. 
 
 BALLAD XLIV. 
 BTTEGH BACES, 
 
 — — 
 
 ^^vJ\ ^^yy» ^^^ *ou nobbet been at Burgh 
 
 Eaces,''' 
 * ' It seem'd, lad, as if aw the warl were 
 met ; 
 Some went to be seen, others off for divarsion, 
 And monie went there a lock money to bet. 
 
 * See Note XLV. 
 
88 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 The cup was aw siller, andletter'd reet neycely, 
 
 A feyne naig they've put on't, forby my 
 
 Lword's neame ; 
 
 It hods nar a quart, for raonie drank out on't, 
 
 And open'd their gills till they cu'dn't creep 
 
 heame. 
 
 There was, **How fens te. Tommy?" — '' What, 
 Jwosep ! I's gaily."* 
 '* Wey, is there ought unket i' your country 
 seyde ? 
 Here lanlword 1 a noggin ! — Whea rides the 
 Collector ? 
 What Meason' auld meer can bang aw far 
 and wide !" 
 There was snaps, yell, nuts, gingerbread, 
 shwortceakes and brandy. 
 And tents full o' ham, beef, and nowble veal 
 
 There was Greenup wi* a reet and true list o' 
 the horses. 
 The neames o' the awners and reyders forby. 
 
 Ere they saddl'd, the gamblers peep'd sair at 
 the horses. 
 Sec scrudgin, the fwok were just ready to 
 brust ; 
 Wi' swearin and bettin, they meade a sad hay- 
 bay— ^ 
 ** I'll lig six to four ! " — *' Done ! come down 
 wi' the dust ! " 
 
 "What think ye o' Lawson? "— '^ The field 
 for a guinea ! " 
 *' I'll mention the winner! Dare onie yen 
 lay?" 
 
 * See Note XLVI. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 89 
 
 Jwohn Blaylock' reed handkitcher wav'd at the 
 dissnens, 
 At startin, he cried <* Yen, twee, three, put 
 away I " 
 
 They went off hke leetnin — the auld meer's a 
 topper, 
 She flew like an arrow, and show'd tern her 
 tail ; 
 They hugg'd, whupp'd, and spurr d, but cud 
 niver yence. touch her, 
 The winners they rear'd, and the Iwosers 
 turn'd pale. 
 Peer Lawson gat dissen'd, and sae sud the 
 tudders, 
 Furst heat was a chase, and the neist a tek 
 in ; 
 Then some drank their winnins — but, woefu' 
 disaster ! 
 It rain'd, and the lasses gat wet to the skin. 
 
 Like pez in a pot, neist at Sandsfield they 
 caper'd. 
 The lads did the lasses sae kittle and hug ; 
 Young Crosset, i' fettle, had got bran new 
 pumps on, 
 And brong fisher Jemmy a clink o' the lug. 
 The lasses they belder'd out, *' Man thysel. 
 Jemmy," '^ 
 His comrades they poud off his cwoat and 
 his sark; 
 They fit, lugg'd, and lurry'd, aw owre blood 
 and batter. 
 The lanlword com in, and cried, *' Shem o' 
 sec wark ! '' 
 
 ♦ See Note XLVII. 
 
90 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 There were smugglers, excisemen, horse- 
 cowpers, and parsons, 
 Sat higglety-pigglety, aw fare alike ; 
 And mowdy-warp Jacky — ay, man, it was 
 funny ! 
 He meade tliem aw laugh when he stuck in 
 a creyke. 
 There were lasses frae Wigton, and Worton, 
 and Banton, 
 Some o' them gat sweethearts, while others 
 gat neane ; 
 And bairns yet unbworn '11 oft hear o' Burgh 
 Races, 
 For ne'er mun we see sec a meeting agean. 
 
 May 4, 1804. 
 
 BALLAD XLV. 
 
 BIDDY. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — "Since love is the jplan," 
 — — 
 
 y fflP WAS frost and thro' leet, wid a greymin 
 |\ o' snaw, 
 
 ^'^When I went to see Biddy, the flow'r o' 
 them aw ; 
 
 To meet was agreed on at Seymy deyke nuik. 
 Where I saunter' d wi' monie a seegh and lang 
 
 luik, 
 But poud up my spirits and off till her heame, 
 For when fwok mean reet, wey, what need they 
 think sheame ! 
 
OUMBRUN BALLADS. 91 
 
 I peep'd thro' the window, to see what was 
 
 duin ; * 
 Her fadder sat whusslin, and greasin his shoon ; 
 Her mudder sat darnin, and smuikin the while, 
 And Biddy was spinnin, the neet to beguile. 
 Her thread it aye brack, she seem'd sad as 
 
 cud be, 
 And yen sat aseyde her, a stranger to me. 
 
 She turn'd her head frae him, and niver yence 
 
 spak. 
 He struive for a kiss, then she up in a crack, 
 And suin i' the faul, wi' great pleasure we met, 
 But that happy moment we ne'er can forget. 
 To be mine she promis'd agean and agean, 
 And the priest, if God spare us, will suin mek 
 
 us yen. 
 
 Maij 15, 1804. 
 
 BALLAD XLYI. 
 DZNAS DXTFTOIT. 
 
 Tune— "Good night, and joy he wi'' ye a'." 
 
 fEEE Dinah Dufton's e'en wi' bairn, t 
 Oh, but I's unco s worry for't ! 
 (^lA bonnier or a teydier lass. 
 No niver yet fell i' the durt. 
 
 Auld Tim, her fadder, turn'd her out 
 At mid neet, tho' 'twas frost and snaw ; 
 
 She owre the geate, — what cud she de ? — 
 And sobb'd and gowl'd, and telt us aw. 
 
 * See Note XLVIII. f See Note XLT^ 
 
92 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 My fadder shuik liis head at fursfc, 
 But spak and acted like a man ; 
 
 ** Dinah !" says he, *^ ton sanot want, 
 ** Sae keep thy heart up, if tou can ; 
 
 I've lads and lasses o' my awn. 
 
 And nin can tell what they may de ; 
 
 To turn thee out ! peer luckless hairn ! 
 Thy fadder e'en mun harden'd be !'' 
 
 God niver meade a heartier lass. 
 For she wad sing for iver mair ; 
 
 Yet, when peer fwok were in distress, 
 To hear on't, Oh ! it hurt her sair ! 
 
 This luive, they say, hides monie fau'ts ; 
 
 Peer thing ! the warl she little knew ! 
 But if she'd been by me advis'd, 
 
 She waddent hed sec cause to rue. 
 
 At Eosley Fair she chanc'd to leet 
 0' mangerel Wull, that wicked tuil ; 
 
 He'd larn'd to hannel weel his feet, 
 And kept a bit o' dancin schuil. 
 
 A fortune-teller neist he brib'd. 
 
 To say the match was made abuin ; 
 
 But when he'd brong his ends about, 
 He nobbet laugh' d and left her suin. 
 
 Now Dinah's apron's grown quite shwort ; 
 
 Dull, downcast, outcry o' the lave ! 
 Aw day she whinges in our loft, 
 
 And wishes she were in her grave. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 93 
 
 But mangrel Wull, that wicked tuil, 
 
 My f adder says sail lig in jail ; 
 And he that ruins onie lass, 
 
 De'll tek the man that wad him bail. 
 
 July 16, 1804. 
 
 BALLAD XLVII. 
 NED CABITAirGSAXT. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune, — ''The miller of Bee'' 
 
 
 Clijjyr Y mudder was teakin her nuin*s rest, 
 i'lMl! ^y fadder was out at the hay, 
 ^^-^ When Ned Carnaughan com bouncm in, 
 And luik'd as he'd gotten a flay. 
 
 ** 0, Sib !" says he , ^* I's duin wi' te ; — 
 Nay, what, thou blushes and stares ! — 
 I seed the last neet wi' bow-hough'd Peat, 
 I And de'il tek them that cares 1" 
 
 Says I to Ned, to Ned says I, 
 
 '' What's aw this fuss about ? 
 I's seer he's a reet lish country lad. 
 
 And ton's just a parfect lout ; 
 
 But whea were liggin i' Barney's croft. 
 
 And lakin like twea heares ? 
 And whea kiss'd Suke frae lug to lug ? 
 
 Wey, de'il tek them that cares !" 
 
94 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Says Ned, says he, ^' The thimmel gi'e me, * 
 
 I brong thee frae Branton fair. 
 And gi'e back the broach and true-love not, 
 
 And lock o' my awn reed hair ; 
 
 And pay me the tuppence I wan frae thee 
 
 Ae neet at pops and pairs ; 
 Then e'en tek on wi' whea thou likes — 
 
 The de'il tek them that cares 1" 
 
 The broach and thimmle I flang at his feace, 
 
 The true-love knot i' the fire ; 
 Says I, *' Ton's nobbet a hawfln bworn — 
 
 Fash me nae mair, I desire. 
 
 Here, tek thy tuppence, a reape to buy, 
 
 And gi'e thysel nae mair airs ; 
 But hing as hee as Gilderoy — 
 
 The de'il tek then that cares !" 
 
 July 27, 1804. 
 BALLAD XLYIII. 
 
 THE COOKER 0' CODBECE. 
 
 
 
 Tune, — '^Patrick's day i' the morning.'* 
 — o 
 
 f^HEEE was ill gusty Jemmy, the cocker 
 . o'Codbeck t 
 
 *. He foUow'd blin Leethet' lass years twee 
 or three ; 
 She laid in o' twins, and was e'en broken- 
 hearted. 
 For Jemmy had left her — and, neist, what 
 did he, 
 
 • See Note L. t See Note LI. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 95 
 
 But ran owre to Hesket, and wedded anudder ; 
 Suin peer Greacy Leetliet was laid in her 
 grave ; 
 The last words she spake were, ** God, forgi'e 
 Jemmy ! 
 I may rue the day when he stuil my heart 
 frae me ! 
 ThoTs gawn to leave you, my innocents save !'' 
 Her twea bairns she kiss'd, 
 And then sunk into rest. 
 but sec like fellows sud suffer [ 
 
 I ne'er can forget, when the corpse cross' d the 
 lonnin, 
 Amang auld and young there was nit a dry 
 e'e; 
 Aw whop'd she was happy — but, man ! her 
 fadder, 
 When they cover 'd the coffin, we thought he 
 wad dee ! 
 He cried, ** I've nae comfort sin I've lost my 
 Greacy ! 
 that down aseyde her my head I could lay I" 
 For Jemmy, de'il bin him! he's kent nought 
 
 but crosses, 
 He's shunn'd by the lads, and he's hiss'd by 
 the lasses. 
 And Greacy's ghost haunts him by neet and 
 by day ; 
 
 Nae neybor luiks near him, 
 The bairns they aw fear him ; 
 And may sec like fellows stiU suffer. 
 
 July 28, 1804. 
 
? 
 
 96 CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 
 
 BALLAD XLIX. 
 CAXTITY CTJMICEIILAIT. 
 
 Tune — " The humours of Glen" 
 — 
 
 ^^I^^WAS ae neet last week, wid our wark 
 efter supper, 
 We went owre the geate cousin Isbel 
 to see. 
 
 There was Sibby frae Curthet, and lal Betty 
 Byers, 
 Deef Debby, forby Bella Bunton and me. 
 We'd scarce begun spinnin, when Sib a sang 
 mted. 
 She'd brong her frae Carel by their sarvent 
 man. 
 'Twas aw about Cummerlan fwok and feyne 
 pleaces. 
 And, if I can think on't, ye's hear how it ran. 
 
 Yer buik-larn'd wise gentry, that's seen monie 
 counties, 
 May preach and palaver, and brag as they 
 will 
 0' mountains, lakes, valleys, woods, watters, 
 and meadows. 
 But canny auld Cummerlan caps them aw 
 still.^!^ 
 Its true we've nae palaces sheynin amang us, 
 Nor marble tall towers to catch the weak eye. 
 But we've monie feyne castles, where fit our 
 brave fadders. 
 When Cummerlan cud onie county defy. 
 
 • See Note LII. 
 
OUMBEIAN BALLADS. 97 
 
 First, Graystock we'll nwotish, the seat o' girt 
 
 NOEFOLK, 
 
 A neame still to freemen and Englishmen 
 dear. 
 Ye Cummerlan fwok, may your sons and your 
 gransons 
 Sec rare honest Statesmen for iver revere. 
 Corruption's a sink that'll puzzen the country, 
 And lead us to slav'ry, to me it seems plain ; 
 But he that hes courage to stem the black 
 torrent, 
 True Britons sud pray for, agean and agean. 
 
 Whea that hes climb'd Skiddaw, hes seen sec a 
 prospect. 
 Where fells frown owre fells and in majesty 
 vie? 
 Whea that hes seen Keswick, can count hawf 
 its beauties, 
 May e'en try to count hawf the stars i' the 
 sky. 
 There's Ullswater, Bassenthwaite, West- 
 water, Derwent, 
 That thousands on thousands ha'e travell'd 
 to view ; 
 The langer they gaze, still the mair they may 
 wonder, 
 And aye, as they wonder, may fin summet 
 new. 
 
 We've Corby,* for rocks, caves, and walks sae 
 delightfu'. 
 That Eden a paradise loudly proclaims ; 
 that sec like pleaces hed aye sec like awners, 
 Then mud monie girt fwok be proud o' their 
 neames ! 
 
 B 
 
9.8 * CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 We've Netherby tui, the grand pride o' tlie 
 
 border ! 
 
 And haws out o' number nae country can 
 
 bang; 
 
 Wi' rivers romantic as Tay, Tweed, or Yarrow, 
 
 And green woodbine bowers weel wordy a 
 
 We help yen anudder ; we welcome the 
 stranger ; 
 Oursels and our country we'll iver defend ; 
 We pay bits o' taxes as weel as we're yable, 
 And pray, like true Britons, the war had an 
 end. 
 Then, Curamerlan lads, and ye lish rwosy 
 lasses. 
 If some caw ye clownish, ye needn't think 
 sheame ; 
 Be merry and wise, enjoy innocent pleasures, 
 And aye seek for health and contentment at 
 heame. 
 
 August 12, 1804. 
 
 * See Note LIII. 
 
CTTMBEIAN BALLADS. 99 
 
 BALLAD L. 
 JEFF AlTD JOB. 
 
 Tune — " Fye, gae ruh her o*er wi* strae " 
 
 JEFF. 
 
 l^ OME, JoL, let's talk o' weel-kent pleaces, 
 When young tearin chaps were we. 
 ilNow nin nar us but fremm'd feaces — 
 Few to seyde wi' thee and me ! — 
 Years are geane by twee and twenty. 
 
 Sin I kent thy curly pow — 
 Aye the furst at wark and sp wort in, 
 Were Jeff Heyne and Jwosep Howe. 
 
 JOB. 
 
 Ay, Jeff ! we've lang kent yen anudder ; 
 
 Monie a time when chaps were crouse, 
 And meade a brulliment and bodder, 
 
 Jeff and Job ha'e clear'd the house. 
 Nin like thee cud fling the geavelick ; * 
 
 Nin like me lak'd at fit-baw ; 
 Wi' pennysteans tou was a darter — 
 
 I at trippet bang'd tem aw. 
 
 JEFF. 
 
 Then, Job, I mind at your kurn-supper, f 
 
 When I first saw Elcy Greame, 
 I cudent eat — my heart it flutter'd — 
 Lang Tom Leytle watch' d us heame : — 
 We were young, and heath i' fettle — 
 
 He wad feght — we e'en set tui ; 
 In the clarty seugh I sent him ; 
 
 Elcy skirl' d — ^what cud she dui ? 
 
 * See Note LIV. t See Note LV. 
 
100 OUMBRUN BALLADS. 
 
 JOB. 
 
 And, Jeff, when met at Cursmas cairdins,'' 
 
 Few durst lake wi' thee and me ; 
 When we'd hack'd the lads aw roun us, 
 
 Off to th* lasses' bed went we. 
 The as-buird sarrad as a teable. 
 
 Legs anundert* claes were laid ; 
 Forby laughin, kissin, jwokin, 
 
 Monie a harmless prank we play'd* 
 
 JEFF. 
 
 Now, Job, we pay for youthfu' foUies — 
 
 Aw our happy days are geane ; — 
 Tou*s turn'd grousome, bare and dozen'd. 
 
 I's just worn to skin and beane. — 
 But maister's comin in a flurry — 
 
 Sarvants aye sud mind their wark ; — 
 I mun off to deetin havver — 
 
 Fares-te-weel till efter dark ! 
 
 Octoher 12, 1804 
 
 BALLAD LI. 
 TIB AITD HEU MAZSTEZt. 
 
 — — 
 
 f'S tir'd wi' liggin aye my leane ; 
 This day seems fair and clear ; 
 Seek th' auld grey yad, clap on the pad. 
 She's duin nae wark te year. 
 
 Furst, Tib, get me my best lin sark, 
 My wig, and new-greas'd shoon ; 
 
 My three-nuik'd hat, and mittens white — 
 I'll hev a young weyfe suin ! + 
 
 ♦ See Note LVI. t See Note LVII. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 101 
 
 A young weyfe for me, Tib, 
 
 A young weyfe for me ; 
 She'll scart my back wben'er it yuks, 
 
 Sae married I mun be I 
 
 *^ Wey, maister \ you're liawf blin and deef — 
 The rain comes pouring down ; — 
 
 Your best lin sark wants beath the laps, 
 Your three-nuik'd hat the crown. 
 
 The rattens eat your clouted shoon ; 
 
 The yad's unshod and leame ; 
 You're bent wi' yeage like onie bow ; 
 
 Sae sit content at heame ! 
 
 A young wife for ye, man ! 
 
 A young weyfe for ye ! 
 They'll rank ye wi' the horned nowt 
 
 Until the day ye dee." 
 
 0' Tib ! thou aye talks like a fuil ! 
 
 Ts fail'd, but nit sae auld ; 
 A young weyfe keeps yen warm i' bed, 
 
 When neets are lang and cauld. 
 
 I've brass far mair than I can count, 
 
 And sheep, and naigs, and kye ; 
 A house luiks howe widout a weyfe 
 
 My luck m e'en gae try. 
 
 A young weyfe for me, Tib, 
 
 A young weyfe for me ; 
 I yet can lift twea pecks o' wots, 
 
 Tho' turn'd o' eighty-three. 
 
 Weel, maister, ye maun ha'e your way, 
 
 And sin ye'll wedded be, 
 I's lish and young, and stout and Strang, 
 
 Sae what think ye o' me ? 
 
102 OtJMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 I'll keep ye teydey, warm, and clean, 
 
 To wrang ye I wad scworn. 
 Tib ! gi'es thy hand ! a bargain be't — 
 
 We'll off to kirk to-mworn ! 
 
 A young weyfe for me, Tib, 
 
 Tou was meade for me ; 
 We'll kiss and coddle aw the neet. 
 
 And aye we'll happy be. 
 
 November 11, 1804. 
 
 BALLAD LII. 
 JWOSITY AND 1IIAB7. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — " Come under my jolaidie.** 
 
 
 )OUNG Mary was canny and bonny as 
 onie lass, 
 Jwohny was lusty and weel to be seen ; 
 Young Mary was aye the best dancer at murry 
 neets, 
 Jwohny had won monie a belt on the green. 
 Lang, lang they were sweethearts, and nwot- 
 ish'd by neybors, 
 Th' auld fwok they talk'd, and oft bragg'd o' 
 the twee. 
 For Jwohny thought nin i' the warl like young 
 Mary, 
 And Mary thought Jwohny aw she wished to 
 see. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 103 
 
 A wee swope guid yell is a peer body's com- 
 fort,''' 
 But wo be to him that oft drinks till blin 
 fou! 
 Young Jwohny ae day off wi' bigg to the mar- 
 ket, 
 And drank wi' some neybors, he little thought 
 how. 
 His auld fadder watch'd till the black hour o' 
 midneet, 
 Widout his dear Jwohny the naig gallop' d 
 heame. 
 They sought, and they fan him that mwornin 
 i' Eden, 
 Amang the green busses that nod owre the 
 stream. 
 
 Auld Gibby he gowls, and aye talks of his 
 Jwohny, 
 And sits by his greave, and oft meks a sad 
 meane ; 
 Peer Mary, the flow'r of aw flow'rs i' the parish, 
 Ne'er hods up her head, now her Jwohny is 
 geane. 
 The dangerous yell-house kills monie brave 
 fellows, + 
 To get heame quite swober can ne'er be 
 thought wrang ; 
 Nae good comes o' drinking — ye lads aw 
 around me. 
 At fair or at market, aye think o' my sang ! 
 
 November 13, 1804. 
 
 ♦ See Note LVIII. t See Note LIX. 
 
rO CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 BALLAD LIII. 
 THE CLA7 DAXTBIIT. 
 
 Tune — "Andrew Ca/rr,*' 
 — — 
 
 OTxT J^E went owre to Deavie' Clay Daubin,* 
 iS/VV'' And faith a rare caper we had, 
 oL>-> Wi' eatin, and drinkin, and dancin, 
 And rwoarin and singin like mad. 
 
 We'd crackin, and jwokin, and braggin, 
 And fratcbin, and feigbtin and aw ; 
 
 Sec glorious fun and divarsion 
 Was ne'er seen in castle or haw. 
 
 Sing bey for a snug clay biggin, 
 And lasses tbat like a bit spwort ; 
 
 Wi* friends, and plenty to gi'e tbem, 
 
 We'll laugh at King Gworge and his court. 
 
 The waws wer aw finished ere darknin ; 
 
 Now, greypes, shouls, and barrows thrown 
 
 Auld Deavie spak up, wid a hursle, 
 '' Od rabbit it ! lads, ye'll be dry. 
 
 See, deame, if we've got a swope whusky 1 1 
 I's sworry the rum-bottle's duin ; 
 
 We'll starken our keytes, I'll uphod us — 
 Come, Adams, I rasp up a lal tune ! " 
 
 • See Note LX. t See Note LXT. 
 t W. Adams, an excellent country musician, particularly 
 noted for playing jigs and strathspeys ; and a man well ^own 
 at fairs, merry-nights, kum-suppers, and clay-daubins. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. lOi) 
 
 When Bill kittl'd up *' Chips and Shavins,'' 
 Auld Philip pou'd out Matty Meer, 
 
 Then nattl'd his heels like a youngen, 
 And caper'd about the clay fleer. 
 
 He deeted his gob, and he buss'd her, 
 
 As lish as a lad o' sixteen ; 
 Cries WuU, *' Od dy ! f adder's i' fettle ! 
 
 His marrow '11 niver be seen ! " 
 
 Keet sair did we miss Jemmy Coupland — 
 Bad crops, silly man, meade him feale ; 
 
 Last Sunday fworenuin, efter sarviee, 
 
 1' the kurk-garth the dark eaw'd his seale/' 
 
 Peer Jemmy ! of aw his bit oddments 
 
 A shottle the bealies ha'e ta'en, 
 And now he's reet fain of a darrak, 
 
 For pan, dish, or spuin he hes neane. 
 
 Wi' scons, leather-hungry ,\ and whusky, 
 Auld Aggy cried, ** Meake way for me ! 
 
 Ye men fwok eat, drink, and be murry, 
 While we i' the bower get tea." 
 
 The whillymer eat teugh and teasty, 
 Aw cramm'd fou o' grey pez and seeds ; 
 
 They row'd it up teane agean tudder — 
 Nae dainties the hungry man needs. 
 
 Now in com the women fwok buncin, 
 Widout tem there's niver nee fun ; 
 
 Wi' whusky aw weeted their wizzens, 
 But suin a sad hay-bay begun. 
 
 • See Note LXII. 
 
 t This is a ludicrous name given to a poor sort of cheese made 
 of skimmed milk, and made use of by some of the peasants of 
 Cumberland as a part of their meals. It is also sometimes called 
 whillymer, and sometimes Rosley Cheshire. A more particular 
 description of this cheese will be found in Note I. at the end of 
 he volume. 
 
106 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 For Jock, the young laird, was new wedded, 
 His auld sweetheart Jenny luik'd wae ; 
 
 While some were aw titterin and flyrin, 
 The lads rubb'd her down '*' wi' pez-strae. 
 
 Kob Lowson tuik part wi' peer Jenny, 
 And brong snift'ring Gwordie a cluff ; 
 
 I' th' scuffle they leam'd Lowson' mudder. 
 And fain they'd ha'e stripp'd into buff. 
 
 Neist Peter caw'd Gibby a rebel, 
 
 And aw rwoar'd out, that was wheyte wrang ; 
 Cried Deavie, '' Sheak hans, and nae mair 
 on't — 
 
 I's sing ye a bit of a sang.'* 
 
 He lilted *' The King and the Tinker, " 
 And Wully strack up ^* Bohin Hood ;'' 
 
 Dick Mingins tried " Hooly and Fairly, " 
 And Martha, '' The Bahs d the Wood r> 
 
 They push'd round a glass like a noggin. 
 And bottomed the greybeard complete ; 
 
 Then crack' d till the muin glowr'd amang them, 
 And wish'd yen anudder guid neet. 
 
 December 21, 1804. 
 
 
 • See Note LXIIT. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 107 
 
 BALLADS LIV. 
 THE FELLOWS HOXTITD TOZtEIlT.'^ 
 
 Tune — "The TorJcshire Concert,'* 
 
 ^\f ;rE'EE aw feyne fellows round Torkin ; 
 r^y^ We're aw guid fellows weel met ; 
 oL>~» We're aw wet fellows round Torkin, 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat. 
 
 Let's drink to the lasses about us 
 'Till Day's braid glare bids us start ; 
 
 We'll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 Come, Dicky, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 I'll gi'e ye, says Dick, durty Dinah, 
 
 That's aye big wi' bairn fwok suppwose ; 
 
 She sticks out her lip like a pentes, 
 To kep what may drop frae her nwose. 
 
 Like a hay-stack she hoists up ae shoulder. 
 And scarts, for she's nit varra soun. 
 
 Wi' legs thick as mill-pwosts, and greasy, 
 The deevil cud nit ding her down ! 
 
 We're aw odd fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We're aw larn'd fellows weel met ; 
 We're aw rich fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat. 
 
 Let's drink to the lasses about us, 
 'Till day's braid glare bids us part ; 
 
 We'll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 
 Come, Matthew, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 • A wood-covered hill, near Orofton Hall, in Cumberland. 
 
108 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 I'll gi'e ye, says Matt, midden Marget, 
 That squints wi' the left-handed e*e ; 
 
 When at other fellows she's gleymin, 
 I's freetnen'd she's In i kin at me. 
 
 She smells far stranger than carrion, 
 Her cheeks are as dark as hung beef, 
 
 Her breasts are as flat as a back-buird ; 
 'Mang sluts she's aye counted a chief! 
 
 "We're aw wise fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We're aw neyce fellows weel met ; 
 We're aw sad fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat. 
 
 Let's drink to the lasses about us, 
 'Till Day's braid glair bid us part ; 
 
 We'll sup 'till the sailer be empty — 
 Come, Gwordy, lad, bottom the quart. 
 
 I'll gi'e ye, says Gworge, geapin Grizzy, 
 Wi' girt feet and marrowless legs ; 
 
 Her red neb wad set fire to brunstone ; 
 Her een are as big as duck eggs. 
 
 See's shep'd tike a sweyne i' the middle. 
 Her sldn freek'd aw like a gleid ; 
 
 Her mouth's weyde as onie town yubbem. 
 We're freeten'd she'll swally her head I 
 
 We're aw Strang fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We're aw Hsh fellows weel met ; 
 We're aw top fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 109 
 
 Let's drink to the lasses about us, 
 'Till Day's braid glare bids us start ; 
 
 We'll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 Come, WuUy, lad boddom the quart. 
 
 I'll gi'e ye, says Wull, winking Winny, 
 That measures exact three feet eight, 
 
 But wi' roun-shouder'd Euth, or tall Tibby, 
 She'll scart, and she'll girn, and see'll feght. 
 
 She*s cruik'd as an S — wid a hip out, 
 Her feet flat and braid, as big fluiks ; 
 
 Her feace is as lang as a fiddle. 
 
 And aw spatter'd owre wi' red plouks ! 
 
 We*re aw young fellows round Torkin '^ 
 We're aw teeght fellows weel met ; 
 
 We're aw brave fellows round Torkin, 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat : 
 
 Let's drink to the lasses about us, 
 'Till Day's braid glare bids us part; 
 
 We'll sup till the sailer be empty — 
 Come, Mwosy, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 I'll gi'e ye, says Mwosy, mantin Matty, 
 That lisps thro' her black rotten teeth ; 
 
 You can't catch five words in ten minutes ; 
 If gowhn, she'd flay yen to death. 
 
 Her feace like auld Nick's nutmig grater, 
 And yaUow neck bitten wi' fleas ; 
 
 She's troubl'd wi' win aye at meale teymes, 
 And belshes to give hersel ease ! 
 
110 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 We're aw cute fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We're aw sharp fellows weel met ; 
 We're aw rare fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat ; 
 
 Let's drink to the lasses about us, 
 'Till day's braid glare bids us part ; 
 
 We'll sup 'till the sailer be empty — 
 Come, Nathan, lad, boddom the quart. 
 
 I'll gi'e ye, says Natt, noisy Nanny, 
 
 That chows shag 'bacco for fun ; 
 She cocks her belly when walkin, 
 
 And aye luiks down to the grun. 
 
 She talks heath sleepin and wakin, 
 
 And crowks like a tead when she speaks. 
 
 On her nwose en the hair grows like stibble, 
 And gravey drops run owre her cheeks I 
 
 We're aw teugh fellows round Torkin ; 
 
 We're aw rash fellows weel met ; 
 We're aw queer fellows round Torkin, 
 
 Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat. 
 
 Let's drink to the lang, leame, and lazy, 
 Deef, dum, black, brown, bleer-e'ed, and blin. 
 
 May they suin get weel weddet, and beddet, 
 If lads they can onie where fin ! 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. Ill 
 
 BALLAD LV. 
 
 THE DALSTON PLAYEE-PWOE. 
 
 
 
 Tune — "Derry Down." 
 — — 
 
 I OME, stur the fire, Shadrich ! andharken 
 
 k to me. 
 
 ^I went up to Dawston their Play-fwok to 
 see, 
 And paid my cruik'd tizzy, and gat a front seat; 
 Thrang as three in a bed, they were wedg'd in 
 that neet. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Furst, the ban on their hoyboys and pipes did 
 
 sea cruin, 
 Tho' they blew oft and sair, it aye seem'd the 
 
 seame tune. 
 Aw was famish confusion, but when they began, 
 Lack-a-day ! the Fair Penitent pruiv'd but a 
 
 man ! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 When they chink'd a lal beU, there was yen 
 
 summet spak, 
 But he hung down his head, and held up his 
 
 back. 
 
 The picture caw'd Garrick abuin the stage 
 stood, 
 
 I thought it yence laugh'd, and i' faith weel it 
 mud! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
112 CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Like a hawf white-waslied sweep, yen Orashi * 
 
 bunc'd in, 
 And he tweyn'd leyke an edder, and cock'd up 
 
 his chin ; 
 In his yellow plush breeks, and lang black 
 
 rusty sword, 
 Wid his square gob weyde open — ^thought I, 
 
 what a Iword ! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 He was drucken, (that's sarten) he cud'nt get 
 
 on ; 
 '^Loavins!" cried an auld woman, "What, 
 
 that's Eutson' Jwohn ! 
 Mess, but he's a darter ! " — ** A topper," says 
 
 I, 
 
 ** Was he but in a meedow, he'd freeten the 
 kye." 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 In bonny flow'r'd weastcwoat, and full- 
 bottom' d wig, 
 Auld SiJwlto he sqeek'd leyke a stuck guinea 
 
 pig; 
 
 Then his dowter he'd fratch, and her sweet- 
 heart forby, 
 
 man, it was movin, and meade the bairns 
 cry. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Yen whisper'd me softly, ** That's clogger 
 
 JwoHN Bell," 
 Says I, ** Leyke eneugh — of that man Fve heard 
 
 tell" 
 
 * The maimer in which they pronounced the different names. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 113 
 
 Now a tweesome talk'd loud, but nit varra dis- 
 creet, 
 
 For they promis'd twea whores t afore nuin 
 they wad meet. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Frae tae fit to tudder, Lothari he hopp'd, 
 
 Aw leyke clock-wark ; his words, tui, how 
 
 neycely he chopp'd ! 
 Peer boddy ! he waddent lig whiet when dead, 
 Sae they e'en lugg'd him out by the heels and 
 
 the head. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 There was yen wid a weast thick as onie bar! 
 
 kurn, 
 He poud up his pettikits, then gev a gurn ; 
 A.nd he luik'd as to say, ** Now, what think ye 
 
 O' ME? " 
 
 i lal lass spak the truth, ** It was shocken to 
 see." 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 STeist a clever lish chap, wid his feyne red-leed 
 
 cheeks, 
 Blew his nwose wid his fingers, and hotch'd up 
 
 his breeks ; 
 Then he tuik a fresh chow, and the auld*d 
 
 threw out, 
 Vnd said, **Dui be whiet. What's aw this 
 
 about ? " 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 t Two hours. 
 
114 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 The skuilmaister gager, and twea or three 
 
 mair, 
 Had seen mister Punch play his pranks at a 
 
 fair ; 
 Efter far-larned threepin, at last, at the Bell, 
 'Twas agreed nit even Punch con' d thur heroes 
 
 excel. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Sec struttin and wheynin, may please dwoatin 
 
 foils, 
 Or rough-headed callans, just sent off to 
 
 schuils ; 
 But hadst thou e'er dreamt o' sec actin, dear 
 
 RowE, 
 For sarten, thou ne'er wad ha'e written at aw. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Ye wise men o' Dawston, stick clwose to your 
 
 wark, 
 Sit at heame wi' your weyves and your bairns 
 
 efter dark. 
 To be caw'd kings and heroes is pleasin indeed, 
 But before you turn player-fwok, furst larn to 
 
 read ! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 %3 (0 
 
t 
 
 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 115 
 
 BALLAD LVL 
 0T7E JWOHNY 
 
 — — 
 Tune — " Lillihulero." 
 
 j^Cm^UE Jwohny's just turned till a parfet 
 atomy, 
 Nowther works, eats, drinks, or sleeps 
 as he sud ; 
 He seeghs in a nuik, and fins faut wid his 
 poddish, 
 And luiks like a deyl'd body, spoil' d for 
 aw gud. 
 
 He reaves in his sleep, and reads buiks o' luive 
 letters, 
 Ae turn efter dark, nae, he'll nit dui at aw ! 
 But ae neet, last week, I detarmin'd to watch 
 him. 
 And suin, wi' his sweetheart our Jwohny I 
 saw. 
 
 I cowr'd my ways down, ahint our young eshes, 
 
 And by went the tweesome, — he seem'd nit 
 
 the seame ; 
 
 They laugh'd, kiss'd and cutter'd — nought bad 
 
 past atween them ; 
 
 I gat what I wanted, and sae crap offheame. 
 
116 CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Our lanlword' lass, Letty, his heart hes in 
 keepin, 
 To be seer she's a sarvant, but weel to be 
 seen ; 
 She's lish, young and bonny, and honest as 
 onie. 
 In hard workin poverty I see nought that's 
 mean ! 
 
 The fadder o' Jwohny was my fellow-sarvant ; 
 God rest him ! his marrow I's ne'er to see 
 mair! 
 Auld Matthew had gear, and follow'd me 
 weekly, 
 And cut me a lock of his gray grizzled hair. 
 
 Had I wedded Matthew, I'd now been a leady. 
 
 But fourscwore and twonty can never agree : 
 
 Our Jwohny may e'en try his luck, and get 
 
 wedded. 
 
 And they sal ha'e baith stock and crop when 
 
 I dee. 
 
 BALLAD LVn. 
 KlNGt BODGEB. 
 
 Tjjne— "Hallow FairJ' 
 
 I fep WAS but tudder neet, efter darknin, 
 '!% We sat owre a bleezing turf fire ; 
 &- Our deame she was sturrin a cow-dri 
 Our Betty milk'd kye in the byre. 
 
OUMBEIAN BALLADS. 117 
 
 '*Ay, fadder !" cried out out lal Eoger, 
 
 *'I wish I wer nobbet a king !»' 
 '' Wey, what wad te dui ? " says I, '' Eoger, 
 
 Suppwose tou cud tek thy full swing ?" 
 
 ** Fust you sud be Iword judge, and bishop ; 
 
 My mudder sud hev a gold crutch. 
 I'd build for the peer fwok feyne houses, 
 
 And gi'e them — ay ever sae much ! 
 
 Our Betty sud wed Charhe Miggins, 
 And wear her stamp'd gown ev'ry day ; 
 
 Sec dancin we'd hev in the cock-loft, 
 Bill Adams the fiddle sud play. 
 
 A posset I'd hev to my breakfast, 
 
 And sup wid a breet siUer spuin ; 
 For dinner I'd hev a fat crowdy, 
 
 And Strang tea at mid efternuin. 
 Pd wear neyce wheyte cottinet stockins, 
 
 And new gambaleery clean shoes, 
 Wi' jimp lively black fustin briches, 
 
 And every feyne thing I cud choose. 
 I'd hev monie thousands o' shippen. 
 
 To sail the wide warl aw about ; 
 I'd say to my soldiers, ' Gang owre seas, 
 
 And kill the French dogs out and out.' 
 On our lang-tail'd naig I'd be mounted, 
 
 My footmen in silver and green ; 
 And when I'd seen aw foreign countries, 
 
 I'd mek Aggy Glaister my queen. 
 Our meedow sud be a girt worchet. 
 
 And grow nought at aw but big plums ; 
 A schuilhouse we'd build. — As for maister, 
 
 We^d e*en hing him up by the thums. 
 
11^ CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Joss Feddon snd he my head liuntsman, 
 
 We'd keep seven couple o' dogs, 
 \nd kill aw the hares i' the kingdom—- 
 
 My mudder sud wear weel-greas'd clogs. 
 Then Cursmas sud last, ay for ever ! 
 
 And Sundays we'd ha'e tweyce a-week ; 
 The muin sud show leet aw the winter ; 
 
 Our cat and our cwoley sud speek. 
 The peer fwok sud live widout workin, 
 
 And feed on plum-puddin and beef; 
 Then aw wad be happy, for sarten, 
 
 There nowther cud be rwogue or thiet ! 
 Now thus ran on leytle king Eoger, 
 
 But suin aw his happmess fled ; 
 A spark frae the fire brunt his knockle, 
 
 And off he crap whingm to bed. 
 Thus fares it wi' heath young and auld fwok, 
 
 Frae king to the beggar we see ; 
 Just cross us i' th' midst o' our greatness, 
 
 And peer wretched creatures are we. 
 
 BALLAD LVIII. 
 EITT CBAFPBT. 
 
 — — 
 Tune—" Come under my jplaiddie:' 
 
 fSAAC CEOSSET, o' Chawk,- a feyne 
 heed-stean hes cutten, 
 And lUst setten't up owre anent the kurk en ; 
 A chubby-feac'd angel o' top on't theyve 
 
 And'^wses as guid as e'er com frae a pen. 
 
 * Shawk. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 119 
 
 It's for anld Kitt Craffet, our wordy wise ney- 
 bor, 
 God rest him ! a better man ne'er wore a 
 bead ; 
 He's nit left bis fellow tbro' aw tbe beale 
 county, 
 And monie peer fwok are in want, now he's 
 dead. 
 
 I mind wben at scbuil, a reet top scbolar was 
 be ; 
 Of lakin or rampin nae nwotion bad be, 
 But nar tbe auld tbworn be wad sit and keep 
 mwosin, 
 And caw'd it a sin just to kill a peer flee. 
 A penny be never let rest in bis pocket. 
 
 But gev't to tbe furst beggar boddy be met ; 
 Tben at kurk be cud follow tbe priest tbro' tbe 
 
 sarvice, 
 . And as for a trible be never was bet. 
 
 ITbo' be wan seeven belts lang afwore be was 
 twenty. 
 And in Scealeby meedow oft tuik off the baw, 
 Yet he kent aw tbe Beyble, algebra, Josephus, 
 And capp'd the priest, maister, exciseman, 
 and aw. 
 He cud talk about battles, balloons, burning 
 mountains, 
 And wars, till baith young and auld trimmei'd 
 for fear ; 
 Tben he'd tell how they us'd the ''peer West 
 
 Indie negersy'^ 
 And stamp wid his fit, ay, and drop monie a 
 tear. 
 
120 CTJMBEIAN BALLADS. 
 
 When lie red about parliments, pleaces, and 
 
 He flanl^by the paper, and cried *'Silly stuff! 
 
 The Outs wad be m, and the Ins rob then: 
 
 country, ,, • i, » 
 
 They're nit aw together worth ae pincli o 
 
 His creed was— Be statesmen but just, Britons 
 
 And^lang as our shippen reyde maisters at 
 
 We'U laugh at the puffin o' vain Bonnyparty, 
 As suin may he conquer the deevil an we. 
 
 Then when onie neybor was fash'd by the 
 turnies, .^, _ . , .i , 
 
 Oh, it meade him happy if he cud be bail 
 Twee-thurds o' his income he gev away yearly, 
 And actually tuik peer Tom Linton frae jail. 
 He was yence cross'd in luive by a good-tor- 
 nought hussey, 
 But if onie lass by her sweetheart was 
 
 He wSTgfve her guid counsel, and lecture the 
 
 fellow, T , T 
 
 And oft did he wish aw sec skeybels were 
 
 hang'd. 
 
 He cud mek pills and plaisters as weel as our 
 
 doctor, ^ . . « 1 , . 
 
 And cure cholic, aga, and jaunice forby , 
 As for grease, or the glanders, red watter, or 
 
 fellen, • i ^ 
 
 Nin 0' them was leyke him, amang naigs or kye. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 121 
 
 What, he talk'd to the bishop about agriculture, 
 And yence went to Plymouth to see the grand 
 fleet ; 
 
 As for the brave sailors trail'd off by the press- 
 gangs, 
 '*0d die them!" he said, *^that can never 
 
 BE REET ! " 
 
 He ne'er was a drinter, a swearer, a feghter, 
 
 A cocker, a gamier, a fop, or a full ; 
 i5ut left this sad warl just at threescwore and' 
 seeven, 
 
 I' the clay house his granfadder buHt wi' the 
 schuil. 
 
 Oh! moniea saut tear will be shed ev'rv 
 bunday, ^ 
 
 In reading the varses they've stuck on his 
 steane ; 
 
 'Till watters run up bank, and trees they grow 
 down bank, J' 5 ^vv 
 
 We never can luik on his marrow agean ! 
 
 January 2, 1807. 
 
 ^1- 
 
 W0- 
 
122 CUMBRIAN BALLADE, 
 
 BALLAD LIX. 
 ELIZABETH' BTJBTH-DA7. 
 
 Tune—" LiUihuIero:' 
 JENNY. 
 
 H^.^^Y^E, WuLLiAM I neist Mcxnday s Eliza- 
 
 1 VM^ ^^^™' burth-day I 
 
 • • Hi:> She is a neyce las&, tlio' she were 
 
 nin o' mine. 
 We mun ax the Miss Dowsons, and anl Bkodie^ 
 young fwok. 
 I wish I'd but seav'd a swop geuseberry wine. 
 She'll be sebenteen ; what, she's got thro' her 
 larnin ; 
 She dances as I did, when furst I kent thee. 
 As for Tom, her cruik'd billy, he stumps leyke 
 a cwoach-horse ; 
 We'll ne'er mek a man on him, aw we can 
 dee." 
 
 WULLIAM. 
 
 ** Hut, Jenny I hod tongue o' thee I praise nae 
 sec varment, 
 She won't men a sark, but reads novels, 
 proud brat ! 
 She dance ! What she turns in her taes, thou 
 peer gonny. 
 Caw her Bety 'twas the neame her auld 
 granny aye gat. 
 
CTJMBRIAN BALLADS. 123 
 
 No, Tommy for my money ! he reads his beyble, 
 
 And hes sec a lovinly squint wid his een ; 
 He sheps as leyke me, as ae bean's leyke 
 anudder ; 
 She snurls up her neb, just a shem to be 
 seen !" 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 " Shaf, WuLLY ! that's fashion — ton kens nout 
 about it ; 
 She's streyt as a resh, and as red as a rwose, 
 She's sharp as a needle, and luiks like a leady ; 
 Thou talks, man — a lass cannot meake her 
 awn nwose ! 
 She's dilicate meade, and nit fit for the country; 
 For Tom, he's knock-knee' d, wi' twea girt 
 as-buird feet ; 
 God help them he sheps like ! they've little to 
 brag on ; 
 Tho' our's, I've oft thought, he was nit varra 
 reet/' 
 
 WULLIAM. 
 
 ** 0, Jen I thou's run mad wi' thy gossips and 
 trumpery : — 
 Our lal bit o' Ian we mun sell, I declare. 
 I yence thought thee an angel, — thou's turn*d 
 just a deevil. 
 Has fash'd me reet lang, and oft vexes me 
 sair. 
 This fashion and feasting brings monie to ruin, 
 Aduir o'my house they shall nit come within; 
 As for Bet, if she dunnet gang off till a sarvice, 
 When I's dead and geane she shall nit hev a 
 pin." 
 
124 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 " Stop, "WuLL ! whea was't brong thee that 
 fortune ! peer gomas ! 
 Just thurteen gud yacres as lig to the sun. 
 When I tuik up wi' thee, I'd lost peer Gwordy 
 Glossip, 
 I've rue'd sin that hour to the kurk when we 
 
 run. 
 Were thou cauld and coffin' d, I'd suin get a 
 better ; 
 Sae creep off to bed, nit a word let us hear ! 
 They shall come, if God spare us, far mair 
 than I mention'd — 
 Elizabeth' burth-day but comes yence a-year ! 
 
 January 2, 1807/ 
 
 BALLAD LX. 
 
 BOEEOWDALB JWOHNT. 
 
 — 
 
 Tune, — " I am a young fellow** 
 
 — — 
 
 f'S Borrowdale Jwohny, just cumt up to 
 Lunnon ; 
 Nay, girn nit at me for fear I laugh at 
 you: 
 I've seen knaves donn'd i' silks, and good men 
 gang in tatters. 
 The truth we sud tell, and gi'e auld Nick his 
 due. 
 
CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 12^ 
 
 Nan Watt pruiv'd wi' bairn, what, they caw'd 
 me the fadder ; 
 Thinks I, skekum filthy ! he off in a treyce ! 
 Nine Carel bank nwotes mudder shpt i* my 
 pocket, 
 And fadder neist ga'e me reet holesome 
 adveyce. 
 
 Says he, '* Keep fra't lasses ! and ne'er luik 
 ahint thee." 
 i i'VVe're deep as the best o' them,fadder, ' ' says I. 
 They pack'd up ae sark, Sunday weascwoat, 
 twee neckcloths. 
 Wot bannock, cauld dumplin, and top stan- 
 nin pye. 
 
 I mounted black filly, bade Grod bliss the auld 
 fwok. 
 Cries fadder, *< Ton's larn'd, Jwohn, andhes 
 nought to fear ; 
 Caw and see cousin Jacep ! he's got aw the 
 money ; 
 He'll get thee some guverment pleace, — to 
 I be seer !" 
 
 I stopp'd on a fell, tuik a langluik at Skiddaw, 
 And neist at the schuil-house amang the esh 
 trees ; 
 Last thing, saw the smuik rising up frae our 
 chimley. 
 And fan aw quite queer, wid a heart ill at 
 ease. 
 
 But summet within me, cried, pou up thy 
 spirits ! 
 There's luck, says auld Lizzy, in feacin the 
 sun : 
 
126 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Tou'S young, lish and clever, may wed a 
 feyne leady. 
 And come heame a Nabob— aye, sure as a 
 
 gun! 
 
 Knowing manners, what, I doff'd my hat to aw 
 
 strangers, ,..••!. ;i 
 
 Wid a spur on my heel, a yek siplm in hand. 
 
 It tuik me nine days and six hours commg up^ 
 
 bank, -. 
 
 At the Whorns^2ij, 'twas Highget, a ciiap 
 
 bad me stand. 
 
 Says he, ^^ How's aU friends in the North, 
 
 honest Jwohny ? " ;i- ^f 
 
 ^^Odswuntersl" I says, *'what, ye divent 
 
 ken me! " _ _ . ^ .^ 
 
 I paid twee wheyte shiUms, and fam was to 
 
 see him, . , , 
 
 Nit thinkin on't road onie *quamtance to see, 
 
 Neist thing, what big kurks, gilded owoaches, 
 
 hee houses, ^ , 
 
 And fwok runnin thro' other leyke Carel 
 
 I ax^da'sLart chap where to fin cousin Jac^^^ 
 Says he, -Clown, go look I -Friend, 
 says I, -tell me where." 
 
 Fadder letter to Jacep h^d^goin^esuhscnption, 
 Sae, when I was glowrin and sizlm about, 
 
 A wheyte-feac'd young lass, aw dress'd out 
 
 rd kept out. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 127 
 
 Slie pou'd at a bell, leyke our kurk-bell it 
 sounded,. 
 In com sarvent lass, and she worder'd some 
 weyne ; 
 Says I, '* I's nit dry, sae pray. Madam, excuse 
 me ! " 
 Nay, what she insisted I sud stop and deyne. 
 
 She meade varra free — 'twas a shem and a 
 byzen ! 
 I thought her in Itiiv wi' my j^^'^sony for 
 sure, 
 And promis'd to caw agean, — as for black filly, 
 (Wad onie believ't !) she was stown frae the 
 duir. 
 
 Od dang't ! war than that, when I greap'd my 
 breek-pocket, 
 I fan fadder' watch and the nwotes were aw 
 gaen. 
 It was neet, and I luik'd lang and sair for kent 
 feaces. 
 But Burrowdale fwok I cud never see neane. 
 
 I slept on the flags, just ahint a kurk corner. 
 A chap wid a girt stick and lantern com by; 
 He caw'd me peace-breaker — says I, *' Thou's 
 a lear " — 
 In a pleace leyke a saUer they fworc'd me to 
 He. 
 
 Nae caff bed or blankets for silly pilgarlic, 
 Deil a wink cud I sleep, nay nor yet see a 
 steyme ; 
 Neist day I was ta'en to the Narration Offish, 
 When a man in a wig said I'd duin a sad 
 creyme. 
 
128 COMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Then ane ax'd my neame, and lie pat on his 
 speckets, 
 Says I, ** JwoHNY Ceuckdeyke — Vs Borrow- 
 dale hworn,'^ 
 Whea think ye it pruiv'd, but my awn cousin 
 Jacep, 
 He seav'd me £rae gallows, aye that varra 
 mworn. 
 
 He spak to my Lword, some hard words, quite 
 
 outlandish. 
 Then caw'd for his coach, and away we ruid 
 
 heame ; 
 He ax'd varra kind efter fadder and mudder, 
 I said they were bravely, and neist saw his 
 
 deame. 
 
 She's aw puff and pouder ; as for cousin Jacep, 
 He's got owre much gear to teake nwotish o' 
 me ; 
 
 But if onie amang ye sud want a lish sarvent, 
 Just bid me a weage — I'll upod ye, we's 'gree. 
 
 January 4, 1807. 
 
 
CtJMBRIAN BALLADS. 129 
 
 BALLAD XLI 
 LAITG SE71TE. 
 
 Tune — '* Tak your auld cloak about ye J' 
 
 
 fHE last new slinn our Betty gat, 
 They pinch her feet the deil may care ! 
 K^^ What, she mud ha'e them leady-like, 
 Tho' she hes cworns, for evermair. 
 Nae black gairn stockins will she wear. 
 
 They mun be white, and cotton feyne ; 
 This meks me think of other times. 
 The happy days o' auld lang seyne '• 
 
 Our dowter, tui, a palace '^ bought, 
 
 A guid red clwoak she cannot wear ; 
 And stays, she says, spoil leady's sheps — 
 
 Oh ! it wad mek a parson swear. 
 Nit ae ban's turn o' wark she'll dui, 
 
 She'll nowther milk or sarrat sweyne — 
 The country's puzzen'd round wi' preyde, 
 
 For lasses work'd reet hard lang seyne. 
 
 We've three guid rooms in our clay house, 
 
 Just big eneugh for sec as we ; 
 They'd hev a parlour built wi' bricks, 
 
 I mud submit — what cud I dee ? 
 The sattle neist was thrown aseyde. 
 
 It meeght ha'e sarra'd me and mine ; 
 My mudder thought it mens'd a house — 
 
 But we think shem o' auld lang seyne ! 
 
 ♦ Pelisse. 
 
130 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 We us'd to ga to bed at dark, 
 
 And ruse agean at four or ^ye ; 
 The mwom's the only time for wark, 
 
 If fwok are hilthy, and wou'd thrive. 
 Now we get up, — nay, God kens when J 
 
 And nuin's owre suin for us to deyne ; 
 I's hungry or the pot's hawf boil'd, 
 
 And 'wish for times hke old lang seyne. 
 
 Deuce tek the fuil invented tea ! 
 
 For tweyce a-day we that mun hev ; 
 Then taxes get sae monstrous hee, 
 
 The deil a plack yen now can seave ! 
 There's been nae luck throughout the Ian, 
 
 Sin fwok mud like their betters sheyne ; 
 French fashions mek us parfet fuils ; 
 
 We're caff and san to auld lang seyne ! 
 
 January 5, 1807. 
 
 BALLAD LXII. 
 
 THE AULD BEGGAB. 
 
 
 
 ^^ MET the auld man, wid his starved grey 
 
 v1\ cur near him, 
 
 © The blasts owre the mountains blew cauld 
 
 i' the vale ; 
 Nae heame to receive him, few strange fwok to 
 hear him. 
 And thin wer his patch' d duds, he mickle 
 did ail. 
 A tear dimm'd his e'e, his feace, furrow'd by 
 
 sorrow, 
 Seem'd to say he frae whope nit ae comfort 
 cud borrow. 
 And sad was the beggarman's teale. 
 
CUMBRIAN. BALLADS. ' 131 
 
 *< Behold," he cried, seeghing, << the spwort of 
 false fortune ! 
 The peer wretched outcast, the beggar you 
 see, 
 Yence boasted o' wealth, but the warld is un- 
 certain. 
 And friens o' my youth smeyle nae langer 
 on me. 
 I's the last o' the flock, my weyfe Ann for 
 
 heav'n left me. 
 Of my only lad, Tim, accurst war neist bereft 
 me. 
 My y age's suppwort lang was he i 
 
 Yence in the proud city, I smeyl'd amang 
 plenty, 
 Frae east and frae west, monie a vessel then 
 bore 
 To me the rich cargo, to me the feyne dainty, 
 And the peer hungry bodies still shar'd of 
 my store. 
 A storm sunk my shippen, by false friens sur- 
 rounded, 
 The laugh o* the girt fwok, — this meade me 
 confounded. 
 Ilk prospec for iver was o'er ! 
 
 I creep owre the mountains, but meast in the 
 ^ vallies, 
 
 I And wi' my fond dog share a crust at the 
 duir. 
 I shun the girt fwok, and ilk house leyke a 
 palace. 
 For sweetest to me is the meyte frae the puir. 
 
132 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 At neet, when on strae, wi' my faitMu' dog lyin, 
 I "thank Him that meade me, for what Ts 
 enjoyin ; 
 His promise I whope to secure ! " 
 
 BALLAD LXIIL 
 
 THE BUCK OP EINGWATTEE.* 
 
 
 
 Tune — " Ihe Breckans of Brampton'* 
 — — 
 
 r\jrrHEN I was single, I rid a feyne naig, 
 iJf And was caw' d the Bucko' Kingwatter ; 
 Now the cwoat o* my back has got but 
 ae sleeve. 
 And my breeks are aw in a tatter. 
 Sing, Oh, the lasses ! the lazy lasses » 
 
 Keep frae the lasses o' Branton ! 
 I ne'er wou'd hae married, that day I married, 
 But I was young, feulish, and wanton. 
 
 I courted a lass — an angel I thought — 
 
 She'g turn'd out the picture of evil ; 
 She geapes, yen may count ev'ry tuith in her 
 head. 
 And shouts, fit to freeten the deevil. 
 
 Sing, Oh, the lasses, &c. 
 
 To-day she slipt out, some 'bacco to buy, 
 And bade me mind rock the cradle ; 
 
 I cowp'd owre asleep, but suin she com in, 
 And brak aw my head wi' the ladle. 
 
 Sing, Oh, the lasses, &c. 
 
 ♦ The river King, near Gilsland 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 183 
 
 I ne'er had a heart to hannle a gun, 
 
 Or I'd run away, and leave her ; 
 She pretends to win purns, but that's aw fun, 
 
 They say she's owre kind wi' the weaver. 
 
 Sing, Oh, the lasses, &c. 
 
 I dinnerless gang ae hawf o' the week ; 
 
 If we get a bit meat on a Sunday, 
 She cuts me naemair than wad physic a sneype ; 
 
 Then we've tatey and point ev'ry Monday, 
 Sing, Oh, the lasses, &c. 
 
 Tho' weary o' life, with this gud-for-nought- 
 wife, 
 
 I wish I cud get sec anudder ; 
 And then I cud gi'e the deevil the tane, 
 
 For taking away the tudder ! 
 Sing, Oh, the lasses ! the lazy lasses ! 
 
 Beware o' the lasses o' Branton ! 
 1 ne'er wou'd hae married, that day I married, 
 
 But I was young, feulish, and wanton. 
 
 January 6, 1807. 
 
 BALLAD LXIV. 
 
 MABGET 0' THE MILL. 
 
 . Tune — " Tom starboard.'* 
 
 
 PJ^EE fadder'S whope, her mudders preyde. 
 Was black-ey'd Marget o' the Mill, 
 ^And summer day, or winter neet. 
 Was happy, chearfu', bussy still ; 
 
134 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 And Ealph, her f adder, oft declar'd, 
 His darlin forty punds should heve, 
 
 The day a husban tuik her han, 
 
 And mair, if lang he sceap'd the greave. 
 
 The lily and the deyke-rwose heath, 
 
 Wer mix'd in Marget's bonny feace ; 
 Her form mud win the cauldest heart, 
 
 And her's was nature's modest greace. 
 Her luik drew monie a neybor laird. 
 
 Her een luive's piercin arrows fir'd ; 
 But nae rich laird cud gain the han 
 
 0' this fair flow'r, by avv admir'd. 
 
 Oh, luckless hour ! at town ae day, 
 
 Yen in a soilder's dress she saw ; 
 He stule her heart, and frae that hour 
 
 May Marget date a leyfe of woe. 
 For now she shuns aw roun the mill, 
 
 Nae langer to her bosom dear ; 
 And faded is her bonny feace. 
 
 And dim her e'e wi' monie a tear. 
 
 Peer Marget ! yence a fadder's preyde, 
 
 Is now widout a fadder left ; 
 Deserted, aw day lang she moans, 
 
 Luive's victim, of ilk whope bereft ! 
 Ye lasses aw seducers shun. 
 
 And think o' Marget o' the Mill ; 
 She, crazy, daunders wid her bairn, 
 
 A prey to luive and sorrow still. 
 
CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 135 
 
 BALLAD LXV. 
 MADAM JAITE. 
 
 Tune — "I will ha'e a wife.'* 
 
 tOMEY meks us bonny, 
 Money meks us glad ; 
 '^.^ J Be she auld or ugly, 
 
 Money brings a lad. 
 
 Wben I'd ne'er a penny, 
 
 Deil a lad bad I ; 
 Pointin aye at Jenny, 
 
 Laughin, tbey flew by. 
 
 Money causes flatt'ry. 
 
 Money meks us vain ; 
 Money changes aw things — 
 
 Now I'm Madam Jane ! 
 
 Sin auld Eobby left me 
 
 Houses, fields, nit few. 
 Lads thrang round i' clusters — 
 
 I'm a beauty now ! 
 
 Money meks us merry, 
 
 Money meks us bra' ; 
 Money gets us sweethearts — 
 
 That's the best of a' ! 
 
 I ha'e fat and slender, 
 
 I ha'e short and tall ; 
 I ha'e rake and miser — 
 
 I despise them all ! 
 
136 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Money they're aw seeking, 
 
 Money they's get neane ; 
 Money sends them sneaking 
 
 Efter Madam Jane ! 
 
 There's ane puir and bashfu', 
 
 I ha'e i' my e'e ; 
 He's get han' and siller, 
 
 Gin he fancies me. 
 
 Money meks us bonny, 
 
 Money meks us glad ; 
 Be she leame and lazy, 
 
 Money brings a bad. 
 
 January 6, 1807. 
 BALLAD LXVI. 
 
 YOUNG SUSY. 
 
 Tune, — "Dainty Davie.^* 
 
 )OUNG Susy is a bonny lass, 
 [? A canny lass, a teydey lass, 
 ) A mettled lass, a hearty lass. 
 As onie yen can see. 
 A clean-heel'd lass, a weel-spok lass, 
 A buik-larn'd lass, a kurk-gawn lass, 
 I watena how it's come to pass. 
 She's meade a fuil o' me. 
 
 I's tir'd o' workin — plowin, sowin, 
 Deetin, deykin, threshin, mowin, 
 Seeghin, greanin, never knowin 
 What I'S gawn to de. 
 
OUMBKIAN BALLADS. 187 
 
 I met her — aye, twas this day week ! 
 Od die ! tlionght I, I'll try to speak i 
 But tried in vain the teale to seek, 
 
 For sec a lass is she. 
 Her jet-black hair hawf hides her brow. 
 Her een just thirl yen thro' and thro' — 
 But, Oh ! her cheeks and cherry mou 
 
 Are far owre sweet to see ! 
 
 I's tired o' workin, &c. 
 
 Oh, cou'd 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 ! 
 But I can nowther rhyme nor rave, 
 Luive meks yen sec a coward slave ; 
 I'd better far sleep i' my grave. 
 
 But, Oh ! that munnet be ! 
 
 I's tir'd o' workin — plowin, sowin, 
 Deetin, deykin, threshin, mowin, 
 Seeghin, greanin, never knowin 
 What I's gawn to de. 
 
 January 6, 1807. 
 
138 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 BALLAD LXVIL 
 THE BEDBHEEST. 
 
 Tune— « Ha/Zoiy Fair." 
 
 OME into my cabin, red Eobin 
 
 Thrice welcome, lal warbler, to me ! 
 i^Now Skiddaw hes got his wheyte cap on, 
 Agean I'll gi' shelter to thee. 
 Just hop thy ways into my pantry, 
 
 And feast on my peer humble fare ; 
 I never was fash'd wid a dainty. 
 
 But meyne, man or burd sal aye share. 
 
 Now four years are by-geane, red Eobin, 
 
 Sin furst thou com singin to me ; 
 But, Oh, how I's chang'd, little Eobin, 
 
 Sin furst I bade welcome to thee ! 
 I then had a bonny bit lassie. 
 
 Away wid anudder she's geane ; 
 My friens wad oft caw at my cabin, 
 
 Now dowie I seegh aw my leane. 
 
 Oh, where is thy sweetheart, red Eobin ? 
 
 Ga bring her frae house-top, or tree ; 
 I'll bid her be true to sweet Eobin, 
 
 For false was a lassie to me. 
 You'll share ev'ry crum i' my cabin, 
 
 We'll sing the cauld winter away ; 
 I wunnet deceive ye, peer burdies ! 
 
 Let mortals use me as they may. 
 
 November, 1800. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 189 
 
 BALLAD LXVm. 
 TBEEESCWOBE AlTD ITIITETEEIT. 
 
 Tune ly the Author. 
 Sung with great applause by Master T. Emlet. 
 
 @ 
 
 ^YE, aye, I's feeble grown, 
 
 ^ ^^ And feckless — weel I may ! 
 
 "^^)I's threescwore and nineteen, 
 
 Aye, just this varra day ! 
 I ha'e na teeth, my meat to chew, 
 
 But little sarras me ! 
 The best thing I eat or drink. 
 Is just a cup o' tea ! 
 
 Aye, aye, the bairns mak gam. 
 
 And pleague me, suin and late ; 
 Men fwok I like i' my heart. 
 
 But bairns and lasses hate ! 
 This gown o' mine's lang i' the weast, 
 
 Aul-fashion'd i' the sleeve ; 
 It meks me luik like fourscwore, 
 
 I varily believe ! 
 
 Aye, aye, what I's deef. 
 
 My hearin's quite gane ; 
 I's fash'd wi' that sad cough, aw neet, 
 
 But little I complain. 
 I smuik a bit, and cough a bit, 
 
 And then I try to spin ; 
 And then I daddle to the duir, 
 
 And then I daddle in. 
 
140 CUMBRIAN BALLADS.. 
 
 Aye, Aye, I wonder mucli, 
 
 How woman can get men ! 
 I've tried for threescwore years, and mair, 
 
 But never could get ane ! — 
 Deil tek the cat ! what is she at ? 
 
 Lie quiet on the chair ! 
 I thought it e'en was Daniel Strang, 
 
 Comin' up the stair ! 
 
 Aye, aye, I've bed, and box, 
 
 And kist, and clock, and wheel. 
 And tub, and rock, and stuil, and pan. 
 
 And chair, and dish, and reel ; 
 And luiking glass, and chamer pot, 
 
 And bottles for smaw beer ; 
 Mouse trap, saut box, kettle, and — 
 
 That's Danny sure I hear ! 
 
 Aye, aye, he's young eneugh. 
 
 But, Oh ! a reet neyce man 1 
 And I wad ne'er be caul in bed, 
 
 Cou'd I but marry Dan ! 
 Deuce tek that cough ! that weary cough ! 
 
 It never lets me be ! 
 I's kilt wi' that, and gravel heath— 
 
 Oh, Daniel, come to me ! 
 
 January 8, 1807. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 141 
 
 BALLAD LXIX. 
 SZLL7 AITDBEW. 
 
 I 
 
 Tune — " Wandering Willy J* 
 
 J^y^ HOW can I get a bit weyfe ? says lang 
 Andrew, 
 Shadric, come tell me, lad, what I mun 
 
 dee. 
 Tou kens I's just twenty, 
 Ha'e houses, lans plenty, 
 A partner I want — ay — 
 But nin'll ha'e me. 
 
 'Twas furst blue-e'ed Betty that meade my 
 mouth watter. 
 She darn'd my auld stockins, my crivet and 
 aw. 
 
 Last harvest, when sheerin, 
 Wi' jibin and jeerin. 
 She fworc'd me to swearin — 
 Bett ne'er mair I saw ! 
 
 Neist, red-headed Hannah to me seem'd an 
 angel. 
 And com to our house monie a neet wid her 
 wark. 
 
 I yence ax'd to set her, 
 She said she kent better ! 
 Whea thinks te can get her ? 
 E'en daft Symie Clark! 
 
142 CUMBKIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Thensmaw-weastedWinny meade gowns for our 
 Jenny. 
 Andrew, man, stick tnll lier ! mudder oft 
 said; 
 
 She hes feyne sense, and money, 
 Young, lish, smart, and bonny, 
 Is a match, aye for onie ; — 
 But she's for black Ned ! 
 
 Then how can I get a bit weyfe? tell me, 
 Shadric ! 
 Tou mun be reet happy, they're aw fond o' 
 thee ! 
 
 I've foUow'd Nan, Tibby, 
 Sal, Mai, Fan, and Sibby, 
 Ett, Luke, Doll, and Debby ; 
 But nin'll ha'e me ! 
 
 BALLAD LXX. 
 
 ATJLD BOBBY MILLEB, 
 
 0— 
 
 Tune — " Giti I had a wee hoiise.** 
 
 Wtv-^H, cud I but see the blythe days I ha'e 
 seen. 
 
 
 1/ When I was a lish laughin lass o' sixteen, 
 Then lads lap around, and said nin was leyke 
 
 me. 
 Now they're aw fled away, and I's turn'd 
 
 thurty-three. 
 
CUMBRIAN BAL.LADS. 14B 
 
 A single leyfe's but a comfortless leyfe, 
 It sounds unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe ; 
 To get a bit body I've tried aw I can — 
 Waes me for the lassie that can't get a man l 
 
 When day-leet's aw geane, and I sit down to 
 
 spin, 
 I wish some young fellow wou'd only step in. 
 At the market I saunter, and dress at the fair. 
 But nae lad at peer Keatey a luik will e're spare. 
 A single leyfe's but a weary dull leyfe, 
 It sounds unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe ; 
 In vain a peer lassie may try ilka plan, 
 Caw her rich, and I'll venture she'll suin get a 
 
 man. 
 
 There's auld Eobby Miller, wi' his siller pow, 
 Bent double, and canna creep up the hill now 
 Tho' staene-deef and tuithless, and bleer-e'd'd 
 
 and aw, 
 He hes gear, andl's thinkin to gi'e him a caw. 
 A single leyfe's a heart-breakin leyfe. 
 It sounds unco sweet to be cw'd a weyfe ; 
 I'll keame his lank locks, and dui what I can — 
 There's monie a young lassie wad tek an auld 
 
 man. 
 
 He lives aw his leane, but he's surely to blame, 
 When a wanter leyke me may be had sae near 
 
 heame ; 
 Were we weddet to-morrow, he'd nit be lang 
 
 here. 
 Then I'd buy a man to my mind wid his gear. 
 
144 OUMBKIAN BALLADS. 
 
 A single leyfe's a sorrowfu' leyfe, 
 It sounds unco sweet to be caw'd a weyfe ; 
 I'll off to auldEobby, — aye, that's the best plan, 
 And coax him, and wed him, the canny auld 
 man ! 
 
 BALLAD LXXI. 
 
 1TA1T1T7 FEAL. 
 
 ?YES there are that never weep, 
 Hearts there are that never feel ; 
 
 ^GoD keep them that can dui baith, 
 
 And sec was yence sweet Nanny Peal. 
 
 Tom Feddon was a sailor lad, 
 
 A better never sail'd saut sea ; 
 The dang'rous rocks reet weel he knew, 
 
 The captain's favorite was he. 
 
 When out, and cronies drank or sang. 
 Or danc'd the jig, or leetsome reel, 
 
 Peer Tom wad sit him on the yard. 
 And fondly think o' Nanny Peal. 
 
 For, Oh she was a hearty lass, 
 A sweeter feace nin e'er did see ; 
 
 And luive lurk'd in her twe breet een, 
 And innocence itsel was she. 
 
 Oft, i' the kurk, the neybor lads 
 At her a bashfu' luik wad steel ; 
 
 Oft, at the markets, stare and point, 
 And whisper, '' She i that's Nanny Peal." 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 145 
 
 But Tom was aw her heart's deleyte ; 
 
 And, efter voyages twee or three, 
 (In which he wad feyne presents bring), 
 
 Baith fondly whop'd they'd married be. 
 
 And now this teyde they quit the pwort ; 
 
 Tom wid a kiss his faith did seal ; 
 They cry'd, they seegh'd, whop'dsuinto meet; 
 
 'Twas hard to part wi' Nanny Peal ! 
 
 The sea was cawm, the sky was clear. 
 The ship she watch*d while eye cud see ; 
 
 ** The voyage is short !" she tremblin said. 
 ** God sen him seafe and suin to me 1" 
 
 Afwore her peer auld mudder's duir, 
 
 She sung, and thought, andturn'dher weel, 
 
 But when that neet the storm com on, 
 Chang' d was the heart of Nanny Peal. 
 
 And sad was she the next lang day ; 
 
 The third day warse — still warse grew she ; 
 Alas ! the fourth day brought the news, 
 
 Baith ship and men wer lost at sea ! 
 
 She heard, she fainted on the fluir ; 
 
 Much did her peer auld mudder feel ; 
 The neybors roun, baith auld and young, 
 
 Dropt monie a tear for Nanny Peal. 
 
 Sin that she wanders aw day lang. 
 
 And gazes weyldly on the sea ; 
 She's spent, peer thing, to skin and beane, 
 
 And ragged, wretched now is she. 
 
146 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Oft reydin on the wheyte-topp'd waves, 
 She sees her Tom towerts her steal ; 
 
 And then she laughs, and caws aloud, 
 ** come, come to Nanny Peal !'* 
 
 God keep thee helpless, luckless lass I 
 On earth thou munnet happy be ; 
 
 But leyfe is wearin fast away — 
 
 Thou suin in heav'n peer Tom wilt see. 
 
 BALLAD LXXII. 
 AITDBEWS YOXTiraEST DOWTEB. 
 
 — 
 
 Tune hy the Author, 
 
 rHERE Irthiri^ rows to Eden's streams, 
 v.y i^ Thro' meedows sweetly stealin, 
 oLJo Owrhung by crags, hawf hid by furs, 
 
 There stands a cwozey dwellin ; 
 And there's a lass wi' witchen feace. 
 
 Her luik gi'es pain or pleasure, 
 A rwose-bud hid frae pryin een, 
 
 The lads' delyte and treasure ; 
 For when I saw her aw her leane, 
 
 I mair than mortal thought her, 
 And stuid amaz'd, and silent gaz'd 
 
 On Andrew's youngest dowter. 
 
 Her luik a captive meade my heart, 
 How matchless seem'd ilk feature ! 
 
 The sun, in aw his yearly course, 
 Sheynes on nae fairer creature ; 
 
 • A river in the neighbcurhood of Brampton, 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 147 
 
 I watched her thro' the daisied howmes, 
 
 And pray'd for her returnin ; 
 Then track'd her foot-marks thro' the wood, 
 
 My smitten heart aw burnin : — 
 Luive led me on ; but when, at last, 
 
 In fancy meyne I thought her, 
 I saw her awn dear happy lad 
 
 Meet Andrew's youngest dowter. 
 
 Sing sweet, ye wild birds i' the glens. 
 
 Where'er young Lizzy wanders ; 
 Ye streams of IrthiUf please her ears 
 
 Aw day wi' soft meanders ; 
 And thou, the lad ay neist her heart. 
 
 Caress this bonny blossom ; 
 Oh, never may the thworn o' care 
 
 Gi'e pain to sec a bosom ; 
 Had I been king o' this weyde warl, 
 
 And kingdoms cud ha'e bought her, 
 I'd freely parted wi' them aw, 
 
 For Andrew's youngest dowter ! 
 
 BALLAD LXXm. 
 SOLDIER 7EDDY. 
 
 — — 
 Tune. — **The widow can hake/* 
 
 ^g^EEE Yeddy was brought up a fadderless 
 
 5^ bairn, 
 
 CiA-His jacket blue duffle, his stockins coarse 
 
 gairn ; 
 His mudder, sad graceless ! liv'd near Talkin 
 
 Tarn, 
 But ne'er did a turn for her Yeddy. 
 
148 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Weel shep'd and fair feac'd, wid a bonny blue 
 
 e*e, 
 Honest-hearted, ay merry, still teydey was he ; 
 But nae larnin had gotten, nor kent ABC; 
 There's owre monny like silly Yeddy. 
 
 Suin tir'd o' the cwoal-pit, and drivin a car, 
 Won by fedders, cockades, and the fuil'ries o' 
 
 war. 
 He wad see feyne fwok, and grand pleaces afar. 
 The bad warl was aw new to lal Yeddy. 
 
 How temptin the liquor, and bonny bank 
 
 nwote ! 
 How temptin the ponder, sash, gun, and red 
 
 cwoat ! 
 Then the Frenchmen, die bin them ! we'll kill 
 
 the whole twote ! 
 These, these were his thoughts honest Yeddy. 
 
 A while wi' his cronies he'll smuik, laugh, and 
 
 sing, 
 Tell of wonders, and brag of his country and 
 
 king. 
 And swagger, and larn of new oaths a sad 
 
 string — 
 These little avail simple Yeddy. 
 
 For suin he may sing to another-guess tune. 
 His billet a bad yen, his kelter aw duin ; 
 And faint at his post, by the pale winter muin, 
 Nae comfort awaits luckless Yeddy. 
 
 When time steals his colour, and turns his pow 
 
 grey. 
 May he tell merry stories, nor yence rue tho 
 
 day, 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 149 
 
 When he wander'd, peer lad ! frae the fell seyde 
 
 away, 
 This, this is my wish for young Yeddy. 
 
 Of lads sec as him may we ne'er be in want, 
 
 And a brave soldier's pocket of brass ne'er be 
 scant ! 
 
 Nit the brags o' proud Frenchmen auld Eng- 
 land can daunt. 
 
 While we've plenty like young soldier Yeddy. 
 
 BALLAD LXXIV. 
 THE DAWTZE. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune — "Fm o'er young to ma/rry yet,'' 
 
 — — 
 
 THO' weel I like you, Jwohnny lad, 
 
 I cannot, munnet marry yet ! 
 I. My peer auld mudder's unco bad, 
 Sae we a wheyle mun tarry yet ! 
 For ease or comfort she hes neane : 
 Leyf s just a lang, lang neet o' pain : 
 I munnet leave her aw her leane, 
 And wunnet, wunnet marry yet I" 
 
 JWOHNNY. 
 
 ** Jenny ! dunnet brek this heart, 
 
 And say, we munnet marry yet ; 
 Thou cannot act a jillet's part — 
 
 Why sud we tarry, tarry yet ?'' 
 ^hink lass of aw the pains 1 feel ; 
 've leyk'd thee lang, nin kens who weel I 
 Pot thee, I'd feace the varra deil — 
 
 Oh say not, we mun tarry yet ! " 
 
160 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 <* A weddet leyfe*s oft dearly bought ; 
 
 I cannot, munnet marry yet ! 
 Ye ha'e but little — I ha'e nought, 
 
 Sae, we a wheyle mun tarry yet. 
 My heart's yer awn, ye needna fear, 
 But let us wait anudder year. 
 And luive, and toil, and screape up gear ; 
 
 We munnet, munnet marry yet ! 
 
 'Twas but yestreen, my mudder said, 
 
 * 0, dawtie ! dunne marry yet ! 
 I'll suin lig i' my last cauld bed ; 
 
 Ton's aw my comfort — tarry yet !* 
 Whene'er I steal out o' her seet. 
 She seeghs, and sobs, and nought gangs reet — 
 Whist ! — That's her feeble voice. — Guid neet ! 
 
 We munnet, munnet marry yet ! 
 
 BALLAD LXXV. 
 THE CODBECE WEDDZIT. 
 
 Tune, — "And/rew Ca/rr** 
 
 — — 
 
 True is my song, tho' lowly be the strain. 
 
 iHEY sing of a weddin at Worton, 
 
 Where aw was feght, fratchin, and fun ; 
 
 ^ Feegh ! sec a yen we've hed at Codbeck, 
 As niver was under the sun : 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 151 
 
 The breydegruim was weaver Joe Bewlei/, 
 He come frae about Lowthet Green ; * 
 
 The breyde Jwohnnie Dalton' lish dowter, 
 And Betty was weel to be seen. 
 
 Sec patchin, and weshin, and bleachin, 
 And starchin, and darning auld duds ; 
 
 Some lasses thought lang to the weddin ; 
 Unax'd, others sat i' the suds. 
 
 There were tweescore and seebem invited, 
 God speed tem, 'gean Cursenmass-day ; 
 
 BohsorC lads, tui, what they mun come bidder! 
 I think they were better away ! 
 
 Furst thing, oggle Willys the fiddler, 
 Caw'd in, wi' auld Jonathan Strang ; 
 
 Neist, stiff and stout, lang, leame and lazy, 
 Frae aw parts com in wi' a bang. 
 
 Frae BrocMebanky^ Fuilduirs,^ and Newlands,^ 
 Frae Hesket,"^^ Burk-heads,"^ and the Height,"^ 
 
 Frae Warnelly* Stammirey^^ Nether Welton,^ 
 And awt, way from Eytonfield-street/^ 
 
 Furst, auld Jwohnny Dawton we'll nwotish, 
 And Mary his canny douse deame ; 
 
 Son Wully^ and Molly , his sister ; 
 
 Ooffet' weyfe, Muckle Nanny by neame. 
 
 Wully Sinclair^ Smith Leytle, Jwohn Aitchin, 
 Tom Ridley, Joe Sim, Peter Weir, 
 
 Gworge Goffet, Jwohn Bell, Miller Dyer, 
 Joe Head and Ned Bulman were there. 
 
 ♦ Villages and odd houses in the neighbourhood. 
 
152 CUMBKIAN BALLADS. 
 
 We'd hay-cruiks, and hen-tails and hanniels, 
 And nattlers that fuddle for nought ; 
 
 Wi' sceape-greaces, skeyhels, and scruffinsj 
 And maffs better fed far than taught. 
 
 We'd lads that wad eat for a weager, 
 Or feight, ay, till bluid to the knees ; 
 
 Fell-seyders and Sowerby riff-raff, 
 That deil a bum-bealie dare seize. 
 
 The breyde hung her head, and luik'd sheepish, 
 The breydegruim as wheyte as a clout ; 
 
 The bairns aw gleym'd thro' the kirk windows, 
 The parson was varra devout. 
 
 The ring war lost out of her pocket. 
 The breyde meade a bonny te-dee ; 
 
 Cries Goffef wife, * 'Mine's meade o' pinchback. 
 And, la ye ! it fits till a tee !" 
 
 Now buckl'd, wi' fiddlers afwore them. 
 They gave Michael Crosby a caw ; 
 
 Up spak canny Beivley the breydegruim, 
 ''Get slocken'd, lads ! fadder pays aw." 
 
 We drank till aw seem'd blue about us, 
 We're aye murry devils, tho' peer ' 
 
 MicheV weyfe says, **Widout onie leein, 
 A duck mud ha'e swam on the fleer." 
 
 "^ow, aw 'bacco'd owre, and hawf-drucken, 
 The men f wok wad needs kiss the breyde ; 
 oe Heady that's aye reckoned best spokesman, 
 Whop'd **guid wad the couple beteyde." 
 
OTJMBBIAN BALLADS. 153 
 
 Says Michael, *'I's reet glad to see you, 
 
 Suppwosin I gat ne'er a plack." 
 Cries t' weyfe, **Tliat'll nowther pay brewer, 
 
 Nor get bits o' sarks to yen's back." 
 
 The breyde wad dance *^ Coddle me, Cuddy;'' ^ 
 A threesome then caper'd Scotch Eeels ; 
 
 Peter Weir cleek'd up auld Mary Dalton, 
 Leyke a cock round a hen neist he steals. 
 
 Jwohn Bell yelp'd out ^^Sowerby Lasses ;»' 
 Young Jwosep, **alang Country Dance/' 
 
 He'd got his new pumps Smithson meade him, 
 And fain wad show how he cud prance. 
 
 To march round the town, and keep swober, 
 The women fwok thought was but reet ; 
 
 **Be wise, dui,for yeance /" says Jwohn Dyer; 
 The breydegruim mud reyde shoulder heet. 
 
 The youngermak lurried ahint them, 
 Till efter them Bell meade a brek : 
 
 Tom Ridley was blaz'd wi' drinkin, 
 And plung'd off the steps i' the beck. 
 
 To Hudless's now off they sizell'd, 
 And there got far mair than eneugh ; 
 
 Miller Hodgson suin brunt the punch ladle. 
 And full'd ev'ry glass wid his leuf ; 
 
 He thought he was teakin his mouter. 
 And deil a bit conscience has he ; 
 
 They preym'd him wi' stiff punch and jollop, 
 'TiU Sally Scott thought he wad dee. 
 
154: CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Joe Sim rwoar'd out, **Bm, we'e duin wonders ! 
 
 Our Mallys turn'd howe i' the weame I" 
 Wi' three strings atween them, the fiddlers 
 
 Strack up, and they reel'd towerts heame. 
 
 Meyner Leytle wad now hoist a stand ert, 
 Peer man ! he cud net daddle far, 
 
 But stuck in a pant huin the middle, 
 And yen tuik him heame in a car. 
 
 For dinner, we'd stewd geuse, and haggish, 
 
 Cow'd-leady, and het bacon bye, 
 Boil'd fluiks, tatey-hash, beastin puddin, 
 
 Saut salmon, and cabbish forby. 
 
 Pork, pancakes, black puddins, sheep trotters, 
 And custart, and mustert, and veal, 
 
 Grey-pez keale, and lang apple dumplins :— 
 I wish ev'ry yen far'd as weel ! 
 
 The breyde, givin aw roun about her. 
 Cries, *'Wuns ! we forgat butter sops !'' 
 
 The breydegruim fan nae time for talkin. 
 But wi' stannin pye greas'd his chops. 
 
 We'd loppar*d niilk, skim'd milk, and kurn'd 
 milk. 
 
 Well watter, smaw beer, aw at yence ; 
 <'Shaff I bring yell in piggens 1" rwoars Dalton, 
 
 *'Deil tek them e'er cares for expence i" 
 
 Now aw cut and cleek'd frae their neybors, 
 'Twas even down thump, pull and haul ; 
 
 Joe Head gat a geuse aw together, 
 And off he crap into the faul. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 155 
 
 Muckle Nanny cried, ^'Shern o' sec weastry 1" 
 The ladle she brak ower III Bell ; 
 
 Tom Dalton sat thrang in a corner, 
 And eat nar the weight of his sel. 
 
 A hilHbnloo was now started, 
 
 'Twas, *' Kannigal ! wee cares for tee ?" 
 *'Stop, Tommy ! Whe's wife was i' th' carrass ? 
 
 Tou'd ne'er been a man, but for me !" 
 
 **0d dang thee •' — To jail I cud send thee, 
 Peer scraffles I — Thy Ian grows nae gurse." 
 
 *'Ne'er ak ! it's my awn, and it's paid for — 
 But wheawas't stuil auld Tim Jwohn' purse?" 
 
 Ned Bulman wad feght wi' Gworge Goffet, 
 Peer Gwordy he nobbet stript thin, 
 
 And luik'd like a cock out o' fedder. 
 But suin gat a weel-bleaken'd skin. 
 
 Neist, Sanderson fratch'd wid a hay-stack, 
 And Deavison fught wi' the whins ; 
 
 Smith Ley tie fell out wi' the cobbles. 
 And peel'd aw the bark off his shins. 
 
 The hay-bay was now somewhat seyded, 
 And young fwok the music men miss'd, 
 
 They'd drucken leyke fiddlers in common, 
 And fawn owre ayont an aul kist. 
 
 Some mair fwok that neet were a-missin, 
 Than Wully, and Jonathan Strang — 
 
 But Decency whispers, **What matter ! 
 Tou munnet put them in the sang I" 
 
156 CUMBRIAN BALLADS^* 
 
 Auld Dalton thougli he was at Carel, , 
 Says he, ** Jacob ! see what's to pay! 
 
 Come wosler ! heaste — get out the horses. 
 We'll e'en teake the rwoad, and away I'' 
 
 He cowp*d off his stuil, leyke a san bag, 
 Tom Eidley beel'd out, *'Deil may care !" 
 
 For a quart o' het yell, and a stick in't, — 
 Dick Simpson '11 tell ye far mair. 
 
 Come, bumper the Cummerlan lasses, 
 Their marrows can seldom be seen ; 
 
 And he that wont feght to defend them, 
 I wish he may ne'er want black een I 
 
 May our murry-neets, clay-daubins, racea, 
 And weddins, aye finish wi' glee ; 
 
 And when ought's amang us, worth nwotish, 
 Lang may I be present to see. 
 
CUMBERLAND BALLADS. 
 
 BY VAEIOUS ATJTHOES. 
 
 BALLAD LXXVL 
 JOE AlTD ITED. 
 
 — — 
 By Miss Blamire, 
 
 Ttjne, — " Ranting, roaring Willy,*' 
 — — 
 
 JOE. 
 
 'fr^^i OTxI^rEY, Ned, man! thou luiks sae down- 
 
 IX 7\y liearted, 
 
 • • cL3-> Yen wad swear aw thy kindred 
 
 wer dead : 
 For a sixpence thy Jen and thee's parted, 
 
 What then, man, ne'er bodder thy head I 
 There's lasses enew. Til up'od te. 
 
 And thou may be suin as weel match'd ; 
 There's aye as guid fish i' the river 
 
 As onie that ever was catch'd. 
 
 /* 0, Joe ! tou kens nought o' the matter, 
 Sae let's ha'e nae mak o' thy jeer ; 
 
 Auld England's gown's worn till a tatter, 
 And they'll nit new don her, I fear : 
 
158 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 True liberty never can flourish, 
 
 'Til man in his reets is a king, 
 'Till we tak a tythe-pig frae the bishop, 
 
 As he's duin frae us, is the thing.*' 
 
 JOE. 
 
 *' What, Ned ! and is that aw that ails thee ? 
 
 Mess, lad, tou deserves maist to hang — 
 What, tek, a bit Ian frae its oaner ! 
 
 Is this, then, thy feyne Reets o' Man / 
 Tou ploughs, and tou sows, and tou reaps, man, 
 
 Tou gangs, and tou comes were tou will ; 
 Nowther king, Iword, or bishop dare touch thee, 
 
 Sae lang as tou dis fwok nae ill." 
 
 NED. 
 
 ** How can te say sae, Joe — tou kens now, 
 
 If hares was as plenty as hops, 
 I durstn't fell yen for my life, man. 
 
 Nor tek't out of auld Cwoley's chops ; 
 While girt fwok they ride down my dikes aw. 
 
 And spang o'er my fields o' new wheat. 
 Nought but ill words I get for the damage — 
 
 Can onie yen tell me that's reet ?" 
 
 " Aye, there I mun oan the shoe pinches, 
 
 Just there to fin faut is nae shame ; 
 Ne'er ak ! there's nae hard laws in England, 
 
 Except that bit thing about Game : 
 And wer we aw equal at mwornin. 
 
 We cudn't remain sae till neet ; 
 Some arms are far stranger than others. 
 
 And some heads will tek in mair leet. 
 
CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 169 
 
 Ton cudn't mend laws, if ton wad, man, 
 
 It's for other-guess noddles than thine ; 
 Lord help thee ! sud beggars yence rule us, 
 
 They'd tek off beath thy cwoat and mine : 
 What is't then, but law that stands by us, 
 
 While we stand by country and king ? 
 For as to bein parfet and parfet, 
 
 I tell thee, there is nae sec a thing." 
 
 BALLAD LXXYII. 
 FOBBES'S GBEEIT. 
 
 — — 
 
 By a Lady. 
 
 — — 
 Tune. — " The lads o* Dunse." 
 
 ;ND auld Bobin Forbes hes gien tern a 
 dance ! 
 
 3 I pat on my speckets, to see them aw 
 
 prance ; 
 I thought o' the days when I was but fifteen, 
 And skipp'd wi' the best uponForbes's Green : 
 Of aw things that is, I think thought is meast 
 
 queer. 
 It brings that that's by-past, and sets it down 
 
 here ; 
 I see Willy as plain as I dui this bit leace. 
 When he tuik his cwoat lappet, and deeghted 
 
 bis feace 
 
160 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 The lasses aw wonder'd what Willy cud see, 
 In yen that was dark and hard-featur'd leyke 
 
 me ; 
 And they wonder'd ay mair, when they talk'd 
 
 o' my wit, 
 And sUly telt Willy, that cudn't be it : 
 But WiUy he laugh'd, and he meade me his 
 
 weyfe, 
 And whea was mair happy thro' aw his lang leyfe • 
 It's e'en my great comfort, now Willy is geane 
 That he offen said, nea place was leyke hi 
 
 awn heame. 
 
 I mind when I carried my wark to yon steyle, 
 Where Willy was deykin, the teyme to beguile. 
 He wad fling me a daisy to put i' my breast. 
 And I hammer' d my noddle to mek out a jest : 
 But merry or grave, Willy often wad tell. 
 There was nin o' the leave that was leyke my 
 
 awn sell ; 
 And he spak what he thought, for I'd hardly a 
 
 plack 
 When we married, and nobbet ae gown to my 
 
 back. 
 
 When the clock had struck eight, I expected 
 
 him heame. 
 And Wheyles went to meet him as far as 
 
 Dumleane ; 
 Of aw hours it telt, eight was dearest to me. 
 But now when it streykes, there's a tear i' my e'e. 
 0, Willy ! dear Willy ! it never can be. 
 That age, time, or death, can divide thee and me ; 
 For that spot on the earth, that's aye dearest 
 
 to me, 
 Is the turf that has covered my Willy frae me. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 161 
 
 BALLAD LXXVIII. 
 LOVE ZIT CTJMBEBLAITD. 
 
 — — 
 
 By Mr. Mark Lonsdale. 
 
 — — 
 Tune. — " Cuddle me, Cuddnj,** 
 
 ^•^r^A, Jwohn, what'ii mannishment's 'tis, 
 oVy^ 'At ton's gawn to dee for a hizzy ? 
 i3-^ Aw hard o' this torrable fiss, 
 
 An' aw's cum't to advise tha, — *at is ee. 
 
 Mun, thou'll nobbet Iwose tee gud neame, 
 Wi' gowlin and whinging sae mickle ; 
 
 Cockswunters I min beyde about heame, 
 An' let her e'en ga' to auld Nickle. 
 
 rhy plew-geer's aw liggin how-strow, 
 An' somebody's stown thee thy couter ; 
 
 Oh faiks, thou's duin Uttle 'at dow, 
 To fash theesel iver about her. 
 
 Your Seymey 'as broken car stang, 
 
 An' mendit it wid a clog coaker ; 
 Pump-tree's geane aw wheyte wrang, 
 
 An' they've sent for aul Tom Stawker. 
 
 Young filly's dung owre the lang stee, 
 An' learn' d peer Andrew th' theeker ; 
 
 The' mudder wad suffer't for tee, 
 An aw hadn't happ'n't to cleek her. 
 
162 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Thou's spoilt for aw manner o' wark ; 
 
 Thou nobbet sits peghan an' pleenan ; 
 Odswucke, man ! doff that dirty sark, 
 
 An pretha, gi'e way, git a clean an ! 
 
 An' then gow to Carel wi* me ; 
 
 Let her gang to Knock-cross widher scwornin; 
 Sec clankin at market we'll see, 
 
 A'll up'od ta' forgit her or mwornin ! 
 
 BALLAD LXXIX. 
 
 SuTig at the Cwmherlomd Anniversary Meeting, London, 
 April 14th, 1785. 
 
 — — 
 
 By Ewan Clabke. 
 
 fkest off my clogs, hung th' kelt cwoat on 
 a pin. 
 And trudg'd up to Lunnon thro* thick and 
 thro* thin, 
 And hearing the fiddlers, guid fwoks Tve meade 
 
 free 
 To thurst mysel in, your divarshon to see. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Odswinge ! this is brave ! canny Cummerland, 
 
 oh! 
 In aw my bworn days sec a seeght I ne'er saw. 
 Sec honest-like feaces, sec freedom ! and then 
 Sae feyne ! — to be seer, ye're aw parliment- 
 
 ment. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 163 
 
 Since I's here, if you'll lend your lugs to my 
 
 sang, 
 ril tell you how aw things in Cummerland 
 
 gang; 
 How we live — I mean starve — for God bless the 
 
 king ! 
 His ministers, darr them! are nit quite the 
 
 thing. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 Thur taxes ! thur taxes ! Lord help us : Amen 
 Out of every twel-pence, I doubt they'll tek 
 
 ten : 
 We*retax'd when we're bworn, and we're tax' d 
 
 when we dee — 
 Now, countryman, these are hard laws, d*ye 
 
 see ! 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 My honest plain neighbour, Jwohn Stoddart 
 
 declares. 
 That the tax upon horses, and tax upon 
 
 mares. 
 Is cutting and cruel — nay some of us vow. 
 Instead of a horse, we'll e'en saddle a cow. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 The tax upon maut — abgo, tax upon drink, 
 Wad mek yen red mad only on it to think ! 
 
 Then measure's sae smaw I — between me and 
 you. 
 
 We may drink till we're brussen, before we're 
 hawf fou. 
 
 Derry Down, &o. 
 
164 CUMBBIAN BALLADS. 
 
 And windows — ay, there I can feelingly speak ; 
 I paid thee wheyte shilling this varra last week, 
 For paper-patch'd leets, that my scholars 
 
 meeght see 
 To spelder their words, and ply ABC. 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 But dead or alive, I my taxes will pay. 
 To enjoy every year the delights o' this day ; 
 Success to you aw ! and, if it be fair, 
 I'll meet ye neist year, and for twenty years 
 mair I 
 
 Derry Down, &c. 
 
 BALLAD LXXX. 
 BABLE7 BUOTB. 
 
 By a Lady. 
 — o — 
 
 Tune,— "Crowd]/" 
 
 fF tempers were put up to scale, 
 Our Jwohn's wad bear a duced preyce ; 
 He vow'd, 'twas barley i' the broth — 
 Upon my word, says I, it's reyce. 
 
 *' I mek nae faut," our Jwohnny says, 
 ''The broth is gud, and varra neyce : 
 
 I only say, it's barley broth." 
 
 ^'Tou says what's wrang," says I — ^Hfs reyce!*' 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 165 
 
 **Did iver mortal hear the leyke ! 
 
 As if I hadn't sense to tell ! 
 Tou may think reyce the better thing, 
 
 But barley broth dus just as well." 
 
 ''And sae it mud, if it was there ; 
 
 The deil a grain is i' the pot ; 
 But tou mun ayways threep yen down ! 
 
 I've drawn the deevil of a lot !" 
 
 ''And what's the lot that I have drawn ? 
 
 Pervarsion is a woman's neame ! 
 Sae fares-te-weel 1 I'll sarve my king, 
 
 And niver, niver mair come heame.'* 
 
 Now Jenny frets frae mworn to neet ; 
 
 The Sunday cap's nae langer neyce ; 
 She ay puts barley i' the broth, 
 
 And hates the varra neame o' reyce. 
 
 Thus treyfles vex, and treyfles please, 
 And treyfles mek the sum o' leyfe ; 
 
 And treyfles mek a bonny lass 
 A wretched or a happy weyfe. 
 
 BALLAD LXXXI. 
 TEE SEA-FZGBT, 
 
 — — 
 
 By a Lady. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune, — "Mrs, Casey." 
 
 fLASS ! I's fit to burst wr news ! 
 There's letters frae the fleet ; 
 We've bang'd the French, aye, out and 
 out. 
 And duin the thing complete. 
 
166 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 There was sec show'rs o' shell grenades, 
 Bunch' d out wi' shot, like grapes ; 
 
 And hullets, big as heath our heads, 
 Chain'd twee and twee wi* reapes. 
 
 Our Jwohn was perk'd abuin their heads. 
 
 To keep a sharp luik out ; 
 And tell them, gin he kent his sel, 
 
 What they were aw about : 
 They skimm'd the skin off Jwohnny's cheek, 
 
 He niver heeded tat, 
 But rwoar'd, tho' he was main-mast heet, 
 
 We*ll pay them weel for that ! 
 
 It was a seeght ! our Jwohnny says, 
 
 A seeght nit often seen ; 
 And aw their colours flifty-flaff — 
 
 Some reed, some blue, some green : 
 The French rang'd up in aw their preyde, 
 
 Afwore our thunder brast ; 
 But lang afwore it ceased to rwoar. 
 
 It hardly left a mast. 
 
 But we ha'e paid a fearfu' preyce ; 
 
 For Nelson is no more ! 
 That soul o' fire has breath'd his last. 
 
 Far frae his native shore ! 
 ^' waes is me ! " our Jwohnny says, 
 
 ^^That I sud ha'e to tell; 
 Foi nit a man aboard the fleet. 
 
 But wish'd 't had been his sel." 
 
 Our British tars hev kindly hearts, 
 
 Tho' you wad hardly ken ; 
 They'll shout, when ships are gangin down. 
 
 But try to seave the men ; 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 167 
 
 They'll risk the leyfe that's hardly won, 
 
 To bring them to the shore ; 
 And sorrow dashes owre their een, 
 
 When they can do no more. 
 
 BALLAD LXXXIL 
 THE ICEBTZXra. 
 
 By a Lady. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune, — '* Merrily danced the Quaker.' 
 
 — 
 
 F I ha'e been a week away, 
 
 My Jenny rins to meet me ; 
 Wi' aw the chat o' this bit pleace 
 My Jenny's fain to treat me : — 
 There's Eob has married Mary Gray, 
 
 And Bella's past aw tellin ! 
 And Grace has fun the little cat, 
 And Dick can say his spellin. 
 
 Peer Dick has broken deddy's dish, 
 
 And durstn't come to meet ye ; 
 But he has sent ye this bit cake. 
 
 He thought that he mud treat ye : 
 Our butter tells to fourteen pun ; 
 
 Our cheese hes fill'd the rimmer ; 
 And uncle Megs hes sent us beef 
 
 Will sarra us aw at dinner. 
 
168 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 And uncle Megs has heard frae Gworge ; 
 
 He's gone to I've forgittin, 
 
 But it's some hard- word pleace owre seas, 
 
 I'll ha'e the neame on't written ; 
 I think they caw'd it Jemmy caw.* 
 
 Or else it is St. Christit,* 
 And if it isn't yen o* they, 
 
 r faikens, I ha'e mist it ( 
 
 And peer auld Wully's telt his teale ; 
 
 He'll niver tell anudder ! 
 And they've been up wr uncle Megs, 
 
 To wreyte it till his brudder ; 
 For he was varry nwotishin 
 
 Of ought that Wully wanted ; 
 And monie time wad wreyte, and tell, 
 
 They wad'nt see him scanted. 
 
 They brought him varra canny up ; 
 
 He had the best o' linnen, 
 And kept it just to mense dis deeth, 
 
 'Twas peer auld Marget's spinnin. 
 The house, and aw the bits o' things, 
 
 Will just be for the brudder — 
 I only wish he'd meade tem owre 
 
 To Mary and her mudder I " 
 
 ♦ Jamaica, and St. Christopher's. 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 169 
 
 BALLAD LXXXIII. 
 THE CUlffBESLAND SCOLD. 
 
 — 
 
 By a Lady. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune, — "Jack o' Latten.'* 
 
 
 
 fj^VB, Dick's sae cross — but what o' that, 
 I'll tell ye aw the matter ; 
 'Pou up your heads — ay, deil may care, 
 Sae women-fwok mun chatter ; 
 And sae they may ; they've much to say, 
 
 But little are they meynded ; 
 Obey is sec a fearfu' word, 
 
 And that the married feynd it. 
 
 Our Dick com in, and said it rain'd, 
 
 Says I, ^* It meks nae matter I " — 
 <*Ay but it dis, tou silly fuil ! 
 
 But women-fwok mun clatter ; 
 They're here, and there, and ev'ry-where, 
 
 And meakin sec a rumble, 
 Wi'-te-te-te, and te-te-te, 
 
 And grumble, grumble, grumble !" 
 
 Says I to Dick, to Dick says I, 
 
 *' There's nought i' life can match thee ! 
 Thy temper's ay ways bursting out. 
 
 And nought I say can patch thee. 
 I's ass, and fuil, and silly snuil, 
 
 I's naething but a noodle ; 
 I's ay ways wrang, and niver reet, 
 
 And doodle, doodle, doodle I " 
 
170 CUMBBIAN BAIiLADS. 
 
 ** Deil bin I " says Dick, '' if what I say 
 
 Is nit as true as Beyble ; 
 And gin I put te into prent, 
 
 The fwok wad caw't a reyble ; 
 For deil a clout can tou set on, 
 
 In onie form or fashion ; 
 Or dui, or say a single thing 
 
 To keep yen out o' passion," 
 
 ** Tou is a bonny guest indeed ! 
 
 Tou is a toppin fellow ! 
 I think thy breast is meade o' brass, 
 
 Tou dis sae rwoar and bellow ; 
 I nobbet wish that I were deef. 
 
 There's ay ways sec a dingin ; 
 I never ken what Ts about. 
 
 There's sec a ring, ring, ringin i 
 
 Whee ever kens what ton's about ? 
 
 Ton's ay ways in a ponder ; 
 Ay geavin wi' thy open mouth, 
 
 And wonder, wonder, wonder r 
 But of aw the wonders i' the warl, 
 
 I wonder we e'er married ; 
 It wad ha'e been a bonny thing. 
 
 Had that breeght thought miscarried ! 
 
 But, hark ye, Dick ! Til tell ye what — 
 
 'Twas I that meade the blunder ; 
 That I tuik up wi' leyke o' thee. 
 
 Was far the greatest wonder ! 
 For tou was nowther guid nor rich, 
 
 And temper't leyke and Scratchen 1 
 The deil a day gangs owre my head. 
 
 But, fracthum, fratchum, fratchum I " 
 
CUMBEIAN BALLADS. 171 
 
 BALLAD LXXXIV. 
 aOBBLESTOlTE FAHISH. 
 
 — 
 
 By a Lady. 
 
 — — 
 
 Tune, — "Come under my plaidie.** 
 
 r^r^rE'VE hed sec durdum at Gobbleston 
 v/Vy parish, 
 ol>-. For twenty lang years, there's nit been 
 
 sec a fair ; 
 We'd slack reap, and teght reap, and dogs that 
 were dancin, 
 Wi' leytle roun hats on, to gar the fwok stare : 
 
 A leytle black messet danc'd sae leyke auld 
 Jenny, 
 I thought it wad niver rnn out o' my head ; 
 It was last thing at neet, and the furst i' the 
 mworning, 
 And I rwoar'd leyke a feuil as I laid i' my 
 bed. 
 
 And we had stage playin, and actors frae 
 Lunnon, 
 At hed sec a canny and bonny leyke say ; 
 I forgat the black messet, and gowl'd leyke a 
 ninny, 
 Tho' I said to mysel, **Wey, it's nobbet a 
 play ! " 
 
 But aw that was naething, for monie wer 
 blinded, 
 And Jemmy, that brags aw the town for a 
 feght, 
 
172 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 He twistet and twirlt — it was just for an oflf- 
 put, 
 But aw wadn't dui, for he gowl'd hawf the 
 neet. 
 
 And Betty Mac Nippen, and five of her dowters, 
 As feyne as May garlans, were clwose at my 
 back ; 
 I was flayt they wad hinder fwok hear aw the 
 speeching, 
 But they gowl'd sec a gud'n, that nine o' 
 them spack : 
 
 And Betty hes heard frae her sister in Lunnon, 
 And she's sent the barns sec a mwort o* 
 feyne things, 
 That if Betty Mac Nippen wad mek tem stage 
 players, 
 She cud fit tem out, ay leyke queens or leyke 
 kings. 
 
 Then down-the-brow "Wully tuike up his cwoat 
 lappet, 
 And held it till his een, for he's given to 
 jeer; 
 But I had it frae yen that was even fornenst 
 him, 
 'Twas weel for his sel, his cwoat lappet was 
 near. 
 
 Oh — Venus perserv' d was the neame o' theactin, 
 And Jaffer was him hed the beautiful weyfe ; 
 
 Tho' I gowl'd aw the teyme, its a wonder to 
 tell on't, 
 I niver was hawf sae weel pleas' d i' my leyfe. 
 
CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 173 
 
 BALLAD LXXXV. 
 THE FEET-CADGEB'S LAMENT, 
 
 
 
 Tune, — " Hey tutty tatty." 
 
 Or, ** BuRNs's Fareweel to Jean." 
 
 — — 
 
 (nryr Y bonny black meer's deed ! 
 
 ].|™ The thought's e'en leyke to turn my head ! 
 
 '-fe''^ She led the peets, and gat me bread ; 
 
 But what wuU I dui now ? 
 She was bworn when Jwohn was bworn, 
 Just ninteen years last Thursday mworn ; 
 Puir beast ! had she got locks o' cworn, 
 
 She'd been alive, I trow ! 
 
 When young, just leyke a deil she ran ; 
 The car-geer at Durdar she wan ; 
 That day saw me a happy man, 
 
 Now tears gush frae my e'e : 
 For she's geane, my weyfe's geane, 
 Jwohn' s a swodger — I ha'e neane ! 
 Brokken ! deyl'd ! left my leane, 
 
 I've nin to comfort me ! 
 
 When wheyles I mounted on my yaud, 
 I niver reade leyke yen stark mad ; 
 We toddled on, and beath were glad, 
 
 To see our sonsie deame : 
 The weyfe, the neybors, wheel she knew, 
 And aw the deyke backs where gurse grew ; 
 Then when she'd pang'd her belly fou, 
 
 How tow'rtly she cam heame I 
 
174 CUMBRIAN BALLADS. 
 
 Nae pamper'd beasts e'er heeded we ; 
 Nae win or weet e'er dreeded we ; 
 I niver cried woah, hop, or jee, 
 
 She kent — aye, iv'ry turn '• 
 And wheyles I gat her teates o' hay, 
 And gev her watter tweyce a-day. 
 She's deed ! She-s deed, I'm wae to say ; 
 
 Then how can I but mourn ? 
 
 Frae Tindle-Fell twelve pecks she'd bring — 
 She was a yaud, fit for a king ! 
 I never strack her, silly thing ! 
 
 'Twas hard we twea sud part I 
 I's auld, and feal'd, and ragg'd, and peer, 
 And cannot raise anither meer ; 
 But cannot leeve anither year ! 
 
 The loss will break my heart ! 
 
 Robert Anderson, 
 
 END OF THE BALLADS. 
 
2sr O T E s. 
 
 NOTE I. 
 
 Let'i gow to RosJey fair.'] TUese fairs are holden on an 
 extensive tract of common, called Rosley-hill. They 
 commence on Whit-Monday, and continue once a fort- 
 night till Michaelmas. It is impossible to convey an 
 
 adequate idea of them by description. One part of 
 
 the hill is covered with horses and black cattle, with 
 dealers, drovers, and jockies, who, if the day be 
 windy and sultry, are involved in a hurricane of dust, 
 almost as violent in its duration as that which sweeps 
 the arid deserts of Africa : another part is overspread 
 with the booths of mercers, milliners, hardwaremen, 
 and bread-bakers Here you see the mountebank, 
 hawker, and auctioneer, addressing the gaping crowd 
 from a wooden platform; and there you hear the 
 discordant strains of a ballad-singer, the music of the 
 bagpipe and the violin, of the fife, and " the spirit- 
 stirring drum.*' 
 
 Tents of innkeepers, crowded with bottles and 
 barrels, are interspersed in every part of the festal 
 ground, but particularly In the vicinity of the horse- 
 fair, where the heat and dust of the day occasion a 
 more than usual thirst ; and, much to the honour of 
 these Knights of the corTc and spiggot, the malt and 
 spirituous liquors which they retail to their thirsty 
 customers, are so judiciously diluted with water, that 
 they operate with all the innocence of simple diure- 
 tics ; so that it is not uncommon io see a company of 
 haJe farmers, after having exhausted all the casks and 
 bottles in these moving cellars, returning to their own 
 houses with all the sobriety and gravity in which they 
 left them in the morning. 
 
 Of these fairs, which are prolonged till they dwin- 
 dle into insignificance, the second is particularly noted 
 for a fine assemblage of Cumbrian lasses, who, in dif- 
 
176 NOTES. 
 
 ferent parties, parade the hill, in all the artless 
 simplicity of rural beauty, till some rustic admirer 
 displays his gallantry and his love, by escorting a select 
 number of them to some neighbouring tent, and 
 treating them with cake and punch, and the music of 
 the bagpipe and fiddle. When these acknowledg- 
 ments have been paid to their beauty, they return to 
 the field to attack and to conquer ; for to a girl, who 
 has received from nature her share of beauty, the 
 whole day is distinguished by a succession of triumphs. 
 The cakes, ribbons, and handkerchiefs, (the tributes 
 of rural gallantry) are, on their return home, carefully 
 deposited, as so many illustrious trophies of their 
 victories. 
 
 At these fairs are sold a species of cheese called 
 Whyllymer, or, as some whimsically style it, Rosley 
 Cheshire. It is as remarkable for its poverty as that 
 of Stilton is for its richness ; and its surface is so hard, 
 that it frequently bids defiance to the keenest edge 
 of a Cumbrian gully, and its interior substance so very 
 tough, that it afibrds rather occupation to the teeth 
 of a rustic than nourishment to his body, making his 
 hour of repast (to use the expression of an ingenious 
 friend) the severest part of his day's labour. 
 
 About noon the boundaries of the fair are peram- 
 bulated, or, as it is provineially called, '* ridden,'' — 
 which exhibits a spectacle *' sufficient " (to use the 
 words of Dr. Johnson) " to awaken the most torpid 
 risibility." A number of lairds, farmers, tradesmen, 
 and mef*hanics, mount their horses, and, in a slow 
 and solemn pace, wind round the circuit of the hill, 
 accompanied by a train of venerable fiddlers, many 
 of whom have been the tormentors of cat-gut for 
 almost half a century. These minstrels, who, during 
 the rest of the year, travel on foot from village to 
 village, giving music in return for oats or barley, are on 
 these occasions, by the favour of their friends, mounted 
 on horseback, and provided with better clothes. 
 
 NOTE II. 
 
 I went my luays down to Carel fair."] Carlisle fair, 
 or, as it is called by the country people, Carel fair, is 
 holden on the 26th of August, and is so noted for the 
 
NOTES. 177 
 
 number and variety of its amusements and choice of 
 commodities, that there is hardly a villager within 
 the circuit of ten miles who does not attend it, except 
 perhaps two or three unhappy swains and nymphs, 
 whom the authority of a morose parent, or a churlish 
 master or mistress, confines at home. 
 
 A Cumberland lad, when he meets his sweetheart 
 at a fair, whether by appointment or accident, throws 
 his arms round her waist in all the raptures of love, 
 conducts her to a dancing room, places her beside 
 him on a bench, and treats her liberally with cake and 
 punch. When a vacancy happens on the floor, he 
 leads her out to dance a jig or a reel. If her choice 
 be a reel, another partner being necessary, he makes 
 a bow to some other girl in the company, and at the 
 end of the dance he salutes each of his fair partners 
 with a cordial kiss, if its cordiality can be ascertained 
 by the loudness of its sound ; for a plain honest rus- 
 tic, impresses his kisses with so much vehemence on 
 the roseate lips of his fair one, that they have been 
 compared by Burns to the crack of a waggoner's 
 whip : and, with equal nappiness, by the author of 
 the preceding Ballads, to the sound of a gate's latch. 
 
 At the close of the day, a Cumbrian rustic would 
 think himself deficient in common gallantry, if he 
 omitted to escort his sweetheart to her own house, — a 
 favour that she always repays by a more than usual 
 portion of smiles on his next visit. 
 
 NOTE III. 
 
 When aw't auld fowTc where liggin asleep.'] A Cum- 
 brian peasant pays his addresses to his sweetheart 
 during the silence and solemnity of midnight, when 
 every bosom is at rest, except that of love and sor- 
 row. Anticipating her kindness, he will travel ten or 
 twelve miles, over hills, bogs, moors, and mosses, un- 
 discouraged by the length of the road, the darkness 
 of the night, or the intemperature of the weather. 
 On reaching her habitation, he gives a gentle tap at 
 the window of her chamber, at which signal she im- 
 mediately rises, dresses herself, and proceeds with all 
 
178 NOTES. 
 
 possible silence to the door, which she gently opens, 
 lest a creeking hinge, or a barking dog, should awaken 
 the family. 
 
 On his entrance into the kitchen, the luxuries of a 
 Cumbrian cottage — cream and sugared curds — are 
 placed before him by the fair hand of his dulcinea. 
 Next the courtship commences, previously to which 
 the fire is darkened or extinguished, lest its light 
 should guide to the window some idle or licentious 
 eye. In this dark and uncomfortable situation, (at 
 least uncomfortable to all but lovers), they remain till 
 the advance- of day, depositing in each other's bosoms 
 the secrets of love, and making vows of unalterable 
 affection. 
 
 Though I am so far partial to my fair country wo- 
 men, that in some instances I respect their very 
 prejudices, I cannot conclude this note without re- 
 presenting to them the danger and impropriety of 
 admitting the visits of their lovers during those hours 
 of the night, which virtue and innocence have appro- 
 priated to repose. Nothing more encourages unbe- 
 coming familiarities, nothing more promotes disso- 
 lute manners, nothing more endangers female chas- 
 tity, nothing more facilitates the designs of the 
 seducer, than these night- courtships. 
 
 A custom that leads to such serious consequences, 
 however general it may be, or whatever antiquity it 
 may claim, cannot be too soon abolished ; and I am 
 so much convinced of the good sence and purity of 
 mind of the Cumbrian fair, that I am confident as 
 soon as they reflect on the guilt iind misery to which 
 it so often leads, their virtue will take alarm, and 
 they will see the danger which arises from admitting 
 the addresses of men in improper situations and at 
 improper times. 
 
 NOTE IV. 
 
 I got aw the news far and nar.l Amidst the labo- 
 rious duties which his condition of life imposes upon 
 him, a Cumbrian peasant finds leisure and opportu- 
 nities for collecting and disseminating village-news. 
 His intelligence is gathered in different quarters, but 
 
NOTES. 179 
 
 generally at the mill, while his batch of corn is grind- 
 ing ; or at the smithy, while his clogs are receiving 
 their customary load of iron. 
 
 When he has completed his collection, he travels 
 with all the expedition of a courier, from village to 
 village, from house to house, gratifying every inquisi- 
 tive mind, and attracting every vacant ear. 
 
 He is the " historian of his native plain,'* and 
 gives an accurate relation of a wrestling or a boxing 
 match, discriminating the respective merits of the 
 combatants, and pointing out the causes that led to 
 victory or defeat. If his own actions be the subject 
 of his conversation, he becomes more than usually 
 eloquent, elevating his tone and diction agreeably to 
 the precept of Salust : '* dicti^ excequanda sunt facta," 
 great actions demand a correspondent grandeur of 
 style. To discover the extent of his political know- 
 ledge to the public, he assembles a group of his 
 neighbours round his evening fire, or, after the fa- 
 tigues of the day are finished, goes to the ale-house, 
 
 " Where villa.ge statesmen talk with looks profound. 
 And news much older than their ale go round." 
 
 Goldsmith, 
 
 NOTE V. 
 
 A haggle* s heen seen, ^c] The fault of the present 
 age is not that it believes too much, but that it be- 
 lieves too little. Its iLLTJMiNATi havo ejected from 
 their creeds not only the fables of giants, fairies, and 
 necromancers, but the truths of revelation and the 
 facts of sacred history. They wish to reform our poli- 
 tics, — our philosophy, — and our manners, and yet 
 would take away that religion, to which we are in- 
 debted for our public and domestic happiness. 
 
 Were a missionary from this new school to visit 
 those sequestered parts of Cumberland, where the 
 superstHions of our ancestors are preserved in all their 
 purity, what stubborn tenets would have to be con- 
 tended with ! What shades of mental darkness would 
 his philosophy have to penetrate ! In almost every 
 cottage he would see the Bible, and the histories of 
 
180 NOTES. 
 
 giants, fairies, witches, and apparitions, occupying 
 the same shelf, and equally sharing the belief and 
 engaging the attention of their rustic readers. The 
 effects, indeed, of these sacred and fabulous records 
 are different : the one shedding over the mind a pleas- 
 ing serenity ; the other, a sombre melancholy. 
 
 In the days of antiquity, the houses, woods, and 
 rivers of Greece and Eome were frequented by Lares, 
 Fauns, Dryads, and Naiads — all of them cheerful in 
 their nature, and friendly to man. The Graces and 
 the Loves sported on their plains, and on their moun- 
 tains the Muses strung their harps. But the Genii 
 that haunt the romantic vallies, the hills, woods, and 
 rivers of Cumberland, are so mischievous and male- 
 volent in their disposition, so terrific in their aspect, 
 and hostile to the human race, that a person would 
 be thought very regardless of his safety, were he to 
 entrust himself at any late hoar of the night in the 
 neighbourhood of their haunts. Though of an 
 aerial nature, these beings often assume, during their 
 nocturnal rambles on our earth, a corporeal form, 
 that the gross optic nerves of poor mortals might be 
 able to take their size, form, and aspect. They are 
 generally taciturn ; but when they do break silence, 
 their unearthly cries "make night hideous.'' The 
 benighted peasant no sooner hears them than he dis- 
 covers the imminence of his danger, and hastens 
 home with precipitated steps, his hair standing on 
 end, "like quills upon the fretful porcupine." It 
 sometimes happens that, in the rapidity of his flight, 
 he is under the necessity of leaving his clogs in the 
 mire, in order to save (what is certainly of greater 
 consequence to a breathing mortal) his carcase. 
 
 NOTE VI. 
 
 Oh, sec a weddin Vve heen at ! ] The day of mar- 
 riage is in aU countries a day of festivity ; because 
 the married state is supposed to bring an addition to 
 our domestic happiness, perhaps greater than a 
 cynical old bachelor will allow. 
 
 Among the plebeians of Cumberland the whole 
 day glides away amidst music, dancing, and noisy 
 
NOTES. 181 
 
 revelry. Early in tlie morning, the bridegroom, at- 
 tended by a select party of his friends, and mounted 
 on horseback, proceeds to the house of the bride, 
 where they breakfast. As soon as this repast is finish- 
 ed, the bride makes a silent retreat, and arranges 
 every ringlet. After she has paid this attention to 
 her person, she joins the nuptial party, who proceed 
 in a regular cavalcade towards the church, accompa- 
 nied by a fiddler, who plays a succession of tunes 
 correspondent to the festivity of the occasion, till they 
 reach holy ground. As soon as the connubial knot 
 is tied, the company proceed to some neighbouring 
 ale-house, where many a flowing bumber of home- 
 brewed ale is quaffed to the health of the married 
 couple. Animated with earthly nectar, they gallop 
 full speed towards the bride's habitation, where a 
 handkerchief is presented to the person who shall first 
 reach the goal. 
 
 "When the dinner, which consists generally of beef, 
 bacon, pies, and puddings, is placed upon the board, 
 every individual in the party carves for himself, and 
 loads his trencher with a mess of provisions, which 
 many men, in these degenerate days, would consider 
 as a sufficient burden for the back. After dinner the 
 spirits of the company receive an additional elevation 
 from copious potations of ale and whiskey, from the 
 music of the village-minstrel, from the song and the 
 dance. The effects of the liquor soon discover them- 
 selves in the clamerous tongue and roseate phiz of 
 the rustic, which resembles a rising moon in all her 
 glory. 
 
 In the evening a general pugilistic contest (the 
 common consequence of intemperate cups) usually 
 commences, presenting a scene worthy of the pencil 
 of a Hogarth. 
 
 About midnight, or as soon as peace is established 
 among the belligerent parties, the bride retires to her 
 bed-chamber, and, while she undresses herself, deli- 
 vers a stocking to one of her female attendants, who 
 throws it among the company, and the person on 
 which it lights, will, it is supposed, be next married. 
 
182 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE VII. 
 
 DeHl bin .' ] A common mode of swearing" among 
 the Cumberland clowns. It is certainly a testimony 
 of the refined manners, if not of the improved morals 
 of the age, that oaths are banished from all polite 
 circles, and are only to be found among the dregs of 
 the commonalty. 
 
 NOTE VIIL 
 
 I was sehenteen last Collop-Monday.j The first 
 Monday before Lent is provincially called Collojp' 
 Monday ; and the first Tuesday, Pancalce.Tuesday ; — 
 because on these two days collops and pancakes form 
 the chief repast of the country people ; — a custom de- 
 rived from our ancestors, who gave full indulgence to 
 their appetites a day or two before the arrival of that 
 long and meagre season — the Quadragesimal Fast. 
 
 NOTE IX. 
 
 Bad tou seen her at kurh, ^c] From the levity of 
 air, which distinguishes some of my fair countrywo- 
 men during the hours of public worship, it would 
 not be uncharitable to suppose that they attend the 
 church from the same view as they do fairs What 
 can we think of a young woman whose eye is contin- 
 ually roving from one part of the audience to ano- 
 ther, observing every dress and examining every 
 countenance with the minuteness, if not with the 
 penetration of a Lavator ? *Vhat can we think, but 
 that she is destitute of those soft, retiring graces, 
 which so much adorn her sex, and give so much at- 
 traction to beauty ? 
 
 NOTE X. 
 
 The dumb wife was tellin their fortunes'] A person 
 born without the faculty of speech, is thought, by 
 the illiterate part of the Cumbrian peasantry, to pos- 
 sess the gift of prescience ; and this supposed extra- 
 ordinary endowment gives him so much confidence 
 and veneration with that class of the community, 
 that, if he possess not common honesty, it becomes 
 the means of drawing pence from their pockets. 
 
NOTES. 183 
 
 Fortune-telling (the most lucrative part of vatici- 
 nation) is often professed by woman, who having no 
 settled abode, travel from village to village, all of 
 them really or pretendedly dumb ; for the most vol- 
 uable tongue among them can submit to a temporary 
 restraint, when the credit of their profession, and 
 consequently their livelihood, depends upon its si- 
 lence. 
 
 As soon as one of these strolling sybils arrive at a 
 village, she is immediately surrounded by a plebeian 
 group all of them anxious to know " the colour of 
 their future fate" and it is certainly something to 
 her credit, that instead of adding cruelty to the crime 
 of imposition, by darkening the prespective with a 
 train of disasters, she scatters over it roses and sun- 
 shine. The laborious rustic, who at present provides 
 with difficulty for the wants of the day, beholds his 
 future hours gliding amidst affluence, abundance, 
 and pleasures ; while the village-maid, blushing with 
 health and love, is gratified by the near approach of 
 an honourable and opulent marriage. Yet these kind 
 prophetesses, who lighten the pressure of the present 
 moment, by making the destinies smile upon the 
 future, are threatened with gaols, stocks, and pillories. 
 
 NOTE XI. 
 
 NoiUy Kate, full forty years ha'e flown.'] We have 
 here a venerable couple enjoying tranquility m their 
 old age, after a severe struggle with the disasters of 
 life. But though their youth had been pressed down 
 with many distresses, and had been embarrassed with 
 many difficulties, they could yet look back upon it 
 with satisfaction, because it had been innocent, and 
 recall to mind, without pain, the daily toils they had 
 undergone, in providing for the wants of an infant 
 family ; because they could behold that family, which 
 they had cherished with so much affection, acting 
 their parts with credit on the stage of life, and repay- 
 ing, with filial piety, the numerous favours which 
 parental affection had conferred upon them. 
 
 The example of this aged couple may be proposed 
 as a model of conduct to that part of the community 
 whose lot is labour. Under all their necessities, dif- 
 
184 NOTES. 
 
 firulties and hardships, let them persevere in a faith- 
 ful discharge of their duties, — and remember that 
 viETUE will ultimately triumph over every species of 
 external distress: 
 
 " Ye good distrest ! 
 Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
 Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while, 
 And your bounded view, which only saw 
 A littfe part, deem'd evil, is no more : 
 The storms" of winteb time will quickly pass. 
 And one unbounded speinq encircle all." 
 
 Thomson, 
 
 NOTE XII. 
 
 The Impatient Lassie.] The passions of love, 
 restrained by forms and ceremonies in the higher 
 classes of society, breaks out in all its vehemence in 
 the breast of a simple, uneducated country peasant. 
 In him it is an instinct of nature, unchecked by de- 
 licacy, and unrefined by sentiment. As if ashamed 
 to acknowledge its dominion, he visits the object of 
 his affections under the shades of night, and always 
 on a Sat'irday, that the effects of the niijht's vigils 
 might be done away by the holiday of the succeeding 
 day. His fair one waits for him with all the impatient 
 ardour of love, chides the loitering moments; and 
 should he not reach her habitation at the appointed 
 hour, suffers all the anguish of foreboding fears : — 
 some disastrous accident has befallen him, some cool- 
 ness in his passion has taken place, some rival, with 
 more beauty or more address, has supplanted her in 
 his affections. Apprehensions like these continue to 
 agitate her bosom, till a tap at her window or door 
 announces the arrival of her suitor. 
 
 NOTE XIII. 
 
 Oh, durst we lasses nohbet gang.'] In most countries* 
 the men pay their addresses to the women, and not 
 the women to the men ; and custom, that has such 
 great influence over human actions, has given to this 
 practice almost the force and sanction of a political 
 legulation. Though many local customs originate 
 in accident, this however has its foundation in nature 
 
NOTES. 186 
 
 and in reason ; for what fair one, with all the reserve 
 and delicacy natural to her sex, would venture to dis- 
 close the secrets of her bosom on so tender a subject 
 as that of love P And if such be the constitutional 
 timidity of the fair sex, let us spare their blushes, by 
 anticipating their wishes, and meeting with equal 
 ardour that passion which modesty and custom only 
 allow them to discover by the silent language of the 
 eye. 
 
 NOTE XIV. 
 
 Sit down, and Til count owre my sweethearts.'] To 
 have a great variety of sweethearts, is, in the opinion 
 of a simple country girl, a virtual acknowledgment of 
 the predominating force of her charms ; and she sel- 
 dom discovers her error, till she finds herself neglected 
 by every man whose esteem would be valuable, and 
 whose addresses would do her honour. 
 
 Of so delicate a nature is female reputation, that 
 the conduct of a young women ought not only to be 
 free from guilt, but also free from suspicion; and 
 surely her chastity may be disputed, who, without 
 any regard to their character, conduct, and views, 
 indiscriminately admits of the visits of various suitors 
 
 NOTE XV. 
 
 To th* poclcet'Whole, ^c] In this ballad poor Snip 
 bears testimony to the effects of love by his blunders ; 
 and he who laughs at his imbecility, and can behold 
 the charms of a lovely women without emotion, must 
 be something less, or something more, than man : — 
 
 " For who can boast he never felt the fires, 
 The trembling throbbings of the young desires. 
 When he beheld the breathing roses ^low. 
 And the soft heavings of the living snow ; 
 The waving: ringlets of the auburn hair. 
 And all the rapt'rous graces of the fair ; 
 Ah ! what defence, it fixed on him he spy 
 The languid sweetness of the steadfast eye ! 
 
 Lusiad. 
 
 The charms of the fair have indeed in all ages tri- 
 umphed over the human breast. The piety of David 
 and the wisdom of Solomon gave way when opposed 
 
186 NOTES. 
 
 to their force ; and Julius Caesar, tlie conqueror of the 
 world, forgot his fame and his victories in the arms 
 of an Egyptian beauty. Even the mighty Hercules 
 threw down his club »vith which he had achieved so 
 many arduous enterprises, and became a humble 
 suitor at the feet of an imperious fair one. 
 
 NOTE XYI. 
 
 'Twas last Lead.y Fair, ^c] This fair is held on 
 Lady-day at Wigton, and, like other Cumbrian fairs, 
 passes away amidst mirth, music, and dancing. 
 
 NOTE XVII. 
 Wi* Laird Hodgon, ^c] In Cumberland the ap- 
 pellation of laird is applied to the proprietors of landed 
 property, and to their eldest sons. Their oldest 
 daughters are styled ladies. 
 
 NOTE XVIII. 
 
 For that was the pleace my grandfadder was hwom in."] 
 A predilection for the place of our nativity is a patri- 
 otic prejudice that does honour to our feelings, and 
 shows a heart formed for receiving the best impres- 
 sions. It displays itself in early lite, and does not 
 diminish with years, with absence, with travel, or 
 with distance. A Cumbrian mountaineer feels its 
 influence, when, amidst the rudest scenes of nature, 
 he contentedly sits down in his paternal cottage, takes 
 his homely fare, sings his artless song, or joins in the 
 rustic dance. — 
 
 ** Tho* poor tlie peasant's hut, Ms feasts tho' small. 
 He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
 Sees no contiguous palace rear its head. 
 To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 
 No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal. 
 To make him loath his vesretable meal ; 
 But calm, and bred in iornorance and toil, 
 Each wish contracting: fits him for the soil." 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 In whatever distant country, or in whatever situa- 
 tion of life, fortune may place us, we still remember 
 with affection the place of our birth, and cheer the 
 hours of absence with the hopes of returning to it, — 
 of seeing again the companions of our early years, — ■ 
 
NOTES. 187 
 
 and of revisiting those scenes that have been l?)ng en- 
 deared to us by tender recollections. In what melt- 
 ing strains of genuine pathos did Ovid break out 
 when, in those remote regions to which he was ba- 
 nished, he recollected his country, his home, and his 
 friends. 
 
 Et poena est jpatria sola ca/rere mea ! 
 
 NOTE XIX. 
 
 Tom Linton.] A man of licentious opinions and 
 dissolute morals is considered, by his companions in 
 guilt, as a liberal thinker, and as a man of spirit and 
 gallantry ; but, to the virtuous and wiser part of the 
 world, he appears as a timid and illiberal-minded 
 wretch, callous to every honourable feeling, and as 
 contracted in his understanding as he is depraved in 
 his heart. It may seem strange that such a descrip- 
 tion of men exist in a kingdom peculiarly distin- 
 guished by the excellency of its constitution, its 
 laws, and its religion. But if, among the great and 
 illustrious characters which our country has produced 
 there may be found some who disgrace her, who can 
 help it ? The soil that gives growth and vigour to 
 the majestic oak, frequently nourishes the loathsome 
 reptile. 
 
 NOTE XX. 
 
 The Happy Family. ] The numerous instances 
 of domestic felicity, which we meet with among the 
 lower classes of Society, and the dissatisfaction and 
 inquietude which so often prevail among the higher 
 ranks, will convince us, that to acquire riches and 
 distinction, is not to acquire contentment and happi- 
 ness. With health, industry, and virtue, happy in 
 his domestic relations, in his kindred, in his friends 
 with limited wishes, and all his thoughts at home, the 
 poor man enjoys comforts which wealth cannot pur- 
 chase, or rank confer. Every remove from his hum- 
 ble, unambitious situation, would probably be so 
 many removes from innocency and peace. 
 
 Poverty indeed, however supported by virtue, has 
 its peculiar distresses ; but what are its distresses to 
 
188 NOTES. 
 
 the pangs felt by guilty affluence P On the innocent 
 and uncorrupted heart gleams of comfort are conti- 
 nually darting through the darkest shades of human 
 life. 
 
 NOTE XXI. 
 
 Now monie a wife will weep for joy.'] Peace brings 
 so many blessings, and puts a period to so many cala- 
 mities, that it can hardly be purchased by too great 
 sacrifices. What pleasing sensations does it afford to 
 a feeling and patriotic heart to hear the carol of joy 
 and contentment in every village ; to see domestic 
 happiness restored to an afflicted family, by the re- 
 turn of a husband, a father, or a favourite son ; to be- 
 hold the spirit of trade, commerce, and agriculture 
 revive, and receive new energies ; and to see wealth, 
 plenty, and happiness diffused through the nation by 
 a hundred different channels ! If such be the effects 
 of peace, who can behold without a tear those guilty 
 laurels which have been obtained in unjust wars, 
 amidst scenes of blood and devastation, — amidst the 
 widow's tears and the orphan's cries ! 
 
 NOTE XXII. 
 
 I think o' my playmates, &c. ] We always look back 
 with pleasure on our early years, because at that pe- 
 riod every object that surrounds us appears in gay 
 and pleasing colours ; our hearts are light, our affec- 
 tions warm, our hopes eager, and our pursuits ardent. 
 
 In whatever part of the world we reside, we always 
 feel a passionate desire to return to the spot where 
 we passed the hours of our early life : to see again 
 the companions of our childhood; to re-trace the 
 scenes of our juvenile frolics; to re-visit the green 
 where we have sported, the shades under which we 
 have reposed, and the banks where we often loitered. 
 A modern poet, in describing the scenes where his 
 early youth was passed, breaks out in the genuine 
 language of poetry and of nature : 
 
 *'Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 
 
 Ak, fields beloved in vain ! 
 Where once my earless childhood stray'd, 
 
 A stranger yet to pain 1 
 
NOTES. 189 
 
 I feel the galea that from you blow 
 
 A momentary bliss bestow ; 
 
 As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
 
 My weary soul they seem to sooth, 
 
 And, redolent of joy and youth 
 To breathe a second spring* " 
 
 Gray. 
 
 These tender feelings, which exist in a more or less 
 degree in every bosom, afford a melancholy attesta- 
 tion that the more we advance in life the more are 
 our years loaden with sorrow, with care, and with 
 discontent. 
 
 NOTE XXIII. 
 
 That farmers are happier, &c. ] The poets, in their 
 descriptions of human felicity, generally draw their 
 images from pastorial life, because, they suppose 
 where their is simplicity there is also innocence and 
 happiness. But when we search in rural life for the 
 original from which they draw their beautiful pictures, 
 we search for what is not always to be found. We 
 often see there vice in all its grossness, and the tran- 
 quility of life destroyed by the agitation of the pas- 
 sions. With the ploughman's song and the shep- 
 herd's lute we sometimes hear the murmurs of com- 
 plaint, and the voice of discontent. In every situa- 
 tion the degree of happiness and misery will be found 
 in proportion to prevalence of virtue and vice. 
 
 NOTE XXIY. 
 
 Oh this weary, weary warl. ] Such will be the ex- 
 clamation of every one who has lived to that period of 
 life when the powers of sensation are blunted, when 
 worldly objects no longer attach the heart, and when 
 these amusements which gave rapture to youth can 
 no longer please. Weighed down with infirmities 
 and sorrow, and standing on the stage of life as a 
 friendless, forlorn, insulated individual, the burden 
 of an old man's song must ever be, '' Oh this weary, 
 weary world ! " 
 
190 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE XXV. 
 
 Lal Stephen. 1 The hero of this ballad seems to 
 have been, from his multifarious accomplishments, 
 the Creighton of his village. Though diminutive 
 in stature, yet his agility and prowess, his superior 
 skill in rural occupations, and expertness at gymnastic 
 exercises, highly exalted him in the eyes of his coun- 
 try women, and gave him a reputation that was not 
 soon to decay ; and a clown is as proud of his rustic 
 honours as a warrior is of his laurels, or a poet is of 
 his lays. 
 
 NOTE XXVI. 
 
 To set me out a mile o* geate.~\ Sometimes a girl 
 shows her affection to her lover by accompanying him 
 a part of the road on his return home ; and the en- 
 amoured rustic usually repays this mark of regard by 
 an increased love in his next visit to her. 
 
 NOTE XXVII. 
 
 At Ccurel I stuid wi' a strae i" my mouth. J in Cum- 
 berland, servants who are employed in husbandry, are 
 seldom engaged for a longer term than half a year. 
 On the customary days of hiring, they proceed to 
 the nearest town, and that their intentions might be 
 known, stand in the market-place with a eprig or 
 straw in their mouths. 
 
 NOTE XXVIII. 
 
 Them ill reed-cwoated fellows, ^c ] In every pro- 
 fession there are men who disgrace it. We cannot 
 condemn in too severe terms those sergeants of re- 
 cruiting parties who inlist their countrymen, when 
 excess of drinking has deprived them of all reason 
 and reflection. To recruit our army, it is not neces- 
 sary to have recourse to unjustifiable arts. There 
 will never be wanting volunteers to fill its ranks, as 
 long as we know the value of that constitution which 
 secures to us our civil and religious liberties. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 191 
 
 NOTE XXIX. 
 
 Matthew Macree.] This noted rustic seems to 
 have reached the pinnacle of village fame. He had 
 recommended himself to the notice of the fair, like 
 the knight errants in the times of chivalry, by the va- 
 riety of his accomplishments. He excelled at run- 
 ning, wrestling, leaping, and "boxing. His Stentorian 
 voice and sonorous sounds gained him the reputation 
 of a singer and a scholar. And let no person despise 
 Matthew Macree. He attained so much distinction 
 as satisfied his ambition ; and what greater gratifica- 
 tion do they receive who fill the world with their 
 names ? 
 
 NOTE XXX. 
 
 I canH for tJie life o' me get her to worh.] When 
 love makes an attack upon us, he never grants us a 
 truce till he has subdued the heart. He pursues us 
 to our occupations, to our amusements, to our closets, 
 to oui' chambers. The whole mind is engrossed by 
 the object of our afifections, and nothing gives us 
 pleasure but what has an immediate or indirect rela- 
 tion to it ; while with the possession or loss of it we 
 connect our happiness or misery. 
 
 NOTE XXXI. 
 
 Ay, lad ! sec a merry-neet, ^c. ] The common 
 people in Cumberland, like the common people in all 
 countries, have their festive scenes, in which they 
 mingle with ardour, and forget awhile the toils, cares, 
 and hardships peculiar to their stations. Amidst 
 their coarse and homely pastimes their hearts expand 
 to gaiety, and receive more genuine gratification than 
 is to be found among those splendid amusements 
 which the rich, the idle, and the dissipated have in- 
 vented to diversify life, and remove that taedium, 
 languor, and disquietude, which oppress a heart en- 
 ervated by luxury, and corrupt by vice. 
 
 A Cumbrian merry-night is, as its name imports, 
 a night appropriated to mirth and festivity. It takes 
 place at some country ale-h©use, during the holidays 
 of Christmas, a season in which every Cumbrian pea- 
 
192 KOT£S. 
 
 Bant refuses to be governed by the cold and niggardly 
 Tnaxims of economy and thrift. That the gaests 
 might want nothing to cheer their hearts, the landlord 
 of the honse is careful to replenish his cellar with ale 
 and spirits, as well as to provide bread and cheese, 
 pipes and tobacco, cards and music. 
 
 The yonng women, who are particularly fond of 
 these diversions, and who are introduced to them by 
 some friend, relation, or lover, have pies placed be- 
 fore them ; and that girl must be modest indeed who 
 refuses to taste of a luxury when it is within her reach. 
 
 The company is divided into different parties, ac- 
 cording to their different propensities, and to the 
 different amusements to whidi they are attached- 
 They whose ruling passion is card-playing, seat them- 
 sdveB in some apartment where they can obtain a 
 
 oomfrartable fire and a commodious table. The 
 
 sweeHkearters retire to some snug, sequestered comer, 
 where, unseen by any licentious eye, and unheard 
 by any idle ear, they can breathe the vows and speak 
 the soft language of love. They who are fond of 
 dancing, enjoy their diversion in the houseJoft, to 
 which they ascend by means of stone steps or a lad- 
 der. Its walls are generally very low ; but, as there 
 is no ceiling, a very tall person may stand erect under 
 its roof. The dancers exhibit specimens of agility, 
 rather than of skill ; and though their heads have often 
 stubborn rencounters with the beams and rafters of 
 the building, they are seldom forsaken by either their 
 spirits or their elasticity. 
 
 The music is that of the fiddle ; and, if it be not 
 so powerful as the minstrelsy of old times, which gave 
 motion to stocks, trees, and stones, it may be truly 
 said of it (and which is certainly no littie praise), that 
 it gives activity, if not grace, to the big, unwieldly 
 limbs of a Cumbrian clown. 
 
 They who love flowing bumpers seat themselves in 
 the kitchen, or bower, where 
 
 •■ The diy divan 
 Ckmb in firm cirde; and set, ardent, in 
 ypT ■orioosdiinlriTig.** 
 
 Hiomson. 
 
HOTES. 198 
 
 These are the jovial and legitimate sons of Bacchus, 
 who know no other pleasures of life than that which, 
 is supplied by the bottle. He who wastes life in an 
 ambitious pursuit of power or distinction, and the 
 sordid wretch who starres amidst accumulated trea- 
 sures, are alike the objects of his contempt and satire. 
 Even the "whining lover/' wh<»e happiness or 
 misery is produced by the smiles or the frowns of his 
 mistress, betrays, in his opinion, a weak, despicable 
 understanding, that hardly entitles him to a place in 
 the scale of thinking beings. These boon companions 
 of the glass are the last lingering remains of these 
 festive meetings, seldom departing till their roseate 
 faces receive l£e reflection of the next day's sun. 
 
 NOTE XXXEL 
 
 How monie a seveore this cungry neetJ] The comforts 
 that are found in a cottage often more than counter- 
 balance the toils and hardships attending a life of 
 poverty. Happy in the society of his wife and family, 
 blest with a healthy and vigorous constitution, indus- 
 trious, temperate and innocent, what is there in the 
 nature of things that can improve his condition ? — 
 When he becomes dissatisfied, it is when he suffers 
 his thoughts and imagination to roam about scenes 
 of grandeur — among luxuries and expensive plea- 
 sures — among the pompous pursuits and amusements, 
 of the great— -aU of wMch are but so many different 
 modifications of splendid misery. 
 
 NOTE XXXIIL 
 
 'Twos Boh and Jock, ^c] The convivial meetiMg 
 celebrated in this ballad, may vie, in manj reqpecte, 
 with the most distinguished syn^posiums of Gxeeoe 
 and Bome. Had old Anacreon composed one of the 
 party, with what rapture would he have surveyed the 
 capacious vessel that contained a pool of liquor, of a 
 superior quality to the &med nectar of the gods ! — 
 With what animation would he have gn^fc^^n his hoarj 
 locks ! What a glow would all his features have re- 
 ceived from the spirituous fluid ! And with what vig- 
 our would he have struck his lyre in its praise I 
 I 
 
194 NOTES. 
 
 The party here alluded to were our author and a 
 few jovial friends. Archy, to whose comfortable 
 cabin they were invited, is a well-known, industrious, 
 and respectable tradesman — the scourge of preten- 
 ders, but the friend of humble merit : a man who pos- 
 sesses the endearing qualities, benevolence of heart, 
 and cheerfulness of disposition, 
 
 *' By Nature formed in her most sportive mood." 
 He is one of the few who can put care to the rout, 
 make his friends happy, and keep the table in a roar. 
 
 NOTE XXXIY. 
 
 At town, fcwrlc, marTcet, &c.] A beautiful country 
 girl makes a swain feel the force of her charms wher- 
 ever she beholds him : even " Sunday shines no 
 Sabbath day to him." At his very devotion she points 
 against him the artillery of her eye. In short, she 
 attacks him in every place, and, what is still more 
 cruel, when she has subdued his heart, often plays 
 with his passion, refusing her hand to the man, whose 
 affections she has gained. She ought however, to 
 observe that a conqueror's glory is his lenity, and 
 that her behaviour to her captives ought to be hu- 
 mane, if not generous ; and not like that of a heathen 
 victor, who dragged them at the wheels of his tri- 
 umphant chariot, 
 
 NOTE XXXV. 
 
 But as for JwoJinie, ^c] In every Cumbrian vil- 
 lage there is generally a rustic politician, who has 
 established his political reputation among his country- 
 men by volubly discoursing on the state of the 
 nation. At his leisure hours, he assembles a group 
 of his neighbours round his fire-side, reads to them 
 a provincial newspaper, comments upon every para- 
 graph, reviews every transaction, points out all the 
 errors of the ministry, and concludes by laying down 
 a system of politics, which, in his opinion, would 
 put the good things of life more within the reach of 
 him and his countrymen, and enable them to dine 
 and breakfast upon roast-beef and plumb-pudding, 
 instead of cow'd Iword and oatmeal pottage. 
 
NOTES. 195 
 
 NOTE XXXVI. 
 
 The schuilmaister* s a conjuror, Sfc.'] Few occupa- 
 tions are attended with more labour and less profit 
 than that of a country schoolmaster. In Cumber- 
 land his income seldom exceeds thirty pounds a-year, 
 for which he teaches forty or fifty scholars, during 
 nine or ten hours of the day. If he be a single man, 
 his stipend, with rigid economy, may be equal to his 
 support ; but if he be married, and have a family, 
 his distress must be great indeed ! In some parts of 
 Cumberland his situation is somewhat improved ; for 
 he not only receives quarter-pence, but is provided 
 with victuals at the homes of his scholars, which 
 he visits in succession. This whittle-gait (as it is 
 called) subjects him however to the toil of travelling, 
 as many of the houses, in which he is entitled to his 
 victuals, are situated at a great distance from his 
 school, and the roads to them scarcely passable dur- 
 ing the winter season ; but what difiiculties cannot a 
 rustic pedagogue, with a keen appetite and a vigor- 
 ous constitution, overcome in pursuit of a dinner ? 
 Provided with an oaken staff, a pair of clogs, and a 
 helt surtout, he travels always with spirit and expe- 
 dition to his kail and crowdy, unintimidated by the 
 length of the road, or the tempestuousness of the 
 weather. 
 
 NOTE XXXYII. 
 
 Our parson sa/ys we hang*d them still.^ Nothing 
 tends more to inspire valour than a knowledge of the 
 achievments of our ancestors. A British soldier does 
 not calculate the number of his enemies when he 
 recalls to mind the battles of Crecy, Poictiers, and 
 Agincourt. The study of history, particularly that 
 of our own country, should therefore form an import- 
 ant part in the system of education. It will be the 
 means of making us better patriots and better men ; 
 for he must be lost to every honourable feeling, 
 whose loyalty and patriotism do not kindle at the 
 names of a Falkland and a Montrose. 
 
196 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE XXXVIII 
 
 The witch, weyfe 'begg*d in our haclcseyde.'] In Cum- 
 berland, the word backside implies th.at space of 
 ground which lies immediately behind the house ; — 
 but, in its common acceptation, it conveys an idea 
 less refined, and is particularly apt, in the mouth of 
 a rustic, to wound the delicate ear of a fine lady, un- 
 acquainted with its provincial signification. 
 
 A plain Cumberland farmer, being called to London 
 on some law business, took the opportunity to visit 
 his landlord, whose residence was in Spring Garden ; 
 but not finding him at home, he entered into a chat 
 with his daughter, a fashionable fine lady, who very 
 civilly showed him all the house, and was highly 
 diverted with his remarks on every thing he saw. 
 In the course of his survey, honest Hodge, ca>sually 
 resting his hand upon a certain he-corlced part of her 
 dress, exclaimed with much simplicity, while he 
 popped his head out of the window, — " The leevin surs. 
 Miss ! what a muckle backside you ha'e gotten ! It 
 cannot seerVy he aw yov/r awn?" — i.e., "Wonderful, 
 Miss ! what a spacious hacTcside you have gotten ! It 
 cannot surely be all your own ? " To this plain ques- 
 tion a blush was the only answer which the lady 
 Returned. 
 
 NOTE XXXIX. 
 
 Auld Grizzy, the witch, 8cc.~\ Such of the Cumbrian 
 peasantry, whose ideas have not been enlarged by 
 education, have a firm belief in witchcraft and necro- 
 mancy ; and discover in the person of every deformed 
 old woman, a witch and a magician, whose favour 
 they are anxious to conciliate, and whose vengeance 
 they are solicitous to avert. If poor Hodge fall from 
 his cart, and dislocate his neck ; if he be wildered on 
 some dreary moor; if some contagious distemper 
 destroy his cattle, or some pestilential sickness afflict 
 his family; in short, all the calamities and misfor- 
 tunes that visit him or his neighbours, are imputeji 
 to her infernal incantations. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 197 
 
 NOTE XL. 
 
 Whea wasH that Irak our lanlword' garth?"] To 
 pillage a garden or an orchard is generally considered 
 as a venial fault in a school-boy, and even praise is 
 bestowed on the spirit with which the enterprise is 
 executed. But certainly every tendency to vice can- 
 not be too soon corrected, as a disposition to virtue 
 cannot be too soon formed. 
 
 NOTE XLI. 
 
 My Gwordie's whussle weel I lien.] A life of severe 
 labour does not depress the spirits of a peasant. On 
 his return to his cottage, after the toils of the day are 
 over, he makes the woods and vall^s echo with his 
 song, and " the maid of his heart " is generally the 
 theme of his praise; happy if his notes catch her 
 ear, and happier still if they be heard with partiality, 
 and incline her to meet with equal ardour the passion 
 that dictated them. 
 
 NOTE XLII. 
 
 I mind what, ^c] The pleasures which the aged 
 enioy are mostly supplied by memory. Amidst their 
 increasing infirmities, they dwell with peculiar de- 
 light on the days of their youth, — on those happy 
 hours when every object seemed gilded in the bright- 
 est colours, — when the heart was light, and all around 
 them joy and festivity. They are fond of recounting 
 their juvenile frolics, exploits, and adventures ; and 
 when they are the narrators of their own actions, a 
 partiality for the subject generally leads to a minute- 
 ness of detail that would weary every ear, except that 
 of garrulous old age. 
 
 NOTE XLTII. 
 
 Come, gi'es thy hand, Gabey ! ] Modern friend- 
 ships are for the most part rather nominal than real ; 
 they profess much, but mean nothing. Their lan- 
 guage never comes from the heart. It is formal and 
 ceremonious, breaks out in fulsome compliments and 
 extravagant panegyric, and applies nearly the same 
 set of phrases to the genius and to the dunce, to the 
 wise and the foolish, to the virtuous, to the vicious. 
 
198 KOTEfi. 
 
 NOTE XLIV/ 
 
 Our Elleh likes fat hacon iveel.'] There is nothing 
 fastidious in the appetite of a Cumbrian rustic. His 
 repast at noon generally consists of a crowdy, a cow'd^ 
 Iword, and a piece of bacon If the bacon be boiled, 
 he sups the broth ; if fried, he pours the melted fat 
 among his potatoes. A cow'd Iword is a cant name 
 for a kind of pudding composed of oatmeal, tallow, 
 suet, and hog's-lard, which, to a rustic palate, is 
 always a luxurious dish. A crowdy is composed of 
 oatmeal and the marrow of beef or mutton bones, 
 and is the introductory dish that takes off something 
 from the keenness of a ploughman's appetite. 
 
 When potatoes solely constitute the dinner, the 
 mess is more than usually large. After boihng some 
 time, they are beaten and mashed by a club-headed 
 wooden instrument, called a tatoe-chopper, and the 
 whole mass placed upon a platter. In the centre of 
 this fuming pile is a cavity filled with melted butter, 
 or the fat of bacon, into which every one at table 
 merges his spoon or knife loaden with potatoes. 
 
 The breakfast and supper generally consist of thick 
 pottage, a kind of food made of oatmeal and water, 
 and boiled till it becomes a viscous mass. The 
 general bread of the peasantry is composed of barley 
 fermented with dough, and baked in an oven. In the 
 parts bordering on Scotland a sort of barley and oat- 
 cakes, called scons and homnocJcSf are used. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 0, Wully, had tou nolibe^ heen at Burgh Races /] 
 Some villages in Cumberland have their annual horse 
 races. The prize is commonly a saddle or a bridle, 
 and the horses that run for it are the property of the 
 neighbouring lairds and farmers, and without any 
 previous discipline, are brought from the plough or 
 cart to the course. 
 
 When the race is finished, the country lads proceed 
 with their sweethearts to the village ale-house, where 
 they dance, sing, and drink, and talk over the adven- 
 tures of the day. 
 
NOTES. • 199 
 
 The races celebrated in this ballad took place on 
 the 3rd of May, 1804, at Brough, or Burgh, a village 
 in the neighbourhood of Carlisle, where our warlike 
 Edward died on an expedition that was to decide the 
 fate of Scotland. The prize was a silver cup, given 
 by Lord Lowther, which, besides its intrinsic value, 
 ^60, conferred an honour on the winner, equal at 
 least to the garland of wild olive, worn by the victors 
 at the Olympic games. 
 
 NOTE XLVI. 
 
 There- was, "How fens te, Tommy ?'* ^c] When an 
 honest Cumbrian rustic meets an acquaintance, he 
 addresses himself to him by the warm interrogatory, 
 *' How fens to?'* i.e., "How fares it with you in 
 respect to health ?'* If tlfe person to whom the 
 question is addressed be in a good state of health, 
 the reply is, "I's gaily," i.e., I am in good health 
 and spirits. 
 
 NOTE XLYII. 
 
 Man thysel. Jemmy ! ] Before the company depart 
 from country horse-races, a stubborn contest with 
 fists usually commences, in which the rustic warriors 
 are animated by the praises of their sweethearts. 
 Sometimes a courageous rural dame takes an active 
 part in the battle, and brings succour to her fainting 
 lover by directing, with the vigour of an amazon, a 
 few desperate blows against the nose of his antag- 
 onist. 
 
 NOTE XLYIII 
 
 I peep*d through the window, ^c] The windows 
 of many farm-houses in Cumberland are without 
 shutters, and some of them without curtains ; — so, 
 during a winter night, while the fire is cheerfully 
 blazing, the whole family, and every part of the 
 kitchen and furniture, are revealed to the sight of 
 every idle eves-dropper. The honest sweetheart, how- 
 ever, when he pays his nocturnal visit to his dulcinea, 
 peeps through the glass with no other view, than of 
 gratifying his sight with the looks and motions of 
 
200 * NOTES. 
 
 the fair object of his affections, happy if he find no 
 rival participating in her smiles and cenversation. 
 
 KOTE XLIX. 
 
 Peer Dinah Dufton, ^c] It must be an insensible 
 heart that does not feel for the fate of those unfor- 
 tunate females who have been seduced from the paths 
 of virtue and innocence, by the artifices of a set of 
 men who are the disgrace of their country, and the 
 pests of society. The crime of seduction has spread 
 general misery. It has even filled rural life, (from 
 which the poets of all ages have drawn their finest 
 images of felicity,) with complaint, disease, and 
 wretchedness j and if such be its effects, he is no 
 friend t/O his country who does not wish that some 
 effectual check were put to it. 
 
 NOTE L. 
 
 Says Ned, says he, the thimmel gi*e me.'] A village 
 swain endeavours to ingratiate himself into the 
 favour of his sweetheart by making her such presents 
 as are within the reach of his humble circumstances, 
 such as handkerchiefs, ribbons, gloves, thimbles, 
 beads, &c. In all ranks of life, the cold virtue of 
 Bavingness gives way to the warmth of love, 
 
 NOTE LI. 
 
 There was ill gusty Jemmy, the Cocker o* CodhecTc.'] 
 A cocker is a character that a humane mind will 
 always contemplate with disgust. The diversion 
 which he is fond of can only gratify a heart lost to 
 virtue and divested of feeling, or attract an under- 
 standing feeble, and barren of ideas. When we see 
 the profligate and squalid crowds that attend a 
 country cock-fight, we cannot but feel for the honour 
 of human nature, and regret that a practice, which 
 has such a direct tendency to brutalize the heart, 
 should be suffered to prevail in a country which can 
 boast of the mildest government and the purest 
 T^ligion. 
 
NOTES. 201 
 
 NOTE LII. 
 
 But canny auld Cummerlan, ^c] The traveller, 
 wliose object is amusement, and not the acquisition 
 of money, may gratify his passion by a tour through 
 Cumberland. Scenes of picturesque beauty will 
 everywhere present themselves to his eye. Keswick, 
 where mountains, rocks, precipices, and cataracts are 
 contrasted with peaceful vales and placid lakes, has 
 been justly called ''The Elysium of the North ; '* for 
 if elysium is to be found upon earth, it must surely 
 be in that happy vale, which Nature has eo peculiarly 
 distinguished by her bounties, and surrounded with 
 such rich and magnificent scenery; and where may 
 be found a race of men leading happy and peacefiil 
 lives, strangers to the follies and unagitated by the 
 passions that fill the rest of the world with crimes 
 and misery. 
 
 NOTE LIII. 
 
 We've Corby y ^c] Corby Castle, by far the most 
 delightful situation in Cumberland (perhaps in the 
 North), stands on the banks of Eden, four miles from 
 Carlisle. Its hanging woods of various hues, hoarse, 
 murmuring streams, stupendous rocks, echoing cells, 
 and extensive walks, have so often been the traveller's 
 theme, that any attempt at minute description might 
 justly be deemed vanity in our author. 
 
 The late owner, Henet Howard, Esq,, has added 
 great beauties to a place, where Nature seemed to 
 say. 
 
 Behold me, man, in all my wild attire ! 
 
 And while he, from every manly, patriotic, and virtu- 
 ous principle, enjoyed the confidence of the highest 
 circles, his amiable lady was the idol of the tenantry 
 and neighbouring villagers ; 
 
 Softening the pangs of sickness, want, and sorrow. 
 
 While thousands ruin seek in lewd excess, 
 
 Aftd rob the wr^tched, Heav'n has plao'd beneath them. 
 
 n. A. 
 
202 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE LIV. 
 
 Nin UTce thee cud fling the gavelich.~\ The brawny 
 rustics of Cumberland are fond of athletic exercises. 
 They sometimes make a trial of their strength by 
 pitching the gavelick, or lever, and sometimes by 
 lifting huge stones, almost equal in size and weight 
 to that with which the mighty Hector forced the 
 Grecian fortifications : — 
 
 " A pond'rous stone bold Hector heaved to throw, 
 Pointed above, and rough and gross below : 
 Not two strong men tb' enormous weight could raise. 
 Such men as hve in these degenerate days." 
 
 Xlidd. 
 
 NOTE LY. 
 
 Then, Job, I rmnd at your kurn-swppei'.'] When a 
 Cumbrian farmer has cut down his com, he makes an 
 entertainment, to which he invites the reapers and a 
 few of his neighbours. This entertainment is called 
 a kurn, or churn ; because a quantity of cream, slightly 
 churned, was originally the only dish which con- 
 stituted it. In the progress of modem luxury, other 
 dishes have been added to this rural feast, and a 
 rustic epicure may now riot amidst a profusion of 
 pies, plumb-puddings, and dumplings. 
 
 NOTE LVI. 
 
 And, Jeff, when met at Cursmass ccdrdins.'] In Cum- 
 berland, a succession of diversions, and feasts, merri- 
 ments, distinguishes the holidays of Christmas. 
 Of the different festive meetings which take place at 
 that season, card-playing constitutes a considerable 
 portion of the amusement ; and the cottage that can 
 supply a stool, ashes-board, and a rush-light, has 
 sufficient accommodation for a rustic card-player. 
 
 NOTE LVII. 
 
 I*ll hev a young weyfe suin /] A man, with his 
 bosom inflamed with love, while is head is crowned 
 with the hoar of age, exhibits as strange a phenome- 
 non as the mountain that contains fire in its bowels, 
 while its summit is crowned with snow ; and when 
 
NOTES. 203 
 
 he leads a young woman to the altar, he is always 
 subject to the ridicule of the world. But if it be 
 true, what the author of "The Valetudinarian's Bath 
 Guide " advances, that the breath of young girls has 
 a salubrious effect on the constitution of old men, his 
 marriage at so late a period of life, ought to be ra- 
 ther adduced as an instance of mature wisdom than 
 of doating folly. 
 
 NOTE LVIII. 
 
 A wee swojpe guid yell is a peer hody^s comfort.'] A 
 poor man's comforts and amusements are confined 
 within narrow limits; but, as narrow as they are, 
 there are those who would wish to contract them. — 
 They would not only take from him his dance and merry 
 night, but also his pot of ale at the village ale-house, 
 where, after the labour of the day, he sometimes re- 
 laxes himself among companions of similar manners, 
 pursuits, and habits of life; and an indulgence cer- 
 tainly innocent, provided it be not carried to an ex- 
 cess ruinous to himself and family. His life is a life 
 of labour and often of distress. If he sometimes steal 
 from care and toil to the place " where nut-brown 
 draughts inspire," who can blame him ? 
 
 NOTE LIX. 
 
 The dangWous yell-house kills monie hrave fellows.'] 
 Moderate cups administer comfort to the heart, open 
 its springs, and keep up the spirit of social inter- 
 course ; but numerous are the evils which flow from 
 intemperate drinking. How many promising youths, 
 who, by their talents and genius,jWere capable of sus- 
 taining the dignity of the human character, has this 
 baleful habit sunk into insignificance and contempt, 
 or hurried to an untimely grave ! How many bosoms, 
 formed for virtue and happiness, has it filled with 
 guilt and misery! 
 
 In the time of King Edgar, the vice of drunkenness 
 so much prevailed, that he endeavoured to check it by 
 limiting the number of ale-houses, and ordering nails 
 or pins to be fixed, at stated distances, in the drinking 
 
204 NOTES. 
 
 cups and horns, by wMch marks the drinkers were to 
 regulate their draughts, or suffer punish^nent. What 
 effect these regulations produced at that time I do 
 not know; but Tm afraid that pins and penalties would 
 be feeble barriers against the vigourous draughts of 
 a modern toper. 
 
 NOTE LX. 
 
 We went owre to BeoAjie' cloAj-dauhin.'] In the eastern 
 and northern parts of Cumberland, the walls of 
 houses are in general composed of clay, and in their 
 erection take seldom more than the space of a day. 
 When a young rustic marries, the highest ambition 
 of his heart is to be the master of an humble clay- , 
 built cottage, that might afford shelter to him and 
 his family. As soon as he has selected a proper site, 
 which usually borders on some moor that affords turf 
 and peat for fuel, he signifies? his intentions to his 
 neighbours, who, on the appointed day, punctually 
 muster on the spot where the intended building is to 
 be raised, each individual bringing a spade and one 
 day's provisions along with him. 
 
 That every thing might be done in order, and with- 
 out confusion, a particular piece of work is assigned 
 to each labourer. Some (fig the clay, some fetch it 
 in wheelbarrows, some water it and mix it with straw, 
 and some heave it upon the walls. The rustic girls, 
 (a great many of whom attend on the occasion,) fetch 
 the water, with which the clay is softened, from some 
 neighbouring ditch or pond. When the walls are 
 raised to their proper height, the company have plenty 
 to eat and to drink ; after which the lads and the 
 lasses, with faces incrusted with clay and dirt, take 
 a dance upon the clay-floor of the newly-erected 
 cottage. 
 
 NOTE LXI. 
 
 See, deame, if we*ve got a swope whusJcy.'] Whisky, 
 diluted with water, is the common beverage of the 
 rustic inhabitants of the north of Cumberland ; and 
 though their rum bottle may sometimes be exhausted, 
 they seldom fail to be pretty well stocked, (notwith- 
 
NOTES. 205 
 
 standing the vigilance of the exciseman) with contra- 
 band whisky. 
 
 NOTE LXII. 
 
 V th' hurh garth the cla/rJc ccmjo^d Ms seale.] " The 
 kurk-garth, or church-yard, on a Sunday morning,'* 
 observes an ingenious friend, "Is to the country 
 people of Cumberland what the Exchange is to the 
 merchants of London, and answers all the purposes 
 of business or amusement, and from whence general 
 information is to be sent round the parish/' 
 
 The Jcurh-fwoJcey or congregation, therefore, usually 
 stop about the church-door, after the service is done, 
 to hear these notices, which are mostly given by the 
 parish clerk, elevated iipon a thruff, or flat tombstone, 
 sometimes from a written paper, and sometimes taken 
 verbally from the mouth of the party concerned. 
 This latter mode, in the tone and dialect of an old 
 formal psalm-singer, produces often a very curious 
 effect, as is exemplified in the following notice, 
 actually delivered a few years ago at the door of 
 Stanwix church, near Carlisle : — 
 
 Clerk. — Hoa-a-z-yes ! — This is to give nwotice, 
 that there is to be, on Wednesday neist, at — (When?) 
 Man.— Twelve. 
 
 Clerk. — Twelve of the Clock precisely — (Whar ?) 
 Man. — Linstock. 
 
 Clerk. — At Linstock, near Rickar-by, a sale of — 
 (What?) 
 
 Man.— Esh for car-stangs. 
 
 Clerk. — A sale of esh-wood — for car-stangs ; and 
 if any body wants to ken aught mair about it, they 
 maun apply to — (Wheay ?) 
 Man. — Thomas Dobson. 
 
 Clerk. — Thomas Dobson, clerk of Stanwix; that 
 is. Mister. — (Any thing mair ?) 
 Man. — Nay, that's aw. 
 
 Clerk. — Wa' then, God save the King ! — (How 
 fend ye. Mister Eitson ? how fend ye ?) 
 
 This manner of making a public proclamation 
 through the medium of a prompter, is by no means 
 
206 NOTES. 
 
 modern ; it occurs exactly in the second scene of the 
 third act of " The New Irm, " by Ben Johnson. 
 
 NOTE LXIII. 
 
 Ihe lads ruhVd her down wi' pezstraw.'] A Cum- 
 brian girl, when her lover proves unfaithful to her, is 
 by way of consolation, rubbed with pease-straw by 
 the neighbouring lads ; and when a Cumbrian youth 
 loses his sweetheart, by her marriage with a rival, the 
 same sort of comfort is administered to him by the 
 lasses of the village. 
 
 END OF NOTES, 
 
GLO SSARY, 
 
 A 
 
 Abed, in bed 
 
 Abuin, above 
 
 Ae, one 
 
 Advisin, advising 
 
 Afwore, before 
 
 A-fit, on foot 
 
 Agean, against 
 
 Ahint, behind 
 
 A-horse, on horseback 
 
 Ail, to be indisposed 
 
 Aikton, a village near 
 
 Wigton 
 Ajy, awry 
 Alang, along 
 AUyblaster, allabaster 
 Amang, among 
 Ambrie, pantry 
 Anent, opposite 
 Anunder't, under it 
 Anudder, another 
 Aroun, around 
 As-buird, ashes-board ; a 
 
 box in which ashes are 
 
 carried 
 'At, contraction of that 
 Atomy, skeleton 
 At ween, between 
 Auld, old 
 Aunty, aunt 
 Aw, all 
 Awn, own 
 Ax, to ask 
 
 Ay ! expression of wonder 
 Ayont, beyond 
 
 B 
 
 'Bacco, tobacco 
 
 Bairns, children 
 
 Bandylan, a female of bad 
 character 
 
 Bang, to beatj an action 
 of haste, as, he com in 
 wi* a hang 
 
 Baith, both 
 
 Bane, bone 
 
 Bailies, bailiffs 
 
 Bannocks, bread made of 
 oatmeal, thicker than 
 common cakes. 
 
 Backseyde, the yard be- 
 hind a house 
 
 Bashfu', bashful 
 
 Batter, dirt 
 
 Bawk, a cross beam 
 
 Behint, behind 
 
 Bein, being 
 
 Bet, a wager ; beat 
 
 Bettermer, better 
 
 Beyde, to endure, to stay 
 
 Bolder, to bellow, vocife- 
 rate 
 
 Belsh, to emit wind from 
 the stomach 
 
 Biggin, building 
 
 Bit, a small piece 
 
 Billy, brother 
 
 Bizen, (see shem) 
 
 Bleaken'd, blackened 
 
 Blate, bashful 
 
 Bleer-e'e'd, blear ..eyecj 
 
208 
 
 GLOSSABY. 
 
 Bleets, blights 
 
 Bleckell, Blackwell, a vil- 
 lage near Cai'lisle 
 
 BHn. bHnd 
 
 Bluid, blood 
 
 Bluim, bloom 
 
 Blaw, blow 
 
 Blusteration, the noise of 
 a braggart 
 
 Boggle, hobgoblin 
 
 Bout, a turn ; action 
 
 Bodder, bother 
 
 Bowt, bought 
 
 Bonnie, pretty 
 
 Bow-hough'd, having 
 crooked houghs 
 
 Brack, broke 
 
 Brag, boast 
 
 Braid, broad 
 
 Bran new, quite new 
 
 Brat, a coarse apron 
 
 Bray, to beat 
 
 Bravely, in a good state of 
 health. 
 
 Breer, briar 
 
 Breet, bright 
 
 Brees'd, bru^'sed 
 
 Breeks, breeclies 
 
 Breyde, bride 
 
 Brig, bridge 
 
 Brong, brought 
 
 Brunt, burnt 
 
 Brulliment, broil 
 
 Brast, burst 
 
 Buin, above 
 
 Buits, boots 
 
 Bumm'd, struck: beat 
 
 Bunc'd, an action of haste, 
 as, he tunc' din amang us 
 
 Buck up, to subscribe 
 
 Butter-shag, a slice of 
 bread spread \7ith butter 
 
 Butter-sops, wheat or 
 oaten bread, soaked in 
 melted butter and 
 sugar 
 
 Bworn, born 
 
 Bwor'd, bored 
 
 Bygane, bygone ; past 
 
 Byre, cow-house 
 
 C 
 
 Cabbish, cabbage 
 
 Caff, Chaff 
 
 Cairds, cards 
 
 Carel, Carlisle 
 
 Canny, decent looking, 
 well made 
 
 Cappar, one who excels 
 
 Car, cart 
 
 Carras, a shade or cart- 
 house, wherein carts are 
 kept 
 
 Cat-witted, silly and con- 
 ceited 
 
 Ceyder, cidar 
 
 Chap, a general term for 
 man, used either in a 
 manner of respect or 
 contempt 
 
 Chawk, chalk 
 
 Cheyde, chide 
 
 Chiel, a young fellow 
 
 Chimley, chimney 
 
 Chops, mouth 
 
 Claes, clothes 
 
 Clashes, tale bearers 
 
 Clarty, miry 
 
 Claver, to climb 
 
 Clogs, a sort of shoes, the 
 upper part of strong 
 hide leather, and the 
 soles of birch or alder, 
 plated with Iron 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 209 
 
 Cleed, to clothe 
 
 Cleek, to catch as with a 
 hook 
 
 Click-clack, the noise that 
 the pendulum of a clock 
 makes in its vibrations 
 
 Clink, a blow 
 
 Clipt dinment, a thin, 
 mean-looking fellow. 
 
 Clipt and heel'd, properly- 
 dressed like a cock pre- 
 pared to fight 
 
 Cliver, clever 
 
 Cluff, a blow 
 
 Co', come or came 
 
 Cockin, cock-fighting 
 
 Cocker, a feeder or fighter 
 of cocks 
 
 Com, came 
 
 Corp, corpse 
 
 Cow'd-lword, a puddin 
 made of oatmeal and 
 suet 
 
 Cowp, to exchange 
 
 Cowt, colt 
 
 Crack, to chat, to chal- 
 lenge, to boast, or do 
 any think quickly, I's 
 dui't in a crack 
 
 Crack ets, crickets 
 
 Crammel, to perform a 
 thing awkwardly 
 
 Crap, crept 
 
 Creyke, creek 
 
 Cronie, an old acquaint- 
 ance 
 
 Croft, a field behind the 
 house 
 
 Crouse, lofty, haughty 
 
 Cruds, curds 
 
 Cruin, to bellow, to hum 
 «. tune 
 
 Cud, could 
 
 Cuddy Wulson, Cuthbert 
 
 Wilson • 
 
 Cuil, cool 
 
 Cummerlan, Cumb erland 
 Cunn'd, counted 
 Curley pow, curled head 
 Cursinin, christening 
 Cursty, Christopher 
 Cursmas, Christmas 
 Curtchey'd curtseyed 
 Cutty, short 
 Cutten, cut down 
 Cutter' d, whispered 
 Cwoach, coach 
 Cwoals, coals 
 Cwoat, coat 
 Cwoley, a farmer's or 
 
 shepherd's dog. 
 Cwose-house, corsehouse 
 
 D 
 
 Daddle, hand 
 
 Daft, half wise, some- 
 times wanton 
 
 Daggy, drizzly 
 
 Dander, to hobble 
 
 Darrak, a day's Jabour 
 
 Dapper, neatly dressed 
 
 Darter, active in perform- 
 ing a thing 
 
 Dawstoners, inhabitants 
 of Dais ton,a village near 
 Carlisle 
 
 De, do 
 
 Deame, dame 
 
 Deavie, David 
 
 Ded, or deddy, father 
 
 Dee, to die 
 
 Deeins, doings 
 
 Deef, deaf 
 
 De'il bin, devel take 
 
 Deet, died : to clean 
 
210 
 
 GLOSSASY. 
 
 Deeth, death 
 
 Deetin, winnovving corn 
 
 Deyl'd, mop*d, spiritless 
 
 Deyke, hedge 
 
 Diddle, to hum a tune 
 
 Dis, does 
 
 Disport, desperate 
 
 Dissnins, a distance in 
 horse-racing, the 8th 
 part of a mUe 
 
 Diwent, do not 
 
 Doff, to undress 
 
 Don, to dress 
 
 Donnet, an ill-disposed 
 woman 
 
 Downo, cannot, ^. e. when 
 one has the power, but 
 wants the will to do any- 
 thing 
 
 Dowter, daughter 
 
 Douse, jolly, or sonsylook- 
 ing person: according 
 to others, solid, grave, 
 and prudent 
 
 Dozen' d, spiritless, and 
 impotent 
 
 Dub, a small collection 
 of stagnant water 
 
 Dubbler, a wooden platter 
 
 Dui, do 
 
 Duir, door 
 
 Duin doon 
 
 Dud, did 
 
 Duds, coarse clothes 
 
 Dunch, to strike with the 
 elbows 
 
 Dunnet, do not 
 
 Dung owre, knocked over 
 
 Durdem, broil, hubbub 
 
 Durtment, anything use- 
 less 
 
 Dust, durdem, one of the 
 
 many provincial names 
 for money 
 Dwoated, doated 
 
 E 
 
 Ee, eye 
 Een, eyes 
 Efter, after 
 Elcy, Alice 
 Eleeben, eleven 
 EUek, Alexander 
 En, end 
 
 Enough, enough 
 Eshes, ash-trees 
 
 F. 
 
 Fadder, father 
 
 Famish, famous 
 
 Fan, found, felt 
 
 Fash, trouble 
 
 Fares-te-weel, fares-thee- 
 well 
 
 Fau't, fault 
 
 Faul, farm -yard 
 
 Faw, faU 
 
 Feace, face 
 
 Feale, fail 
 
 Feckless, feeble, wanting 
 effect 
 
 Feght, fight 
 
 Fettle, order, condition 
 
 Feyne, fine 
 
 Fit, foot, fought 
 
 Fin, to find, to feel 
 
 Flacker'd, fluttered 
 
 Flay, fright, to fright 
 
 Fleek, flitch 
 
 Flegmagaries,useless frip- 
 peries of female dress 
 
 Fluir, or fleer, floor 
 
 Flyre, to laugh 
 
 Font, foolish 
 
GLOSSAEY. 
 
 211 
 
 Forby, besides 
 
 Forret, forward 
 
 Fou, full 
 
 Fowt, a fondling 
 
 Frae, from 
 
 Frase, fray 
 
 Fratch, quarrel, to quarrel 
 
 Freeten'd, frightened 
 
 Freet, to grieve 
 
 Fremm'd, strange 
 
 Frostit, frosted 
 
 Frow, a worthless woman 
 
 Full, fool 
 
 Furbelows useless silks, 
 
 frills, or gauzes, of a 
 
 female di-ess 
 Furst, first 
 Fuss, bustle 
 Fwoal, foal 
 Fworc'd, fojced 
 Fwolk, folk 
 Fwurm, a form, a bench 
 
 G 
 
 Ga, to go 
 
 Gane, gone 
 
 Gam, game 
 
 Gamlers, gamblers 
 
 Gammerstang, a tall awk- 
 ward person, of a bad 
 gait 
 
 Gang, to go ; a confeder- 
 ated company of infa- 
 mous persons. 
 
 Gar, to compel 
 
 Garth, orchard, or garden 
 
 Gat, got 
 
 Gate, road or path 
 
 Gawn, going 
 
 Gayshen, a smock-faced, 
 silly-looking person 
 
 Gear, wealth, money, the 
 
 tackling of a cart, or 
 plough 
 
 Gev, gave 
 
 Git, get 
 
 Girn, grin 
 
 Girt, great 
 
 G]iff, glance 
 
 Gleyme.to look obliquely, 
 squint 
 
 Glowre, to stare 
 
 Glump'd, gloomed 
 
 Gob, mouth 
 
 Gow'd i' gowpens, gold in 
 handfi:J.s 
 
 Gwok, the cuckow ; a 
 thoughtless, ignorant 
 fellow, who harps too 
 long on a subject 
 
 Gowl, to weep 
 
 Graen, to groan 
 
 Graith'd, dressed, accou- 
 tered 
 
 Grandideer, grenadier 
 
 Grandy, grandmother 
 
 Granf adder, grandfather 
 
 Granson, grandson 
 
 Greace, grace 
 
 Greave, grave 
 
 Greymin, a thin covering 
 of snow 
 
 Grousome, grim 
 
 Greype, a three-ponged 
 instrument for the pur- 
 pose of cleaning cow 
 houses 
 
 Gulder, to speak amaz- 
 ingly loud, and with a 
 dissonant voice 
 
 Gully, a large knife 
 
 Gaff, a fool 
 
 Guid, good 
 
 Gurdle, the iron on which 
 
212 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 cakes are baked, 
 Gwordie, George 
 
 H. 
 
 Hack'd, won every thing 
 Ha'e, have 
 Hale, whole 
 Hallan, partition wall 
 Hantel, large quantity 
 Hankitcher, handkerchief 
 Hap, to cover 
 Hardleys, hardly 
 Hauld, hold, shelter 
 Havey-scavey, all in con- 
 fusion 
 Hawflin, a fool 
 Haw, hall 
 Hawf, half 
 Havver, oats 
 Hay-bay, hubbub 
 Heaste, haste 
 Hether-fac'd, rough faced 
 Hee, high 
 Het, hot 
 Head-wark, head-ache 
 
 Helter, halter, 
 
 Hed, had 
 
 Hes, has 
 
 Hev, have 
 
 Hirpled, limped 
 
 Hinmost, hindmost 
 
 Hing, hang 
 
 Hinney, honey 
 
 Hizzy, huzzy 
 
 Hod, hold 
 
 Hout ! pshaw ! 
 
 Hotch, shake ; to shake 
 
 Howdey, a midwife 
 
 Hug, to squeeze 
 
 Hur, her 
 
 Hulk, a lazy, clumsy fel- 
 low 
 
 Hursle, to raise up the 
 
 shoulders 
 Hunsup, scold; quarrel 
 
 I. 
 
 F, contract, in 
 
 Ilk, or ilka, every 
 
 Fs, contract. I am 
 
 It'll, contract, it will 
 
 Ither, other 
 
 Indie, East Indies 
 
 Iver, ever 
 
 Jaw, mouth 
 
 Jant, jaunt 
 
 Jen, or Jenny, Jane 
 
 Jeybe, jibe 
 
 Jobby, or Jwosep, Joseph 
 
 J woke, joke 
 
 John, or Jwohnie, John 
 
 Keale, broth 
 
 Ken-guid, the example 
 by which wejare tolearn 
 what is good 
 
 Keave, to give an awk- 
 ward wavering motion 
 to the body 
 
 Keek, to peep 
 
 Fen, to know 
 
 Kith, acquaintances 
 
 Kittle, to tickle 
 
 Knop, a large tub 
 
 Kurk, church 
 
 Kurk-garth, a church 
 yard 
 
 Kurn, churn; to churn 
 
 Kye, cows 
 
 Lait, to seek 
 Laik, play ; to play 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 213 
 
 Laird, a farmer's eldest 
 son, or one who already 
 possesses land 
 
 '111, contraction of will 
 
 Lai, Httle 
 
 Larnin, learning 
 
 Lanlword, landlord 
 
 Lant, a game at cards 
 
 Lanters, the players at 
 lant 
 
 Lave, the rest 
 
 Lapstone, a shoemaker's 
 stone, upon which he 
 beats his leather 
 
 Latch, a wooden sneck, 
 lifted sometimes with 
 a cord, at other times 
 with the finger 
 
 Lap, leapt 
 
 Leace, lace 
 
 Leady, lady 
 
 Leame, lame 
 
 Leate, late 
 
 Leane, lone 
 
 Leet, to meet with; to 
 alight 
 
 Leetsome, lightsome 
 
 Ledder, to beat 
 
 Lee, a lie 
 
 Leeve, live 
 
 Leather-te-patch, a plung- 
 ing step in a Cumber- 
 land dance 
 
 Lig, to lie 
 
 Leethet'lass,Lewthwaite*s 
 lass 
 
 I^issen, to listen 
 
 Lish, active, genteel 
 
 Lonnin, a narrow lane 
 leading from one village 
 to another 
 
 Lock, a small quantity 
 
 Loff, offer 
 
 Loft, the upper apartment 
 
 of a cottage 
 Lout, an awkward clown 
 Lowe, flame 
 Lowes, to untie 
 Lowp, a leap ; to leap 
 Lug, pull ; to pull 
 Lugs, ears 
 Luik, look ; to look 
 Luim, loom 
 Luive, love 
 Lunnon, London 
 Lurry, to pull 
 Lwosers, losers 
 Lword, lord 
 Lythey, thick , 
 
 M. 
 
 Mair, more 
 
 Maister, master 
 
 Maist, most 
 
 Mak, make ; to make 
 
 Mant, to stutter 
 
 Maks, sorts 
 
 Mangrel, mongrel 
 
 Man thysel, act with the 
 
 spirit of a man 
 Mappen, may happen 
 Marget, Margaret 
 Marrow, equal; of the 
 
 same sort 
 Mazle, to wander as stupid 
 
 fied 
 Meade, made 
 Mess, indeed, truly 
 Meer, mare 
 Midden, dunghill 
 Mickle, large, much 
 Mid-thie, mid-thigh 
 Mid-neet, mid-night 
 Mittens, gloves 
 
2U 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Moilin, pining 
 Mowdywarp, a mole 
 Monie, many 
 Mud, might 
 Muir, moor 
 Muin, moon 
 Mun, must 
 Muck, dung 
 Murry, merry 
 Munnet, must not 
 Mudder, mother 
 Mworn, morn 
 
 Nae, or nee, no 
 
 Naigs, horses 
 
 Nar, near 
 
 Nattle, to strike slightly 
 
 Neef, fist 
 
 Neame, name 
 
 Neet, night 
 
 Neist, next 
 
 Ne'er ark, never mind 
 
 Neb, nose 
 
 New-fangled, new-fash- 
 ioned 
 
 Neybor, neighbour 
 
 Neyce, nice 
 
 Nimmel, nimble 
 
 Nin, none 
 
 Nit, not 
 
 Niver, never 
 
 Nobbet, only 
 
 Nowt, cattle 
 
 Nowther, neither 
 
 Nuik, nook 
 
 Nwotish, or nwotice, no- 
 tice 
 
 O 
 
 OanerSj owners 
 Oddments, articles of no 
 great value 
 
 Odswinge ! a rustic oath 
 Offen, often 
 Onie, any 
 
 Onset, dwelling house and 
 out-buildings 
 On't, contract, of it 
 Or, ere 
 
 Open'd their gills, gap*d 
 wide, and drank much 
 Ought, aught 
 Owre, over 
 Owther, either 
 
 Paddock rudd, frog spawn 
 
 Pang'd, quite full 
 
 Parfet, perfect 
 
 Pat, put 
 
 Pate, head 
 
 Paut, to walk heavily 
 
 Paw mair, stir more; thus 
 
 " the cat will never ;paw 
 
 mair'* means, the cat 
 
 will never stir more 
 Pech, to pant 
 Tee'd, one eyed 
 Peer, poor 
 Pell-mell, quick 
 Peet, a fibrous moss used 
 
 for fuel 
 Pennystones, stones in the 
 
 forms of quoits 
 Pez, pease 
 
 Piggen, a wooden dish 
 Pick, pitch 
 Pick'd the fwoal, foahd 
 
 before the natural time 
 Pleugh, plough 
 Pleace, place 
 Pleenin, complaining 
 Plack, a single piece of 
 
 money. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 215 
 
 Plied, read his book 
 Potticary, apothecary 
 Poddish, pottage 
 Pops and pairs, a game 
 
 at cards 
 Pow, to pull ; the head 
 Prent, print 
 Prod, thrust 
 Pruive, prove 
 Puil, pool 
 Puzzen, poison 
 Punch, to strike with the 
 
 feet 
 Pwokie, poke 
 
 R 
 
 Rattens, rats 
 
 Eeape, rope 
 
 Bear, to raise ; to rally 
 
 Eeed, red 
 
 Reet, right 
 
 Reek, smoke 
 
 Reyder, rider 
 
 Rin, run 
 
 Royster'd, vociferated 
 
 Roughness, plenty ; store 
 
 Row up, to devour 
 
 Ruddy, ready 
 
 Rust, rest ; repose 
 
 Russlin, wrestling 
 
 Ruse, arose 
 
 Rwoar'd, roared 
 
 Rwose, rose 
 
 Sackless. — The original 
 meaning of this word is 
 innocent, guiltless; but 
 it is now applied in the 
 sense of feeble, useless, 
 insignificant, incapable 
 of exertion 
 
 Sae, so 
 
 Sair, sore 
 
 Sairy, poor 
 
 Sarvant, servant 
 
 Sal, shall 
 
 San, sand 
 
 Sampleth, sampler 
 
 Sark, shirt 
 
 Sarra, to serve 
 
 Sattle, a long seat 
 
 Sault, salt 
 
 Sceape-greace, a' hair- 
 brain'd, graceless fellow 
 
 Scalder'd, scalded 
 
 Sowores, scores 
 
 Sceap'd, escaped 
 
 Scons, cakes made of bar- 
 ley meal 
 
 Scraffle, struggle 
 
 Schuil, school 
 
 Scotty kye, Scotch cows. 
 
 Scribe of a pen, line by 
 way of letter 
 
 Scrudge, squeeze 
 
 Seame, same 
 
 Seec, sick 
 
 Seape, soap 
 
 Sec, such 
 
 Seegh, sigh 
 
 Seer, sure, 
 
 Sel, self 
 
 Seed, saw 
 
 Seeben, seven 
 
 Seevy, rushey 
 
 See't, contract, see it 
 
 Seet, sight 
 
 Sen, or seyne, since 
 
 Seugh, ditch 
 
 Selt, sold 
 
 Seypers, those who drink 
 to the last drop; im- 
 moderate drinkers 
 
216 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Seyde, side 
 
 Setterday, Saturday 
 
 Sha' not, shall not 
 
 Shearin, reaping 
 
 Shorn and a bizzen, a 
 shame, and besides a 
 sin ; the word hizen be- 
 ing apparently a cor- 
 ruption of " By a sin" 
 i.e., besides a sin 
 
 Shoon, shoes 
 
 Shot,reckoning; freed from 
 
 Shuik, shook 
 
 Sheynin, shining 
 
 ShuJSe, to scrape with the 
 feet ; to evade 
 
 Shouder, shoulder 
 
 Shoul, shovel 
 
 Shottle, schedule 
 
 Shwort, short 
 
 Shwort-cakes, rich fruit 
 cakes, which the Cum- 
 brian peasants present 
 to their sweethearts at 
 fairs. 
 
 Sinseyne, since that time 
 
 Skirl'd, scream'd 
 
 Sleas, sloes 
 
 Slape, slippery 
 
 Slink, slinge 
 
 Slee, sly 
 
 Slap, to beat 
 
 Smiddy, smithy 
 
 Smaw, small 
 
 Smuik, smoke 
 
 Smutty, obscene 
 
 Smudder, smother 
 
 Snaps, small round gin- 
 gerbread cakes 
 
 Snworin, snoring 
 
 Sneck, latch or catch of 
 a gate or door 
 
 Snift*rin, sniffling 
 
 Sour-milk, butter-milk 
 
 Soncy, lucky, generous 
 
 Sowdgers, soldiers 
 
 Souse, to plunge or im- 
 merse 
 
 Spak, spoke 
 
 Speyce, spice 
 
 Splet, split 
 
 Spot, a place of service 
 
 Spwort, sport 
 
 Spunky, sparkling 
 
 Spuin, spoon 
 
 Starken, to tighten 
 
 Steyle, stile 
 
 Steeks, shuts 
 
 Strack, struck 
 
 Stule, stole 
 
 Stuil, stool 
 
 Stown, stolen 
 
 Stwory, story 
 
 Stud, stood 
 
 Strae, straw 
 
 Stibble, stubble 
 
 Stan, stand 
 
 Streenin, straining 
 
 Strappin, tall 
 
 Stoun, a sudden and tran- 
 sient pain 
 
 Stoury, dusty 
 
 Stowter, to walk climisily 
 
 Sticks, furniture 
 
 Struive, Strove 
 
 Sud, should 
 
 Summet, something 
 
 Suin, soon 
 
 Sumph, blockhead 
 
 Sworry, sorry 
 
 Swapp'd, exchaDged 
 
 Swope, a sup 
 
 Swat, sit down 
 
 Sweyne, swine 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 217 
 
 T 
 
 Ta'en, taken 
 
 Taistrel, scoundrel 
 
 Tane, the one 
 
 Tarn'd, ill-natured 
 
 Tearan, tearing ; a tearan 
 fellow is a rough, hot- 
 headed person, who 
 drives every thing be- 
 fore him, regardless of 
 danger and of conse- 
 quences 
 
 Te, thee ; to te-dui, to do 
 
 Teable, table 
 
 Teaylear, tailor 
 
 Telt, told 
 
 Teale, tale 
 
 Teakin, taking 
 
 Tease, to importune, to 
 pester 
 
 Teyney, small 
 
 Tek, take 
 
 Tem, them 
 
 Teyme, time 
 
 Teydey, neat 
 
 Teugh, tough 
 
 Teasty, tasteful 
 
 Teydins, tidings 
 
 Thar, or thur, these 
 
 Thoum, thumb 
 
 Throssle, a thrush 
 
 Thworn, thorn 
 
 Thurteen, thirteen 
 
 Thowt, thought 
 
 Thick, friendly 
 
 Theek'd, thatched 
 
 Thrang, throng 
 
 Threep, to argue; to aver 
 
 Threed, thread 
 
 Thropple, windpipe 
 
 Thie, thigh 
 
 Thimmel, thimble 
 
 Tig, to strike gently 
 Titty, sister 
 To't, to the 
 Ton's, thou art 
 Tou'll, thou wilt 
 Toddle, to walk unstably, 
 
 as children 
 Top, or topper, of a good 
 
 quality 
 To-mworn, to-morrow 
 Trippet, a small piece of 
 
 wood obtusely pointed, 
 
 with which rustics a- 
 
 muse themselves 
 Trim m el, tremble 
 Trouncin, beating 
 Trig, tight 
 
 Trinkums, useless jBnery 
 Tudder, the other 
 Tui, too 
 Tuik, took 
 
 Tuith-wark, tooth-ache 
 Tummel'd, tumbled 
 Tuppence, two-pence 
 Twea, or twee, two 
 Twonty, twenty 
 
 U 
 
 TJnket, strange, particular 
 
 news 
 Unco, very 
 TJphod, uphold 
 
 V 
 
 Varra, very 
 
 Varmen, or varment, ver- 
 
 mine 
 Vap'rin, vapouring - 
 
 W 
 
 Wad, would 
 
 Waddn't, contract, would 
 not 
 
218 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 "Wae, sorry 
 
 Wa, dang it! a mode of 
 
 swearing 
 Wafl9.er, waverer 
 Wale, choice 
 Wan, to win 
 
 Wanters, persons who 
 want wives or hus- 
 bands 
 War, worse ; were 
 Wark, work 
 War-day, every day in the 
 
 week, except Sunday 
 Warl, world 
 Watter, water 
 Waw, wall 
 Weage, wage 
 Wee, diminutive 
 Wey! expression of assent; 
 
 why 
 Weyfe, wife 
 Weyte, blame 
 Webster, or wobster, 
 
 weaver 
 Whack, thwack 
 Whaker, Quaker 
 Whart, quart 
 Wheyte, quite 
 Whye, a heifer 
 Whope, hope 
 Whornpeype, hornpipe 
 Whurry, wherry 
 Whisht ! hush 
 Whinge, to weep 
 Wheezlin, drawing the 
 
 breath with difficulty 
 Whinin, whining 
 Whitten, Whitehaven 
 Whore, where 
 Whif . a blast 
 Whietly, quietly 
 
 Whilk, which 
 
 Whussle, or wursle, to 
 wrestle 
 
 Whuzzin, whizzing 
 
 Whissenday, Whit- Sun- 
 day 
 
 Wheal, hole 
 
 Whey-feac'd, smock-faced 
 
 Wi', or wid, with 
 
 Wide-gobb'd, wide- 
 mouthed 
 
 Win, wind 
 
 Windy, noisy 
 
 Whinnings, money won 
 
 Worchet, orchard 
 
 Wordy, worthy 
 
 Worton, Or ton, name of 
 a village 
 
 Wots, oats 
 
 Wrang, wrong 
 
 Wull, will 
 
 WuUin, willing 
 
 WuUy, or WuUiam, Wil- 
 liam 
 
 Wunnet, contract, will 
 not 
 
 Wun, to dwell 
 
 Yad, a mare 
 Table, able 
 Yeage, age 
 Yallow, yellow 
 Yat, a gate 
 Yek, oak 
 Yell, ale 
 Yen, one 
 Yer, your 
 Ye's, ye shall 
 Youngermer, younger 
 person 
 
 END OF GLOSSARY. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 BALLAD PAGE 
 
 1 Betty Brown ] 
 
 2 BarbaryBell 5 
 
 3 Nichol the Newsmonger 7 
 
 4 Worton Wedding ... 10 
 6 Sally Gray 15 
 
 6 Will and Kate ... 17 
 
 7 Tlie Impatient Lassie 19 
 
 8 The Bundle of Oddities 20 
 
 9 Luckless Jonathan ... 23 
 
 10 Dick Waiters 25 
 
 11 The Lass abuin Thirty 27 
 
 12 Tom Linton 29 
 
 13 The Happy Family ... 31 
 
 14 The Author on himself 33 
 
 15 Peace 35 
 
 16 The Cumberland Farmei 37 
 
 17 The Disappointment 39 
 
 18 Auld Margaret ... 40 
 
 19 First Luive 41 
 
 20 Lai Stephen 43 
 
 21 The Bashfu' Wooer ... 45 
 
 22 The Aunty 47 
 
 23 The Rural Visit ... 48 
 
 24 Watty 50 
 
 25 Jenny's Complaint ... 53 
 
 26 Matthew Macree ... 65 
 
 27 Calep Crosby 57 
 
 BALLAD 
 
 PAGE 
 
 28 Feckless Wully 
 
 68 
 
 29 Bleckell Murry Neet 
 
 60 
 
 30 The delights of Love 
 
 63 
 
 31 Ruth 
 
 64 
 
 32 The Peck o' Punch... 
 
 66 
 
 33 The Thuirsby Witch 
 
 67 
 
 34 The Village Gang ... 
 
 69 
 
 35 Dicky Glendinnin ... 
 
 72 
 
 36 The Invasion 
 
 74 
 
 37 Grizzy 
 
 75 
 
 38 Gwordie Gill 
 
 77 
 
 39 Weyfe for Wully Miller 
 
 79 
 
 40 Twee Auld Men . . 
 
 80 
 
 41 Uncle Wully 
 
 85 
 
 42 Guid Strang Yell ... 
 
 86 
 
 43 Burgh Races 
 
 87 
 
 44 Biddy 
 
 90 
 
 45 Dinah Dufton 
 
 91 
 
 46 Ned Camaughan ... 
 
 93 
 
 47 Cocker o' Codbeck ... 
 
 94 
 
 48 Canny Cummerlan... 
 
 96 
 
 49 Jeff and Job 
 
 99 
 
 50 Tib and her Maister 
 
 100 
 
 51 Jvvohneyand Mary ... 
 
 102 
 
 52 The Clay-Dubin ... 
 
 104 
 
 53 Fellows round Torkin 
 
 107 
 
 54 Dalston Player-fwok 
 
 111 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
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