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 Hialect^t 
 
 DIALOGUES, POEMS, SONGS, 
 
 AND 
 
 BALLADS, 
 
 BY VARIOUS WRITERS, 
 
 IN THE 
 
 WESTMORELAND AND CUMBERLAND 
 DIALECTS, 
 
 NOW FIRST COLLECTED: 
 
 WITH A 
 
 COPIOUS GLOSSARY 
 
 OK WORDS PECULIAR TO THOSE COUNTIES. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN RUSSELL SMITH, 
 
 4, OLD COMPTON STREET, SOHO. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIX. 
 

 GREENWICH: 
 
 PRINTED BY HENRY S. RICHARDSON, 
 
 STOCKWEI^L STREET. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Perhaps no other two counties in England can 
 boast of having so many pieces, both in prose and 
 verse, illustrative of the manners and customs of the 
 inhabitants, and written in their own dialect, as the 
 counties of Westmoreland and Cumberland. Many 
 of those pieces are not only interesting to the gene- 
 ral reader, on account of the graphic sketches which 
 they contain of popular manners, or the simple ex- 
 pression of natural feelings and sentiments, but are 
 also valuable to the philologist, from the numerous 
 examples that they afford of words and modes of 
 expression, which are either obsolete in the general 
 language of England, or which appear to have been 
 peculiar to those two counties from time imme- 
 morial. 
 
 To present the public, in a collected form, with 
 some of the most interesting of those pieces, both 
 as regards provincial manners, and the use of pecu- 
 liar words and phrases, has been the object of the 
 publisher of the present volume. In the Glossary 
 will be found not only all the principal words that 
 are contained in the Glossaries appended to the se- 
 parate publications of Mrs. Wheeler, the Eev. Josiah 
 Eelph, and Robert Anderson, but also many additi- 
 
 A 2 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 onal words which have either been collected from 
 other works relating to the two counties, or been 
 supplied by the kindness of friends. The greatest 
 assistance, in this respect, has been derived from a 
 Manuscript Glossary, compiled by Mr. J. Sanderson, 
 of Kirkby Stephen, for the loan of which the pub- 
 lisher is indebted to Mr. Sanderson's son. For 
 several pieces of poetry by Robert Anderson, hitherto 
 unpublished, his acknowledgments are due to a 
 nephew of the Cumbrian Bard. 
 
 In the present collection, the Dialogues illustra- 
 tive of the Westmoreland Dialect, by Mrs. Ann 
 Wheeler, are the most difficult to be understood, 
 not only by general readers, but also by natives of 
 the county. This difficulty is not so much occa- 
 sioned by any great number of obsolete or peculiar 
 words which they contain, as by the affectedly un- 
 couth manner in which many of the words, in gene- 
 ral use throughout England, are spelled. In order 
 to write the word as pronounced, Mrs. Wheeler has 
 frequently obscured the sense, without succeeding in 
 her attempt to convey a correct idea of the sound. 
 From her apology for her orthography^ she seems 
 to have been conscious that it was liable to objec- 
 tion. In her attempts to i-ival "Tim Bobbin" in 
 uncouthness of spelling, she has frequently misrepre- 
 sented the pronunciation of her native county. 
 
 Having thought it necessary to say thus much on 
 Mrs. Wheeler's orthography, it is but just to bear 
 testimony to the general excellence of her sketches 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 of country life, though she seems, occasionally, too 
 fond of alluding to cases of female frailty and mas- 
 culine insinuation. Ladies, however, of higher 
 rank, have, in more recent times, shown their great 
 partiality to expatiate on what they are pleased to 
 term " unfettered, sentimental love," but to which 
 " liberal shepherds give a grosser name." In a 
 fashionable annual, published about four years ago, 
 the ground-work of nearly every one of the tales 
 contributed by ladies, was either a case of sentimen- 
 tal spouse-hreach, or of simple libertinism. 
 
 On the dialect of Cumberland, which is much 
 less uniform than that of Westmoreland, the writer, 
 from a consciousness of his own incompetence, for- 
 bears to make any remarks ; but contents himself 
 with giving the following extract from the Rev. 
 Jonathan Boucher's Introduction to his Glossary, 
 published in 1833. " Westmoreland is remarkably 
 uniform in its speech ; it would puzzle even an 
 attentive and observant stranger to point out much 
 difference between the dialects of Kendal and Ap- 
 pleby : everywhere they are distinguished for a 
 plain, perfectly intelligible simplicity. Not so in 
 Cumberland, of which dialect it may be supposed 
 that I am most competent to speak with some 
 confidence.* What Bishop Nicolson said of the 
 Borderers in general, that they spoke ' a leash of 
 languages,' is now true only as applied to this 
 county. The speech of the people in general, in 
 
 * Mr, Boucher was a native of Cumberland, 
 
 A 3 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 the western parts of the county, all along the sea- 
 coast from Allonby to Eavenglass, and especially 
 in and near the three or four considerable sea-ports 
 that have much intercourse with Ireland, is, as 
 might be expected, strongly tinctured with the Irish. 
 Towards the very extremity of the West, they have 
 a peculiarity in speaking, similar to one mentioned 
 by Gil* as prevailing in Lincolnshire. They are 
 in the habit of dissociating words of one syllable, 
 so as to make them dissyllables : thus, instead of 
 the sea, they say f see-a; instead of spoon, spoo-on; 
 beast, bee-ast ; &c. We have no snapping quick- 
 ness, nor any nasal cant or twang, as some of the 
 Scotch counties have ; though in the Borders, and 
 all along the verge of the old Marches or debate- 
 able lands, the speech of the people is completely 
 Scotch, in everything, excepting that there is but 
 little tone. This obtains, with but few exceptions, 
 though not without some varieties, from RockclifF 
 and Long-TowUj through Bewcastle, and the whole 
 barony of Gilsland up to Cumrew. And near 
 Brampton a Scottish twang is heard, which is less 
 grateful than such tones appear to be even where 
 they are indigenous, by a strange yelping kind of 
 articulation, which no words can describe. In and 
 near Carlisle, however, this Scoltishness, though 
 still prevalent, is much softened; and is so far from 
 being marked with anything of that cross, testy, 
 and snapping manner, which is the most imgracious 
 * See Camden's Britannia, old edition, p. 1010. 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 feature in the dialect of the Scotch Borderers,* that 
 there is often something peculiarly conciliatory and 
 soothing in it. Near Wigton, that perverse habit 
 of pronouncing the aspirate where it ought not to 
 be pronounced, and omitting it where it is proper, 
 which is no less common in Staffordshire, Warwick- 
 shire, and other of the midland counties, is almost 
 universal : thus, inTc-horn is pronounced hhik-orn ; 
 the little hammer, f lile ammer ; the harbour, f ar- 
 hour ; and an arbour, a harbour ; ham, hand, Sfc, 
 am, and, Sfc. In and near the Abbey Holme, the 
 common speech is, if possible, still more broad and 
 rude : thus, candles is pronounced caimels ; I'm 
 going, am's garoin ,• the church-yard stile, € kurlc- 
 garth steel, kc. In the high-lands, and near the 
 fells, the speech is more quick and sharp-; and the 
 conversation of the people seems to be carried on 
 with such an air of eagerness, and the long a pro- 
 nounced in a manner so particularly liquid and 
 thin, that were Caxton still living, he might still say 
 of their dialect, that it was " harryng, grysbyting, 
 sharpe, slytting, frotynge, and unshape." Their 
 
 * From what Mr. Boucher here says of the "cross, testy, 
 snapping manner" of the speech of the Scottish Borderers, the 
 writer is inclined to think that he was very imperfectly acquaint- 
 ed with their dialect. To the ear of the writer, who has been 
 for many years familiar with the dialects of Dumfries, Roxburgh, 
 and Berwickshire, as well as with the dialect of Cumberland, 
 the pronunciation of the former is much less cross, testy, and 
 snappish, than that of the latter. 
 
VUl PKEFACE. 
 
 habitual grammatical inaccuracies are particularly 
 indefensible ; such as Is, or Ise, for I am, and 
 sometimes for / shall ; and ho7v is ye ? and ho7v 
 mas ye? : but in and near Cockermouth, the speech, 
 like that of Penrith, though pure Cumberland, is 
 particularly plain and dignified; with this further 
 peculiarity, that the style of the people is remark- 
 ably unlatinized, as they seem studiously to avoid 
 those long sesquipedalian words which have been 
 formed from that language." 
 
 Among the jjoetical pieces contained in this vo- 
 lume, will be found all the pastorals written in the 
 Cumberland Dialect by the Rev. Josiah Relph, and 
 a considerable number of the best of Anderson's 
 ballads. Most of the other pieces in verse have 
 been selected, not so much on account of any 
 poetical excellence which they may possess, as on 
 account of their appearing to be best adapted to 
 illustrate the manners and dialect of the county. 
 From the general rule which the publisher laid 
 down for his guidance in this respect, the first of 
 the songs written by Miss Blamire, at page 306, is 
 an exception. It is given solely on account of its 
 poetical merits. In simplicity, feeling, and imagin- 
 ation, the second stanza has seldom been surpassed. 
 
 London, 1st May, 1839. 
 
TO JAMES WEARING, ESQ., 
 KNOWSLEY. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I have ventured to introduce the 
 followmg sheets into the world under your 
 patronage, sensible that your name will 
 give celebrity to the slender performance. 
 
 You will pardon the liberty I have 
 taken in addressing the Westmoreland 
 Dialect to your protection ; under your 
 auspices it may, in some degree, share the 
 laurels with Tim Bobbin. Novelty may 
 recommend it to the Ladies ; and if I am 
 happy enough to gain the opinion of my 
 
X DEDICATION. 
 
 own sex, the Gentlemen are seldom so un- 
 polite as to disapprove of what the Ladies 
 have received into their favour. 
 
 I wish that you may long enjoy health 
 and every blessing that can contribute to 
 your happiness ; and am. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 With the greatest esteem. 
 
 Your obedient and most humble Servant, 
 
 A. W. 
 
 Arnside Tower. 1790. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 OTRUCK with a dialect, which, to the 
 Authoress, from her long residence in 
 other parts of the kingdom, appeared quite 
 novel, she was determined to try what kind of 
 orthography could be formed from it, and ac- 
 cordingly wrote the Dialogue between Ann and 
 Mary, without any intention of its ever appearing 
 in print; this she read to some friends, who 
 persuaded her to add some more Dialogues and 
 publish them, presuming that they might afford 
 an agreeable amusement to those who take a 
 pleasure in observing the progress towards im- 
 provement which is daily making in the dialect 
 of every district, and the great difference which 
 exists between the dialect of the country and 
 town, though in the same county. 
 
 In the Dialogue between Sarah and Jennet, 
 she has, as far as she was able, stuck close to 
 nature, and attempted to delineate the heart of a 
 
XU TO THE READER. 
 
 rural coquette, whose ideas seem to be the same 
 as those of the modern town lady, only allowing 
 for the difference of education : to give pain 
 seems to be the summuni bonum of both. 
 
 In all the Dialogues she has endeavoured to 
 convey the ideas of the people in the stations of 
 life she has fixed upon : how far she has suc- 
 ceeded she does not presume to say, but if she 
 is happy enough to amuse her readers, she will 
 think herself sufficiently recompensed. Such as 
 find fault with the orthography used in the 
 Dialogues, are desired to remember that pro- 
 vincial orthography is one of the most difficult 
 tasks of literature ; for, in the application of 
 letters to sounds and pronunciation, scarcely two 
 people think alike. 
 
 As a female she hopes for lenity, and that her 
 faults will be overlooked; to the candid and 
 humane she appeals, and to them she wishes to 
 submit her errors, being convinced that their 
 judgments will be tempered with mercy. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 5liilestmoreIan& Bislttt 
 
 Page, 
 
 Dedication ix 
 
 To the Reader xi 
 
 Prefatory Discourse 13 
 
 Dialogue I. — Between Ann and Mary upon running away 
 
 from a bad husband 15 
 
 Dialogue II. — Between Betty, Aggy, and Jennet, upon the 
 
 loss of a husband 39 
 
 Dialogue III. — Between Sarah and Jennet; or the humours 
 
 of a Coquette in low life displayed 53 
 
 Dialogue IV. — Between Barbary and Mary, containing ob- 
 servations and remarks on a journey to London 69 
 
 Song by Mrs. Ann Wheeler 87 
 
 The Kirby Feight , 89 
 
 The Appleby School-boy's Speech 90 
 
 The Brigsteer Peat-leader's Speech ib. 
 
 ©umfierlatiii MiaUtt. 
 
 Rev, J. Rklph's Pastorals, &c. 
 
 Harvest; or, the Bashful 
 Shepherd 95 
 
 Hay-time; or, the Bashful 
 Lovers TOO 
 
 Nineteenth Idyllium of 
 Theocritus 104 
 
 Eighth Ode of the First 
 Book of Horace 105 
 
 St. Agnes' Fast; or the 
 Amourous Maiden. ... 106 
 
 Seventh Ode of the Second 
 Book of Horace 108 
 
 EwAN Clark's Pastorals, &c. 
 
 The Faithful Pair 119 
 
 Ballad sung at the Cumb. 
 Anniversary Meeting. . 122 
 
 Seymon and Jammy .... 110 
 Roger made happy .... 114 
 Costard's Complaint .... 117 
 
 Mr. Isaac Ritson. 
 Letter from a Young Shepherd to his Friend in Borrowdale 124 
 
Mrs. Ann Wheeler, the Authoress of the four following 
 Dialogues in the Westmoreland Dialect, was the, daughter of 
 Edward and Eleanor Coward, of Cartmel, where she was born 
 and educated. When a young woman she went to London and 
 remained there for eighteen years, part of which time she lived 
 as housekeeper in a gentleman's family. She left her situation 
 to marry a person of the name of Wheeler, the captain of a 
 vessel in the Guinea trade. On the death of her husband, she 
 returned to her native county to live with her brother, Mr. W. M. 
 Coward, at Arnside Tower, where she wrote the Westmoreland 
 Dialect i Strictures on the Inhabitants of a Market Town; 
 Female Restoration ; Acco and Ego, a dialogue ; besides seve- 
 ral other pieces never published, but which she left prepared for 
 the press, Mrs. Wheeler died at Arnside Tower, on the 2nd of 
 November, 1804, aged 69, and was buried within the chancel of 
 Beetham church. She left a guinea to the Vicar to preach her 
 funeral sermon from Psalm xciv, 19. By all who knew her 
 she was highly esteemed as an affectionate, charitable woman. 
 
A PREFATORY DISCOURSE. 
 
 T KNA mony of my readers will tliink^ nay en 
 say, I lied lile et dea tae rite sic niaapment 
 about nae body knas wlia ; 1 mud hev fund mitcli 
 better employment in a cnntry liause, tae mind 
 milkiness, sarra th coafs, leak heftert pigs en hens, 
 spin tow for bord claiths en sheets ; it wod hev 
 been mitch mair farently then ritin books, a wark 
 ets fit for nin but parson et dea ; but en ea miid 
 rite I sud )iev meaad receits for sweet pyes en 
 rice puddins, en takin mauls aut eth claiths, that 
 mud hev done gud, but as tae this, nea yan knas 
 what it means, it's a capper. 
 
 It wur net ith time of Oliver Crumel ne'r King 
 Stune, but sum udder king, two men com a girt 
 way off, ameast be Lunon, an they wanted toth 
 gang owar Sand, but when they com an leaked 
 what a fearful way it wur owar, en nae hedges 
 ner tornpike tae be seen, they wur flayed en steud 
 
14 PREFATORY DISCOURSE. 
 
 gloarin about net knain what toth dea, when 
 belive a man com ridin up tew em en eshed 
 whaar tliey vvur bawn ; they sed owar Sand, but 
 it vvur sic a parlish way they didn't like tae gang, 
 for feard ea been drownt; this mon sed cum 
 gang wie me, I'll tak ye'th seaf owar I'll uphod 
 ye'th ; wie that they set off, an thor men hed bean 
 at a college caod Cambridg, en they thout tae 
 hev sum gam wie their guide, soa as they raidd 
 alang, yan on em sed he wod give a supper an a 
 crawn haul of punch if they cud cap him ea ony 
 six words; they try J mony a time, but cud net 
 deat. At last they gat seaf owar Sand, en ridin 
 up Shilla, two wimen wur feighten, hed pood yan 
 an udder's caps oiF en neckcloths; they steud 
 and leakd et em a lile bit, when th guide cood 
 out "En udder blae el deat." Upon hearing 
 this, our travellers sed yee hev won the wager, 
 for that wur a language unknawn to onny uni- 
 versity. 
 
THE WESTMORELAND DIALECT 
 
 IN FOUR DIALOGUES. 
 
 DIALOGUE I. 
 
 Between Ann and Mary, upon running away from 
 a had husband. 
 
 Ann. OAE whaar er yee bawn, yee er sae dond 
 ^^ awt ith check happron ? What ails 
 tae ? What haesta been greeten ? 
 
 Mary. Aye, marry I've enufF tae greet about. 
 
 Ann. Whya what farts flawn rang naw I preia ? 
 What's Joan an thee fawn awt agayn ? 
 
 Mary. Aye, Ise gangin tae Lirple wie Peter, 
 I'll stay nin here, I'll nivver leev wie him maar, 
 Ise git a sarvis sum whaar I racken. 
 
 Ann. Nae daut but thau may, but thaul want to 
 be at heaam agayn. 
 
 Mary. Nay nivver while I leev, for I've born his 
 ill humour and sorliness ivver sen I wor wed, naw 
 gangin ea eight yeer, an hees ivvery day waars, an 
 I'll bide nea langer, sae gang I will, 
 
 B 2 
 
16 
 
 Ann. But what, hee's nea waars then he wur, is 
 he ? What thau naas him, preia rnaak yersel yeasy. 
 
 Mary. When we wor wed he tewk me heaam to 
 leev ith auld end with fadder fowk, it wur sic a 
 spot as yee nivver saw harn, it wur as black as the 
 Dule's nutin bag wie seat, an it reeks yee cannit see 
 yan anudder ; he began wie corsin an lickin me an 
 hees hodden on ivver sen. I doant Uke cockUn, an 
 gang toth skeer I'll net, an I can nivver spin tow 
 enuff to please him, hees sic a reeden paddock ; 
 last neet he lickd me with steal, threw a teanale wie 
 cockls at me, brack aw me cups an saucers, a tee- 
 pot I gav a grote for at Kendal Fair, threw tee 
 imme een, but I was gaily une wie him for I slat a 
 pot a weatin in his feace, meaad his een sae saar 
 that he cud net hoppen era ; he swaar he wad kill 
 me when he gat haad orama, soa he may, for Ise 
 nivver ane him mair while I leev. 
 
 Ann. Thau tanks terrably, whya thau wod be 
 teerd in a lile time was tae frae him, what cud tae 
 dea at Lirple, nae yan dar tak the in, a husband 
 has terrable pawer, nae justice can bang him, he 
 can dea what he will wie the, he may lick the, nay 
 hoaf kill the, or leaam the, or clam the, naae sell 
 the, an nae yan dar mell on him. 
 
 Mary. Oddwhite justice an king teea, for meaakin 
 sic laas, nae yan can bide wie him, an arrant filth ! 
 Hees oways drunk when heeas brass, an then he 
 grudges me saut to me podish, nae he taks brass I 
 git wie spinin tow, an barns an I may clam ith 
 
17 
 
 hause, he cares nowt abaut it; leak et me shoon, 
 me coaats, Ise soa mad at him I cud welly hong 
 me sel. 
 
 Ann. Nae, that wad be wars then runnin away 
 frae him ; he wad like to be rid baith oth wife an 
 barns I racken. 
 
 Mary. Aye, then he mud gang hefter oth filth 
 ith parish, for thear is not a dannet ith cuntry but 
 he knaas her ; dud not he spend hoaf-a-crawn on a 
 lairly ugly, and stayd oa neet wie her ? Lost poak, 
 hoaf a steaan a woo, a paund a shuger, hoaf a 
 quartern a tee, a conny lile chees. Dule rive him 
 for a drunken foal, its enuff to meaak onny woman 
 mad, but ea godlins I'll match him, as sure as 
 ivver he matchd awr cock at Beetham. 
 
 Ann. What is he a cocker teya ? 
 
 Maby. Aye, that he is, he meaad breead for 
 cocks when barns clamd, an lickd lile Tom for 
 brickin a bit oth cock breead, an becaase I tewk up 
 for me nane barn, he up wie his gripen neaf an felt 
 me owar. 
 
 Ann. Hees fearful nowt I racken, but sum haw I 
 wad nit hae the leaav him. Whya whaarst caw, 
 what yee hae milk an butter ? 
 
 Maky. Dule tak him he selt her. Yee mun kna 
 we tewk sum gerse for her, it wor tae be a ginny, 
 man com to lait th brass mony time, I towd him it 
 wur a sham he dud nit payt, he sweaar he wad sell 
 her, an like a rascot as he wur, he dreav her to 
 Kirby Fair an selt her, an stayd thear tul he hed 
 
 b3 
 
18 
 
 spent oth brass he gat for her. I thout I shud ea 
 gean craisy I wur sae wae about partin wie her, 
 thof she wor but a lile Scot she gav a conny swoap 
 oa milk, an I've churnd five paund a butter ea week 
 frae her, I cud sumtime selt a paund unknawn tae 
 him, an fadder fowk dud let us chop her intil ther 
 parrak ith winter, sae we dud varra connoly while 
 we hed her : he cud net clam us while we hed a caw, 
 but now oas gean, an leav him I wul. 
 
 Ann. But what'al becom ath barns? Ise wae 
 about them ? 
 
 Mary. Whya they mun gang toth cockl skeer 
 wie him, th lads is gayly weel up, an lass is wie 
 her grondy ; for tae leev ith auld end wie th auld 
 fowk I nivver will^ for they meaak bad waars an 
 hes ivver sen we wur wed, they er arrant filths ; 
 en he caant dea wieth barns he mun fest em awt. 
 
 Ann. Aye they er a terrable breed for sartan en 
 thau hed ill luck tae cum araang sic a bad geat. 
 
 Mary. Aye, en I hed net been wie barn I wad 
 nit hae hed Joan ; but what cudee dea, tother fello 
 et hed tae dea wie me ran away, soa I wur forst to 
 tak this lairly. 
 
 Ann. When lasses deas sic tricks as that they 
 mun tak it as it leets, what et dow can cum ea sic 
 deains ; but I mun say thau has carried the sel 
 mannerly eaufF sen thau wor wed. 
 
 Mary. Aye, I nivver rangd him, but he has hed 
 deains wie awth lairlys ith parish, an mony a lump 
 ea brass he hes teaan frae his poor barns an me, to 
 
19 
 
 carry to thor uglys. But I'll gang an see for cap- 
 tan an kna when he sails, for gang I will, I'll 
 nivver stay an clam hear. 
 
 Ann. I tell thee barn he dars net tak thee, nea 
 captan dar tak anudder man's wife ; whya Joan 
 wad sean clap Willan on his back wur he to tae 
 thee. 
 
 Mary. What the Dule munea dea? I'll gang 
 afoat then, for stay I caant ; I'll gang tath sarvis, 
 I'm set ont. 
 
 Ann. Eut wha'el tae gang tae barn "? Lirples a 
 girt spot, if tae kna nea yan, theyl nit tak thee in. 
 
 Mary. Mea cusen Bet's thear, an sent a letter for 
 me to cum, an she wad git me a reet gud pleaase ; 
 sae yee see I hev yan to gang tae, Ise net gangin a 
 sleevles arrant. Bet cud git lile wie bearin peats at 
 Faulsha ; she naw gits varra connoly, and sent a 
 letter for me to cum, an man et brout it sed she 
 wur dond varra weel, an waar white stockins an 
 claith shoon ; an why maint I preia ? 
 
 Ann. Dustay kna whaar she leevs ith Lirple ? 
 
 Mary. Aye, aye, she leevs at ea yale hause, beeth 
 dock. 
 
 Ann. Beeth dock ! Whya barn, thear ar twenty 
 docks an ea hundred yale hauses, thaul nivver 
 feend it by that, than mud as weel leak for to 
 feend a cockl or musel grooin a top a Farlton Knot. 
 I see thaust an arrant maislykin an net fit tae gang 
 frae heaam. 
 
 Mary'. Yeer mistacken, I ken her maister keeps 
 
20 
 
 sign oth Teap ; hees a lile stiff fello, with a varra 
 snod feace ; they coo him, they coo hiixi, what toth 
 sham meyas me forgit his neaam ? 
 
 Ann. What toth Dule sinifies thee knain it, Joan 
 al hefter thee an nivver let thee aleaan, an tak thee 
 brass frae thee, an lick thee beaans sair in toth 
 bargan. Stay et heaam gud lass an spin tow. 
 
 Mary. Dule may spin tow for me, I'll gang toth 
 sarvis, then Ise nivver fear but don mea sel like 
 udder fowk ; I can dea onny mak a wark in a 
 hause, nowt cums rang toma. 
 
 Ann. Whya barn, thau mun pleas the sel, but 
 Ise sure thau will nivver dea at Lirple ; tawn's wark 
 is net likt cuntry, their sae mitch waaitin on em, 
 an the ar aw sae praud, thaul nivver larn I daut. 
 
 Mary. Then I'll gang to Lunon, for I hev two 
 ane breeders thare, yan an ostler, tudder wed varra 
 grand, keeps a varra girt shop, sells oa maks a 
 gardin stuff, cabage, turmits, carrats, an leevs 
 terrable weel, for Joany Garth saa him an wife, 
 she bed mony gowd rings an sum dimont yans on 
 her hands ; naw if I cud git thither I sud be meaad 
 at yance. 
 
 Ann. Aye, but haw can tae git, wauk thau can- 
 net ? It's a terrable way ; an thau mun git toth kna 
 whaar thee breeders leevs, for was a straanger to 
 gang into Lunon, they wod sean be taken up with 
 baads, an they don em awt varra grand, ea fine 
 claiths, an let em awt sae mitch a week toth men, 
 but lile ath brass cums toth lass her sel. 
 
21 
 
 Mary. Whya marry I matter net wha I leev 
 with, for I racken they doont work hard, ner they 
 er nit plaiged wie spinin tow, an as to up wark, 
 whya I like it weel enuff. 
 
 Ann. Stay at heaam, than er tae girt a dunce tae 
 gang to Lunon, thaul nivver dea. But whaar leevs 
 te breeders, I preia ? 
 
 Mary. Whya Joany leevs at sine oth Soo's Heaad 
 an Boats, ith neak ath what toth Dule meyas me 
 fergit street, it's caw market, I kna it's Smith Gate, 
 Smith Street, nay it's Smithfeelt, I kna. 
 
 Ann. Then it's awt ea Lunon, I racken, if it's a 
 feelt. 
 
 I^Jary. Nae it's ith mid mang oth streets, awr 
 Joan says. It's naw cum into my heaad what I'll 
 dea, I've hoaf-a-ginny unnane to onny yan, that I'll 
 pay for gangin up with wagon, an I'll tell it oa 
 raund Ise gangin to Lirple, sae awr Joan al nivver 
 feend me awt, Ise quite thraw him, git but frae him 
 Ise dea; I dunnet feer an ea six or sewen yeer 
 time, I mappen cum dawn dond in mea silks an 
 satins, wha can tell. 
 
 Ann. Whya hang thee, thau er farrantly enuff to 
 leak at war thau but dond awt weel. 
 
 ]\Iary. I'll sean be that, let me yance git to 
 Lunon, I dunnet fear lectin on a pleace; beside my 
 breeders, I kna, wod help me, an I'll nivver send 
 a letter to awr Joan, as lang as I leev, if I thrive ea 
 Lunon, an I nivver hard ev onny that dudn't. 
 Whya thear wur me two cusens, Bet an Mai, went 
 
22 
 
 up, an naw they hev claiths wad stond an end, an 
 dond like queans, I've hard mony say, and mass I'll 
 be soa teya, er I'll try. 
 
 Ann. Aye, but nebbors say they er baith whoors 
 tae sum girt fowk, an that's bad deains, lass. 
 
 Mary. That's aw spite, nowt ith ward else, an if 
 they be that's nowt tae nea yau, it's mitch better 
 then spinin tow ; but awr nebbors is sic a spiteful 
 gang, if onny lass don her sel a bit better then they, 
 they aw coo her, an if they cud they wad poo her 
 ea bit«! ; yee nivver hard sic spiteful deains as when 
 awr Nan gat her new bonnet with a white linein an 
 a par a white stockins, they wur ready et stane her. 
 
 Ann, Marcy on us, times is fearfuly awtered sen 
 I wur a young woman ; we thout it varra mensful 
 to hev a par a worsed stockins with white or yallo 
 clocks in awr awn spinin an knitin, a par a lether 
 shoon we white roands, a gud calimanco or camlet 
 gawn, and a mannerly claith happron, an Hindee 
 silk hankercher for Sundays, a conny daisent mob, 
 an a blak shag hat et wad last us awr life time, 
 an we bout nowt but we thout wheder it wad dea 
 if we sud be poor men's wives, when awrs an I wor 
 wed we cud but meaak neen shilin between us, we 
 baith draad yaa way, an we bed sewen barns born 
 and kirsend, an we bun thre on em to traads, set 
 tother two foret ith ward, an berrid two, leevd 
 thirty yeer tegidder, and when he deed he left mea 
 a conny hause, a parrak, a gardin, an two conny 
 lile mosses, an I feend it varra comfortable teaa 
 
23 
 
 (Ira. But naw ivvery tow spinner is dond awt ith 
 claith shoon an white stockins, Weel may lads be 
 feaard to wed when lasses ligs awt their brass ea 
 gose caps, an girt corls, an sic like gear, fit for 
 nea body but Madam Wilson, an sic like girt gen- 
 telfowk. 
 
 iMary. Sic things dud varra weel when they wor 
 ith fashon, but naw yee see nea yan bawnt ith 
 worsed stockins et can git white yans, an they 
 dunnet leak weel when fowk is dond in their Sun- 
 day claaths, an young fowk wad be like their 
 nebbors. 
 
 Ann. Sflesh ! To hear a cockler's wife an a tow 
 spinner tank a fashons, it wad mae a body spew. 
 When I wor young we hed nea donsin-neets, it wor 
 nit ith fashon for ivvery young lass to be wed wie 
 her happron up, it wor nit ith fashon to keep 
 wedden an kirsenin at seaam time, that com up wie 
 donsin-neets, an girt caps, an corls. 
 
 Mary. You see ivvery pleaase groos maar grand, 
 ward's prauder then when yee war young : leak at th 
 men haw they er dond, they er as fine as lasses, 
 leak what fine ribans rawnd thar hats, ther vests 
 haw they er tornd dawn, an sic girt buckles ameast 
 oa owar their shoon, rufld shirts an fine neckclaths ; 
 I think they lig their brass awt as badly as lasses 
 ea my mind. 
 
 Ann. Nivver dud I leak to see sic girt deains, 
 an sic pride croppen intul Storth an Arnside, nowt 
 
24 
 
 can awt dea them Ise sure, they are dond awt raaar 
 then ony that cums to Beethom Kirk. 
 
 Mary. Whja. they git it an sure they hev a reet 
 to lig it awt oa their backs. I hev hard mony lads 
 say at connyst lasses et cums toth kirk, cums awt 
 of Arnside an Storth. 
 
 Awn. Wiltae gang heaam an settel the sel, to the 
 wark, an I care nowt what they dea wie ther brass. 
 
 Mary. Nay nivver while ea leev, I'll gang reet 
 to Lankester an frae thear to Lunon, and when 
 gitten a pleaas Ise send yee word haw I like. 
 
 Ann. Thaurt a reet hard-harted lairly, that can 
 torn the back oth barns ; what hae they dun at the, 
 poor things : for sham, gang heaam an meaak it up 
 wie Joan, an stay wie th lads. 
 
 Mary. What an be lickd an clamd ? 
 
 Ann. Thau caant be ill clamd an seaav hoaf-a- 
 ginny, clamin wad hev meaad thee brick it for 
 breaad ; cum gang heaam, kiss tae barns, an then 
 if thau will gang preithe dea, but a lile fire side at 
 yans ane heaam is better then a fearful girt yan at 
 yans maister's. 
 
 Mary. I kna net what to dea, Ise laath to leav 
 th barns, I think I mun stay. But wha can this 
 be ; he leaks an he wur lost. Whaar cum yee frae 
 a preia ? 
 
 Stranger. I cum frae aboon an Ise gangin toth 
 belaw, but I lost me sel on thor plaguy fels, an I 
 been maunderin twoa heaal neets an twoa days. 
 
25 
 
 an naw Ise gitten on to thor sands, Ise as ill off as 
 ivver. A preia haw munea git in toth Laa Fornass ? 
 
 Ann. What yee hae sum cusens thear, I racken. 
 
 Stranger. Nay net as I kna on ; Ise gangin to 
 lait wark. 
 
 Mary. Sflesh ! Yee hae sum lass wie barn, an 
 want to git awt oth way, yee leak sae wea. For sure 
 he blushes. 
 
 Ann. Tak my cauncil, gang the way back agayn 
 an wed her, it's better then runnin thy cuntry ; an 
 if shee's a farently lass yee mun beath dra yaa way, 
 an yeel dea, I warrant tae. 
 
 Stranger. Nae, yeer mistane, I nae lass wie barn ; 
 but Ise leavin me pleaas sumet abaut a lass bein 
 wie barn, that's sartan. 
 
 Akn. Cum the way wie me, leakstea, yon's my 
 hause, an if thaul gang wie me I'll gie the a fleak 
 an a potful a saur milk, an than maes tel us awe 
 abaut it. 
 
 Stranger. Ise ean gang wie yee, an yeel mappen 
 show me th way in to Fornass ? 
 
 Ann. Aye, aye, barn, wees tel the awt we kna 
 when tau lies filt the belly ; cum, gae the wae in wie 
 Mary, an Ise bring a lock a peats toth fire. Sflesh, 
 leak ! Soo hes gitten in toth garth, an shee's 
 hitten up awth turmits, rooted up awth parcel, an 
 troden dawn oa me poleanters ! Dule tak her for 
 an unlucky carron ; but I'll sean meaak an end a 
 the, for I'll sell the if onny yan will by the ea 
 
26 
 
 Kirsendom caunty. But cum naw let us kna what 
 braut yee hear, a preia. 
 
 Stranger. Yee mun kna I leevd up ith fels, a 
 girt way aboon Hougil ; maister hed a girt staat, 
 he kept it in his awn hands, we wur twoa men an 
 twoa lasses, yan wur hausekeeper, an like, we thout 
 they wor tath girt, but we wur laith to say't, for he 
 wur a terrable man, an if onny yan sead awt abaut 
 em he wad laa em to death ; oa th nebbors feard 
 him, neayan durst mell on him onny whaar raund. 
 Yaa neet he cood me intul th barn, Joan, sed he, I 
 want the tae gang an arrant for me ith mornin, yee 
 mun be ready to set awt sean, an give Bess a gud 
 feed a corn ; Ise gangin to put girt trist ea the ; 
 thau mun be ready be faur a clock. I sed aye, I 
 wad. I wur up as sean as I cud see leet, an maister 
 bad me yoak coverd cart. I cud net think what he 
 wur gaain toa send me for. When I hed dun it I 
 brout it toth dure, an he put in a box an a chair, 
 then tewk me intul th hause, gav me a dram, an a 
 crawn for spences ath road, bad me tack girt caare 
 ea what I wur bawn to carry. I sed I wod. He 
 went in an brout awt Betty, awr hausekeeper, helpd 
 her in toth cart, then coverd her sea cloase nea yan 
 cud see her, an bad me tak her to Temple Saurby, 
 an gave me a ritten paaper whaar to leaav her ; we 
 wur just gangin off when maister com tae me an 
 sed, I'll gie the hoaf-a-ginny for the daark, an thau 
 git her seaaf thear. I sed Ise dea me best. An 
 
27 
 
 we set off an went abaut three miles, an I thout I'st 
 meak a gud daark ont ; we wur gangin dawn a lile 
 hill when I saw I hed twoa hod stockins on ; I 
 thout I sud hae tumeld owar, for I knew varra 
 weel I sud hae ill luck, for I nivver but twice dond 
 twoa hod stockins on, an yaa time I wur plooin in 
 ith lang deal, an Jewel teak freet an ran oway, brak 
 oa th gear fearfuly, leaamd her showder, an like to 
 kilt me; neist time I wur gangin tea th mill, an 
 watter wur awt, an I hed four laaid a corn, I hed 
 like to been drownt, an I lost yaa laaid of corn, an 
 was varra glad to seaav me sel : sba yee may think 
 haw freetend I wur when I saw my stockins. 
 
 Mary. I've hard fowk say it's fearful unlucky. 
 
 Stranger. Terrable soa indeed. Ise sure I've 
 hard me mudder an mea grondy say they wad rader 
 see a spirit, er the Dule his sel, then hev twoa hod 
 stockins on ther legs, it boads sum girt truble. 
 
 Ann. An preia what happend ? 
 
 Stranger. When we had gean abaut five mile 
 we com tae an yale hause, whaar they wor tae be 
 cock feightin, for it wur Pankeak Tuesday ; thear 
 stewd at dure three young men, I kent em aw. 
 Whaar's tau gaain ? ses they. To Sebber, sed I. 
 What mes tae cum this way ? I've sumet to leaav, 
 sed I. What haesta ithe cart? sed they. Woo, 
 sed I. Woo, sed they ; an wie that they com abaut 
 it. I naw began to be freetend, yan on em tewk 
 hand oma, an sweaar I sud drink wie em, tudder 
 twoa gat haad oth horse ; they pood me toth yale 
 
 c 2 
 
28 
 
 hause dure, an cood for a quart of yale an a drana 
 in't, an we hed sean dun, I ofFerd to pay for it, but 
 they swaar I sud pay for neist ; just then awr Bet 
 sneesd an they hard her. Aye, what's that ? says 
 Joan Scapin, a rascot, et hes leevt ea varra gud 
 pleaces hut can bide ith nin hee's sea drucken. 
 What to Dule hes tea gitten amang woo ? it mun be 
 alive, but weel see hawivver. Wie that I tewk 
 haad oth meear an offerd ta drive on ; but they ran 
 toth a — e et cart an tornd up claith an saw Bet. 
 Lord how they laft an fleerd an bullied. Woo ! 
 sed yan ; Woo ! sed another, Pure soft woo ! Weel 
 teaas it abit ! an Scapin gat intul th cart. Bet wur 
 a brave staut lass, an clicked haad ea Scapin beeth 
 colar an flang him awt, an he leet on his back an 
 brak his heead on a stean, it bled fearfuly ; he gat 
 up an streak at me, I streak agayn, an they oa three 
 set omea ; Bet lowpt awt oth cart an tewk my part, 
 an we fout for sum time, but we fairly dreave em 
 towart th hause ; they coad her awth whoors they 
 cud think on, an me awth baads, it vext her sae ill 
 that she fetchd Scapin sic a drive I thout she hed 
 kilt him, he bled at noase an mauth, an wor a ter- 
 rable sect. Lanlord an wife com an tewk agayn us ; 
 lanleady sed I mud he shamd on mysel to hoffer to 
 gang away an nit to pay for th yale ; I sed I nivver 
 meant but to pay fort, but I wur sae vexd wie them 
 leakin intul th cart. Thau ert a dirty lairly, sed 
 she, to cary whoors up an dawn th cuntry, an be- 
 caus twoa or three young fellos hed a mind to leak 
 
29 
 
 intul the cart, thau mun knock their een up, an 
 than cheat poor fowk ea their due. Poor Bet hed 
 her cap an neckclath pood off, her noase brosen, an 
 leakt like a mad thing : I wur fearful feard they 
 mud hae hurt her or her barn. She hed brosen 
 twoa oa their noases, an peyld their feaces black an 
 blue, an pood off heal handfuls of haar. I gat her 
 intul th cart, an set off as fast as I cud drive ; 
 when we hed gean abaut a mile, I saw a lile well at 
 botom on a hill, I telt Bet I wad drive tea it, an she 
 mud wesh her sel. She sed, dud I think they wad 
 folow us ? I sed, nay I thout imme hart they hed 
 gitten enuf. When we com tae it she gat awt, 
 weshd her feace an neck, camd her hair, an tewk 
 a clean cap, an neckclath, an happron, awt on her 
 box, an lockt up her riven rags, an they wur aw 
 blead beside. My blaws hed meaad me heaad wark 
 fearfuly, an I cud hardly see awt omea een, an we 
 thout it began to be ameast nean ; we wur baith on 
 us varra seekly. I saw a yale hause an telt Bet ; 
 she bad me gang tult an see if we cud hev ony 
 dinner. Th woman sed she hed gud beef an bacon 
 colops an pankeaks. I went an telt Bet, she gat 
 awt an com in ; I eshd for a privat roum, but nea 
 yan et hed a fire in but th hause. I went to leak 
 hefter my mear, when a lile barn com to me an sed, 
 ye mun cum in, th woman's fawn owar. I ran in, 
 freetend awt omea wits, an fand Bet in a soon ; th 
 lanleady wur a varra graadly body, she laasd her 
 stays, slat watter in her feace, an brout her to her 
 
 c3 
 
30 
 
 sel, meaad her tak sum brandy, an she wur sean 
 better, an hit her dinner varra weel. We set off as 
 sean hes we hed awr dinner, an we hed twoa quarts 
 of yale at dinner, an I thout Bet drank varra mitch 
 for a young woman ; I payd awr racknin, an we set 
 off agayn, and dud varra weel abaut twoa mile, 
 when we met sum lads and lasses gangin to kest 
 their pankeaks ; they com abaut me like bees, an 
 oa at yance eshd what I hed gitten imme cart ; I 
 sed Wild beaasts, an if yee dunnet gang yaur ways 
 I'll hoppen th dure omea cart an let omea lyons an 
 dragons awt ; they steaad starein at me, an Bet, ith 
 inside, fetched a girt greaan, an gloard at em thro 
 a lile hoole ith claith ; it freetend em, they set a 
 runin as fast as their legs wad let em, wich varra 
 weel pleasd Bet an me; an we draave on till abaut 
 a mile off Temple Saurby. 
 
 Mary. Belike man yee hed nae mair mishaps ? 
 
 Stranger. They wur but beginin woman I 
 Whya, as I sed, we wur abaut a mile off Temple 
 Saurby, when a sargant an drummer an ya souger 
 owarteuk us. Haw far this way friend ? sed they. 
 To th neisht vilage, sed I. What hae yee gitten ea 
 yer cart ? sed they. Wild beaasts, sed I. Let us 
 leak at em, sed they, an weel gie the a hoopeny a 
 peice. Nay, sed I, they er tae hoangry to be leakd 
 at naw, yee may see em when they cum toth far 
 end. Wie that they went on, an I sed laa dawn to 
 Bet I wur fearful fain we hed gitten rid on em; 
 wie that she set up a girt shaut ea laffin, an they 
 
31 
 
 leukd back an stead still ; I sed they hev hard thee 
 for sartan, they er cumin back agayn ; I quite did- 
 derd for fear. The sargant com up an sed, Dud 
 my wild beaasts laf ? Dud I kna it wer condemna- 
 tion to owar sea for makin gam on his madgesty's 
 cumanders by land or seaas ? An he leakt sae 
 terrably I war ready to soond ; I thout they wad 
 tak me for a souger for sure. While he tanked to 
 me me tother twoa pood upth claith an leakt intulth 
 cart, an sweaar she wer a reet conny lass, an they 
 wad hev a kiss on her, an they baith lowpt intulth 
 cart, an I thout Bet leakt weel enufF pleaast ; an 
 they aw raaid ith cart tul we com toth spot whaar 
 I set Bet dawn, for I fand it awt varra sean ; I then 
 tewk my mear an went toth yale hause an gat her 
 sum gud hay an three pennerth a corn, an while 
 she hit it I went intulth hause : but it wur a weary 
 gangin in for me, an I'll nivver gang intul onny 
 hause whaar ther is sougers while my neaam is 
 Joan. 
 
 Ann. They er wickid fellos, for sure theyl dea 
 awt tae git poor lads listed. Yan oa my barns hed 
 like to been taen with em, he gat awt on a lile 
 windaw, an left a bran span new hat worth hoaf-a- 
 crawn, an ran o'th way frae Kendal to Sizer afore 
 he ivver leakt back : he hed welly brosen his sel 
 wie runnin fra thor varmant. 
 
 Stranger. Well, whileth awd mear wur hittin I 
 went intulth hause. Thear wur a varra gud fire ; I 
 cood for a pint a yale ; while I wur a drinkin it in 
 
32 
 
 com thor sougers an seet dawn beeth fire an esht 
 me if I wad sarve the king, they wad meaak me a 
 captan sean. I sed nay, I hed nae thouts ont yet. 
 They cood for punch, an listed yan befoar me feace. 
 I wad net drink wie em, ner hae nowt to dea wie 
 king's stuff. Lass oth hause com wie a lock ea 
 peats toth fire, an they gav her a jow, an she fell oa 
 my knee an dang me hat off; th sargant clapt his 
 omme heaad an sed, Naw yee hev worn his mad- 
 gesty's livery yee er listed; I pood it off an scund 
 it upth flear, an ran toth dure as fast as ea cud ; 
 but he wur sean hefter me, gat haad omme by me 
 shirt neck, an hod me sae fast I thout he wad 
 throple me. When ea cud speak, I esht him what 
 he wanted wie mea ; he sed I hed listed, an he wad 
 mak me gang alang wie him afoar a justass to swear. 
 I wur sadly freetend an whakerd ea ivvery lim, 
 nay I tremelt sae I cud nit stand. Sargant clapt 
 me oth back, an sed, Currage man, I'll meaak the 
 a genral. I sed, Pleaas yee sir Ise a sarvant, an if 
 1 dunet carryth mear back to-neet my maister will 
 hang me, for he will swear I hae stown her, an 
 hee's a fearful- awful man, as onny yan that knaas 
 him can tell yee. He laft, an sed, If he com he 
 wad list him teya ; then cursed an sweaar terrably ; 
 For as to thee, sed he, thau er fairly listed as onny 
 man can be ith varsal ward, he wad stand teat. I 
 wor ameast beside my sel, an it wor naw neen a 
 clock at neet ; I had roard an begd an prayd an 
 toth nae end ; I bethout mea I wad git sum yan to 
 
33 
 
 rite a letter to mea maister an send him word haw 
 I wor off, an for him to cum an fotch th mear. 1 
 esht lanlord if I cud git onny yan tae rite for me : 
 he sed, Aye to-morn but nin to-neet. We drank till 
 midneet, for they wad nit let me gang awt oth their 
 seet. We hed a gay gud bed, but I wur sae fearful 
 uneaasy imme mind I cud net sleep. Abaut four 
 a clock, th lass ath hause crap ontoth loft wie a 
 rush-leet ; thear wor twoa beds, th sargant an I 
 ligd ith yan, an th twoa sougers ith tudder ; she 
 leaked ith yan then ith tudder, then sed laa dawn 
 to me. Git up. I crap awt a bed varra soaftly an 
 dond me sel, steaal quietly awt oth loft an dawn 
 stairs intoth hause. Th lass sed. Here sup thor 
 podish, I hev yoakt theeth cart, an git off wie the 
 as fast as tae can ; thear is hoaf-a-crawn for the to 
 pay, but than hed better pay that then be a souger, 
 an if thau hesent sae mitch abaut thee I'll lig it 
 dawn for the, an we mappen meet at Kendal or 
 Sebber Fair, an thau may gie it me agayn ; for 
 Ise wae to see haw thau wur turmoild wie thor 
 varmant oth sougers ; they er th rottenst lairlys et 
 ivver com ea onny hause. I thankt her monny a 
 time, payd hoaf-a-crawn, en gav her sixpence for 
 to by her a riban ; an I set off as hard as I cud 
 drive heaam, an thout like me maister wud be gayle 
 weel content when he hard haw it wur wie mea ; 
 but when I gat heaam he wur gean awt, an awr 
 Mai telt me he had hard haw that Scapin stopt us 
 at sine oth Twoa Jolly Boutchers, an that like I 
 
34 
 
 meaad sines for em to leak intul me cart, an that I 
 tewk agayn Bet ; an he fell intul a girt pashon an 
 sweaar he wad transport me, for he was sure I 
 hed stown th mear, an run away with her ; an he 
 towd her when he wur gangin awt that he wur 
 gaain to git a commandement to tak me onny 
 whaar er ea onny spot whaar ivver he fand me ea 
 o'th caunty. She sed she thout like I'd best gang 
 away awt on his gaait, an she wad gie me a lile pye, 
 an sura chees an bread, an a quart botle ea drink. 
 I tewk what brass I hed, an she wad send me 
 claiths to me mudder's. I telt her haw it aw wor, 
 at she mud tel me maister. We tewk a sorroful 
 farweel, an I set oiF to cum owar th fels, an I wor 
 twoa heaal days an twoa heaal neets on em, tul I 
 wur ameast clamd an starvd to deaath, an ameast 
 freetend awt omme wits wie sic a terrable boggart 
 as I beleev nivver onny yan saa befoar ; nay th 
 varra thouts on't meyas me back-beaan wark. 
 
 Mary. Whya, marcy on us ! yee hed oa maks a 
 trubble. Whaar saa yee it? What wur it like? 
 What shap wur it in ? 
 
 Ann. Aye, preia tell us what yee saa. What, 
 wur it like a coaf ? I kna a man at wur sadly flayd 
 with a boggart like a coaf, an it mooad fearfuly, an 
 steaad haurs be him, chewing it cud. 
 
 Mary. It mappen wur a coaf. 
 
 Stranger. Whya, mappen it wur, but this at I 
 saa wur twenty times as big as a coaf. I hed geaan 
 twoa days an a neet owar thor fels, an cud feend 
 
35 
 
 nea way off em ea this side ; I wur sae teerd wie 
 maanderin up an dawn an teaavin ith dirt, I laaid 
 me dawn on a breaad scar an sean fel asleep, tul 
 sumet weaakend me varra caad omme feace. I leakt 
 up, an sumet stead gloarin at me as big as a girt 
 bull, an sic a par of saucer een as wad hae flayd the 
 Dule his sel hed he seen it, Ise sartan. I hofferd 
 to git up but I cudnt stand ; it nivver stird, but 
 stead gloarin imme feace, an then it seat up sic a 
 roar as wad hae flayd twenty men, an reerd it sel 
 eun up ; I cud see it wur oa owar black, an twoa 
 horns as girt as onny bull's ; I shut me een, an 
 hoppend em mony times to see if it wad gang away, 
 for I hev hard fowk say if yee shut yer een a spirit 
 will vanish, but it nivver stirt, but stead a lang 
 while, then laaid it dawn abaut ten yerds frae me : 
 I then thout for sure I sud dee wie th freet, an wisht 
 me sel back wie me maister. Haw many hawers it 
 ligd thear I kna net, but when it wur leet it hed 
 tornd it sel intul a girt black teap; I wur then 
 warse freetend beeth hoaf, for I wur sartan it cud 
 be nowt but the Dule et cud torn his sel intul onny 
 shap. I raasd me sel up, but I whakerd fearfuly, 
 my knees knockt yan agayn tudder, an I crap 
 quietly by it, an tewk dawn th fel as fast as ea cud ; 
 I hed gitten abaut five hundred yerds frae it, when 
 I thout I wad leak behint me an see if it stird, but, 
 marcy on us ! it wur within a yerd omme ; I then 
 cud bide nae langer, I tumelt owar an roard awt 
 fearfuly ; I thout then it wur Owd Nick cum for 
 
36 
 
 me, et maister hed geaan toth wise man to kna whaar 
 I wur, an that he sent th Dule hefter me to bring 
 me back. I thout I wad torn agayn, for it dud nit 
 matter gangin onny farther. I leakt up an saw a 
 hause abaut hoaf-a-mile frae me ; I creaap a girt 
 way omme hands, for I hed nit pawer to git up, an 
 was terrable feard to leak back : et last I dud, an it 
 wur clean gean ; I wur nivver sae glad ea oa me 
 born days. I sean gat up an ran toth hause, it wur 
 a yale hause, an a reet graadly body she wur at 
 leevt at it; I gat a pint a yale an sum chees an 
 bread ; I telt her haw I'd been flayd, an she sed 
 ther wor flayin oa thor fels ; she her sel hed yance 
 been sadly freetend, she saw a horse wieawt a heaad 
 on that varra spot whaar I wur sae flayd ; an she 
 sed she wad nit gang on it ath neet for aw Sebber, 
 for a man yance steaal a horse an morderd it ith 
 top a thor fels, an it spirit hes oways haanted that 
 spot ivver sen, sumtimes like a horse, sumtimes 
 like a teap, an oft like a man wieawt a heaad. Yee 
 may think haw flayd I wur when she telt me oa 
 this. She sed she thout I hed better stay oa neet 
 an set off this mornin : I dud sae, an hed a gud 
 neet sleep, or I sud hae been quite kilt, Ise sartan. 
 An naw if yee can shoo me th way intul Laa 
 Fornass, Ise be mitch behouden to yee. Ise nit be 
 lang awt oa wark, I racken ; an I think beeth 
 heaam ath ward it ligs sum whaar yonder ; if I can 
 but git owar this watter Ise sean feend it awt, an I 
 hoap Ise nit be lang ea gittin a spot. 
 
37 
 
 Ann. Lord, barn ! Yee need nit gang to Laa 
 Fornass for wark, hear's fowk enow hear et will 
 employ yee. 
 
 Stranger. If ea thout sae I'd stay. But whaar 
 mun I gang tea to git wark ? yee mun help me tea 
 it : I ken nae yan ea this spot. 
 
 Mary. Thau cudn't a leet on a better body then 
 Ann ; she kens awth girt farmers rawnd, an will 
 git tea intul sum spot. 
 
 Ann. Aye, than mun stay hear aw neet, an toth 
 morn Ise feend tea a maister, a Goddil. Thear's 
 a merry-neet at awr neist nebbors to-neet, an than 
 may gang the way and git a sweethart, it will cheer 
 the a bit. What says tea ? 
 
 Stranger. I hae nin omme donsin-shoon ; I 
 wod I bed, for Ise rackend a fearful top donser at 
 heaam, an Ise terrable keen on't, I nivver miss a 
 merry-neet for ten mile raund. Awe awr kin is 
 rackend girt featers ; I think imme mind I cud 
 bang awth ward in a hornpipe, an Ise a top hand at 
 a jig an a reel, nin ea awr parts can top me : nay, 
 I bangd th maister et com tae Hougil at his boll, 
 an thear wur a fearful grand man et com frae a 
 spot welly be Lunon, an he cood me tea him, an 
 sed, Me lad, than ert best donser I ivver saw ea oa 
 me time ; then sed he. Dud tae ivver donse on a 
 stage ■? I sed Nay. lie sed, If I wor thee I'd 
 gang toth hopera hause, I think he coad it, Thau 
 mud git a hundreth a yeer for donsin for th king. 
 
 Ann. Why dunnet yee ; whya yee er a boarn 
 
 D 
 
38 
 
 foal. Wad I cud donse an wor young, I'd gang 
 mesel. Whya lad than mud meaak the fortun, 
 
 Mary. An yet yee er agayn me gangin onny 
 whaar ith ward. 
 
 Ann. Whar teth Dule wod tae gang? Is tae nit 
 wed an gitten barns abaut tae. Hang the for a 
 lairly ! steay at heaam an be content ; mind tea 
 tow spinnin, an let me hear nae mair othee maggats 
 ea runin frae the ane heaam. Cum, lad, Ise tak 
 thee amang young fowk, yeel sean kna yan anudder. 
 
 Stranger. Aye, Ise sean ken em ; Ise nae way 
 swamas. 
 
 Ann. Farweel Mary. Ise coo an see thee neist 
 week. Ise cum yaur way, an I'll bring a bit a tee 
 imme pocket, an a white leaaf, an weel hev a swoap 
 a tee tegidder, an nivver heed Joan. 
 
 Mary. Ise be varra fain tae see yee, for I hae 
 nea yan to hoppen me sel teaa but yee. Farweel 
 Ann. 
 
 END OF DIALOGUE I. 
 
DIALOGUE 11. 
 
 Between Betty, Aggy^ and Jennet, upon the loss 
 of a husband. 
 
 Betty. "1T7"HYA haw er yee oa hear. I wod hae 
 cum et seea afore naw, but it hes 
 been sae caad, I was terrable feard a meaakin me 
 sel badly agayn : en I've bed a fearful time on't for 
 sure. 
 
 Aggy. Yee hev indeed, en yee leak fearful badly. 
 Cum en sit yee dawn ith neak, en keep yer sel 
 warm. 
 
 Jennet. Let me sweep upth fireside, this rotten 
 tow meaaks us aw dirt. Dunnet sit thear Betty, 
 for when th dure hoppens awth seat an th reek el 
 blaw ea yer feace. Kem awt yer haar mudder, an 
 put on yer cap ; what a seet yee er. 
 
 Aggy. Dear me, barn, I dunnet mitch heed me 
 sel ; I hae lost aw me comfort ea this ward. 
 
 Betty, Aye, here hes been a girt awteration sen 
 I wur here. 
 
 Aggy, Aye, waist omme ! I hev bed a saar loss ; 
 I hev parted wie a varra gud husband. dear ! 
 oh! oh! 
 
 d2 
 
40 
 
 Betty. What yee munnet greet, but mack yer 
 sel content ; it's God's will ! We mun oa gang yaa 
 time er udder, I racken. 
 
 Jennet. I oft tell me mudder shee's rang to 
 freat ; mony a yan's wars of then us : shee's a varra 
 gud hause, en two conny fields, a moss, an a varra 
 gud garth, four kaws, a coaf, a galoway, twenty 
 sheep, en a varra gud swine et dunnet want aboon 
 a week et been fat enuff ta kill ; we hae baith 
 meal en maut ith ark, en part of a flick a bacon, 
 beside a netful a fleaks, en plenty a potates : soa 
 then yee kna ther can be nae want. 
 
 Betty. Ise fain et hear it. En than mun stay et 
 heaam, en be a good lass, en cumfort the mudder, 
 en keep the sel unwed en tae can. 
 
 Jennet. Ise dea me best. 
 
 Betty. What il yee keep awth swine, er yeel sell 
 sum on't ? yee can nivver dea wie it oa. 
 
 Aggy. Nay, Ise sell o'th legs an a flick en 
 keepth rest. I've a deal to think on naw sen I lost 
 my poor man ; he oaways used tae butch it his sel, 
 but naw I mun pay for it been dun. Nae weast 
 me ! What a girt loss I hev on him, he was sean 
 gean ith end, thof he bed meand him this boaf 
 yeer, en bed a girt caadness in his heaad, en wod 
 oft tak awt his pocket-neckclath an lig it on his 
 heaad, en he thout it meaad it yeasy ; I sewd 
 him flanin in his neet-cap, but oa wod nit dea; 
 I wod fain hev bed him tae bed a docter, but 
 nin oa his side, neither men fowk nor wimmen, 
 
41 
 
 ivver hed yan, en he wod bring up nae new cus- 
 toms : en I racken they cud hev dun him nae gud. 
 
 Betty. Nae net they ; they er fit for nin but 
 girt fowk et hes brass enuff tae gie em. When my 
 lile barn was bornt, et it varra guts was seen, we 
 sent for yan ; en what, she deed : en monny a yan 
 sed, en I hed ligd on enuff a porposs oil she wod 
 hae ment. What ye er for mackin saals er net 
 yee, ea sum eth ky en sheep ? 
 
 Aggy. Aye, I hev maar en I can dea with, I'll 
 kep nowt but yaa kaw andth galoway, it will be far 
 less trubble, I cannit dea wieth land. A woman 
 is whaint ill of when shee's left alaan; but me 
 cusen Giles promises ta dea for mea. 
 
 Betty. Hee's rackend a varra graadly man. But 
 hes your maister meaad a will ? ther el net be sae 
 mitch trubble ; en fowk saes he hes left yee a fearful 
 rich weedo, en yer dowter a varra mensful porshon. 
 
 Aggy. Aye, we er left varra connoly, en she dea 
 but mind her sel, en net thra her sel oway a sum 
 lairly fello. 
 
 Jennet. I'll hae nin ; I'll thra me sel oway a nin, 
 noder bad ner gud. I'll lake a bit ith ward efore 
 E tee me sel to sorro. 
 
 Betty. Whya mind et ta dus. I hev a girt favor 
 tae esh on yee, will yee preia sell me a goes ? sum- 
 met hes worried yan ev ours, we fand it rivven ta 
 bits, an liggin ath middin. I saw yaurs as E com 
 in, an they leak varra fat ; en a fearful fine stegg 
 yee hev for sure. 
 
 d3 
 
42 
 
 Aggy. Yees, hev a goos en welcom; I selt em 
 et hoaf-a-crawn a piece at Lankester, en we hed a 
 varra girt flock. 
 
 Betty, I think yee oways hev. We hev hed 
 weary luck wie our daum things this yeer : we hed 
 two fine cocks gat tagidder en yan kilt tudder, I 
 cud hae selt yan on em ta fout at Beetham cock 
 feights for hoaf-a-crawn ; then goos was rivven to 
 bits ; fox gat four hens ; a dog et cum throuth 
 faud raav a duck heaad of, en tummelt owar a girt 
 pot wie best wort in I hed set awt to gang caad, 
 brack pot, spilt drink. It wur weary wark, I thout 
 ea sud hae gaan craisy, I wur sae rotten mad. 
 
 Aggy. Cum lass setth wheel by, an git ta the 
 sewin, en git me caps meaad, thau mun lig braid 
 hems ath borders. I was forced tae by new black 
 baith for her an me sel. 
 
 Betty. Whya nowt but weel, yee hev enufF ta by 
 wie. Thear wur a paur a fowk et berrin I hard, en 
 yee gat meat for em awe; ye mud hev a paur a 
 cooks. I was whaint soary et E cud net cum. 
 
 Aggy. I was fearful wae et yee wur badly ; I sud 
 hae been glad ta see yee amang fowk, we hed been 
 lang nebbors, en I kent yee ivver sen we war lile 
 lasses, en oways lickt yee. Thear wur plenty ea oa 
 macks ea meat, an varra weel gitten, varra good 
 pyes, an rare puddins full ea rasins en corrons : 
 better wur nivver meaad e aw Beetham Parish, Ise 
 sure. 
 
 Betty. I haard awe wur fearful gud, an a varra 
 
43 
 
 mannerly berrin it wur. Nay, I mun tell yee what 
 me cusen Tomy sed when he com heaam : he sed, 
 says he, Yon weedo is tae conny a body, he sed, tae 
 be lang a weedo, says he ; lads el be hefter her 
 sean : she leaks younger then her dowter. 
 
 Aggy. Oh Betty ! I nivver can think on a nud- 
 der husband, Ise sure barn ; Ise_ dee on a brocken 
 heart. Haw cud the cusen Thomas tauk abaut me ; 
 hee"s a weedo his sel, en mud kna what sorro yan 
 mud be in. Tae be sure if I thout a weddin agayn 
 I hed as leev tak him as onny yan I kna. Cum' 
 lass put tee kettle on. I think nowt ea sweetharts. 
 It's fearful queer the cusen sud tauk a me. 
 
 JfiNNET. Mun E meak a bit a breead mudder ? 
 
 Aggy. Aye, barn, an maak it gud, for Ise reet 
 fain to see Betty : shee's a girt stranger. 
 
 Betty. Whya for sure I wod net hae been sae 
 lang but thro bein badly, en I wur vext at our lass 
 weddin, en we hed twoa kaws pickt coaf, an ya 
 thing er udder, maad we warse en E sud hae been. 
 
 Jennet. E preia wur it true et Tom wod hardly 
 hev her ? 
 
 Aggy. Awt on him ! Wha was sae likely when 
 he hed gitten her a barn ? 
 
 Betty. Yee say truly Aggy. But I daut bee's 
 nowt et dow, for her fadder gav her forty paund, en 
 he wod hardly hev her then ; but he behaavs varra 
 weel sen, an I hope they'l dea. What he fishes an 
 she spins tow ; tae be sure she cannit git mitch wie 
 a lile barn. I gie her a swoap a milk en a heap ea 
 
44 
 
 potates naw en tan, en monny an hodd thing : yan 
 cannit help draain to ther ane barn. 
 
 Aggy. Nay, haw sud they. 
 
 Betty. Wha aw my barns is wed naw, baath 
 lad en lass. They wur clever sarvants; as toth lasses 
 Ise sure nin cud top em, eider for milkness, or in- 
 dure or out-dure wark. Baath Mary an Nelly hes 
 led shearin field when thear wur twenty men, an 
 shear till sweat brast throu their stays : they wod 
 hae been brosen afore they wod hae been bangd. 
 
 Aggy. Aye, they wur gud workers, they bed 
 fearful spirits, nowt feard em ; but I think sum 
 on em is mitch awterd sen they wur wed. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, for sure it wad flay yan frae wed- 
 din ta leak at them, ta see haw they er turmoild wie 
 barns an wark, en lile ta dea on. I'll nivver leaav 
 me mudder, I'll stay wie her; nae weddin for me, 
 I'll be nae man's drudge. 
 
 Aggy. Sic maapment thau tanks ; thau mun stay 
 tulth reet an cums, heel tak nae nay, barn. 
 
 Betty. But what el Dicky say ta that, for I hard 
 hee's fearful fond on the, en lowpt raund the like a 
 young teap, that neet ye wur at merry-neet ta- 
 gidder. 
 
 Jennet. He may sit ath mid din unstown for me ; 
 I'm for nae Dickys ner Richards neider. 
 
 Betty. What taws mappen for Joaney ; he hes a 
 a conny hause weel set to tak the teea, kaws en 
 sheep, boos sweept en band hung up. A thau ert a 
 reet fause en. 
 
45 
 
 Jennet. Nay, Ise for nin on em. I kna when 
 Ise weel ; I'll gang ta bed maister en git up deam. 
 
 Betty. Whya reet enufF, en ta can but hod a 
 that mind it mea dea, but thaul nit like et be cood 
 en aud maaid. Leak et me cusen Jennet, she may 
 norse barns in her doatage, en put her spetacles on 
 ta don em, 
 
 Aggy. Aye for sure she was groon aud ; what 
 then, yans like ta stay tul yans time cums. But 
 they say hee's a reet farrantly fello, soa yee see 
 thear's luck e leiser. 
 
 Betty. Aye, awr Tom wur at Lankester ya 
 Seterday, en he sed he wur thear wie butter an 
 eggs. Markets hes been terrable laa this lang time, 
 hardly worth gangin teea ; but it wur Size, en wur 
 a varra lieftel market, an et wur a w under. 
 
 Aggy. Aye barn, it's this Irish butter et cums 
 fraeth awt lands, it's a sham ta let it cum ta foeth 
 markets soa : butth girt fowk aboon dunnet mind 
 poor fowk belaw, er else yae kna they mud send it 
 ta French or Scotch. 
 
 Betty. Aye for sure. But I racken th king hes 
 been fearful badly, en soa things hes gang rang, en 
 he cud net order es he used ta dea, for yee kna tul 
 he wur badly things wur net a thissen. God send 
 him better, say I. 
 
 Aggy. Amen ! If he sud dee wha mun be king 
 then ? Is ter onny aboon Lord Darby ? Will he 
 be king ? I sud think that mud dea weel for 
 Beetham parish; weest happen git an organ then. 
 
 Jennet. Lord mudder ! he hes barns enow on 
 
46 
 
 his ane, hee's a matter on a dusen. Dunnet yee 
 kna I was readin em ith almanack ya Sunday when 
 it raind ? 
 
 Aggy. I thout them hed been sum udder king's 
 barns, they hed sic autlandish neaams, thau cud 
 nit coo them. 
 
 Betty. Lord, woman ! Girt fowk coos ther barns 
 sic heathenish neaams hes wod flay yan. Whya 
 me cusen Ann, et leevs e Lunon, welly beeth king's 
 hause, brout a barn dawn wie her, et she cood 
 Ariet : I was quite wae et she dud net coo it Mar- 
 gery, hefter her mudder, wha was a varra graidly 
 body. 
 
 Aggy. What wur it a lad or a lass ea preia? 
 
 Betty. Nay it wur a lass for sure. 
 
 Aggy, Lord bless us ! What a neaam, en she 
 leevd e this cuntry she wod hev Ariets enow. 
 
 Jennet. What,yaur nebborsgangin ta wed I hear? 
 
 Betty. Wae worth her ! et cannit mack her sel 
 contented wie her barns, but she mun hev a man ta 
 git her maar; an she may mentain them an him 
 teea, for hee'l work nin, I daut. 
 
 Aggy. Sure thear is nowt sae simple es weedos, 
 they nivver kna when they er weel ; if she wed him 
 shee'l dra her sel ta a paaur oa sorro, shee'l kna nae 
 end on't e this ward, I daut. 
 
 Betty. Marry, en awe be true et's tanked she 
 may be glad en hee'l hev her ; she hes put it awt 
 on her paur to say him nay. 
 
 Aggy. Lord, barn ! What is cum amang wim- 
 men an lasses e this parish ? I think the Dule hes 
 
47 
 
 thrawn his club owar em, they er oa gaan craisy, 
 they er shamful, nin on em weds hut they hev their 
 happron up ; modesty is cleen gean awt oth cun- 
 try : it wur nit sae when yee an I wor young. I 
 kna nit whaarth faut is, I wod it cud be fund awt. 
 
 Betty. Aye, soa deya I. But they mind nowt 
 but donnin ther sels, en gangin frae hause tae 
 hause, hearin news, an melhn ea ther nebbors, an 
 gittin sweetharts ; an when they gang toth kirk 
 they mind nin oth parson, they cannit keep their 
 een hoppen, they been up oa neet wie sum lad. 
 They tak mair pastime ea what they see ith kirk- 
 garth then what they hear ith kirk, 
 
 Aggy. I think yaa girt faut is, fowk dunnet keep 
 their barns enuff under when they er young, for I 
 kna mony et el corse their fadder an mudder, an 
 bid em dea it ther sel. Naw preia what et dow 
 can cum oa sic like mismanerd deains, it mun end 
 ea sorro, for I kna nit what side toth bleaam. 
 
 Betty. What er yee begun to greaav peats yet ? 
 
 Aggy. Nay, barn, oas soa wet et I think it's tae 
 sean; beside me cusen Tom's tae greaav em for 
 me, en he is ivvery day at cockle skeer; for yee 
 kna I hev nowt naw but a hirein, en ea want twoa 
 or three fleaks naw, I mun by em. Oh, waes me ! 
 I'm badly off indeed, I nivver knew what it wor tae 
 by a fleak sen I wor wed, naw gangin ea forty 
 yeer, 
 
 Betty. Whya, whya, yeel tak better teaat hefter 
 a bit ; summer is cumin on, yeel git awt a dures, 
 
en yee'l nit be sae dowly, yee'l see. I wod baith 
 yee an Jennet wod cum tae awr hause neist Monday, 
 awr Mary is gaain tae twilt a yallo linsey twilt, an 
 awth young fowk is cumin tae help, an varra conny 
 ittel be; it's her ane spinnin baith linnin anth 
 woon, an it left on her cortans, en she maaad em 
 up varra grand wie leace, an tae dra raund ; I wod 
 hae hed her tae set bed tath woe, but she wodn't, 
 she was tath praud, en likes toth be like quality 
 mak. 
 
 Aggt. Whya nowt but weel, she seems a varra 
 conny fusom wife, en I hear they hoffer et dea 
 varra weel, en baith draas yaa way, en gitten ther 
 lile farm varra connoly stockt : en her fadder, I 
 racken, hes been varra gud tae her. 
 
 Betty. He hes dun tull em oa alike. He gav 
 em, lad en lass, forty paund a piece toth set em 
 foret ith ward ; we thout it was better then keepin 
 it tull we deed, we sud see haw they hofferd, an it 
 wad be better then keepin em ea poverty an makin 
 em wish for awr death. 
 
 Aggy. Toth be sure. Young fowk is oft kept 
 dawn ith ward when they wed, an fadder fowk will 
 net help em ; an a deel a barns, what can they dea ? 
 Naw yaurs may git on while they er young, and 
 seaav sumet agayn they er aud. 
 
 Betty. Whya we hev dun awr part Ise sure ; 
 yee kna we mun tak care of aursels, we er grooin 
 aud, en cannit be thout tae work es we hev dun. 
 
 Jennet. Cum, will yee torn toth teaable, an git 
 
49 
 
 sum tee, an taick sum oa this breead while it's 
 warm. 
 
 Betty. I'm soary yee sud put yer sel soa mitch 
 awt oth way for me. This is varra gud breead, 
 Jennet, I think thau hes put butter in't. 
 
 Aggy. Ise reet fain yee think it gud ; thear's naa 
 yan Ise sae fain tath see es yee, I've oft taukt on 
 yee, an awr lass an I was for cumin et see yee neist 
 Sunday, for sure. 
 
 Betty. Cum what day yee will yees be welcom, 
 nae yan mair soa. What, thaus leakin i'the cup ! 
 what can thau see, thaul nivver wed, what's tae 
 leakin at ? 
 
 Jennet. What can yan see nowt but sweetharts, 
 think yee ? 
 
 Aggy. That's what meast et young fowk leaks 
 for naw-a-days. 
 
 Jennet. Whya, mudder, duddn't they when yee 
 wor young ? 
 
 Betty. Aye, aye, we hev awe been foalish in er 
 time. Dunnet torn me dish up, barn, Ise welly 
 brosen for sure. 
 
 Aggy. Nay, yees hev anudder dish for sure; 
 what sinifies six or sewen a thor lile dishes : cum 
 tak a bit mair breead. 
 
 Betty. For sure I've hitten an drunk tul ea 
 sweat, see haw it runs dawn me feace: Ise sham 
 me sel. 
 
 Jennet. A preia mak free, yee er welcom yee 
 
50 
 
 kna ; an wee'l cum an see yea a Sunday. I think 
 ittel dea better then Monday, mudder ? 
 
 Aggy. Whya I knaanet but it may. What yee 
 er nit gaain yet sure ? 
 
 Betty. Whya I mun be like beggars, hes sean 
 as I hev gitten what ea can, I mun gang, for awr 
 aud fello is soa leaam ivver senth galoway ran 
 oway wie him, an dang him off, an he leet on a 
 braid scar just beeth well ; it wor a marcy it dudn't 
 thraa him in, he mud hae been drawnt for sure. 
 
 Aggy. Haw leet it preia ? Dud it ivver run 
 oway afore ? 
 
 Betty. Nay, barn, but he was cumin heaam, 
 just ith mirk, ath neet, he hed been at smiddy 
 tae git it shod, en ea cumin dawnth loan, that 
 plaigy dannet, Bill Watson, clatterd his clogs, an 
 flayd galoway, et it set off a gallop an thraad him 
 off. 
 
 Jennet. Hang him for a lairly ugly. Dud he 
 help him up, er haw gat ea heaam ? 
 
 Betty. He help him up ! Nit he, hang him ! 
 Awr lass hed been atth shop for a quartern a hops, 
 en hard him mean his sel ; et first she was flayd, 
 en steaad still toth harken, but she sean fand it 
 wor her fadder, she gat him up, an draad him 
 heaam a sum fashon; I thout ea sud a soond et 
 sect on him, I wor sae flayd. He hed hort his 
 shouder varra ill en his back ; I rubd him wie 
 porposs oil, an he ligd ea bed ameast a week. 
 
51 
 
 Aggt. An varra weel it wor nae wars, he mud a 
 broak a lira er twoa. 
 
 Betty. Aye, that he mud, en he hes nivver 
 kessen it, ner nivver will ea this ward, I daut, for 
 hee's a girt age, welly four-score awe but for sewen. 
 What a girt net a fleaks yee hev ; we hev nit hed 
 yan ith awr hause this twoa months, awr aud man 
 cannit gang toth sand naw, hee's sae leaam ; en 
 they mak awt mony a meaal. 
 
 Aggy. They dea indeed. I'd leever be wieaut 
 hout then fleaks ; I oways thinkth chimly leaks 
 varra bare when thear's nae fleaks in't, beside I think 
 they leak varra conny when they er ith sticks, but 
 I hev been oways used to em sen I wor wed : but 
 that's oa owar naw, I nae yan to git onny for me. 
 
 Jennet, Here Betty, tak thor twoa or three 
 heaam wie yee, they'l be a neak of a novelty for 
 yee. 
 
 Betty. Whya, thank yee. But Ise flayd I rob 
 yee, ittel happen be a girt bit afore yee git onny 
 mair. What's tae gaain tae dea ? 
 
 Aggy. Yee mun sup a swoap a rum wie me, ittel 
 nit hort yee, barn. 
 
 Betty. Whya en ea mun ea mun. Here's to oa 
 awr varra gud healths. It's fearful Strang, I daut 
 ittel maak me drunk. 
 
 Aggy. Nit it. 
 
 Betty. Whya faar yee weel ; en Ise expect tae 
 see yee a Sunday. It's a fine ewnin, but it's a sort 
 a caad. 
 
 e2 
 
52 
 
 Aggy. Whya, faar weel, an I wish yee weel 
 heaam. 
 
 Betty. Whya, gud neet, en thank yee for me. 
 I'll send forth goes neist week wie awr lass, awr 
 and fello is soa leaam he can dea nowt but rive taas 
 for wisketts en teanales. 
 
 Aggy, Whya, varra weel, yees hev it onny time. 
 
 END OP DIALOGUE II. 
 
DULOGUE III. 
 
 Between Sarah and Jennet; or the humours of 
 a Coquet in low life displayed. 
 
 Sarah. T ORD, what a stranger ! Wha thout tae 
 -^ seen yee hear ! I langd tae see the ; 
 I've a paur tae tell the. 
 
 Jennet. I wad hae cum lang sen but for this 
 plagy shakin, it meyas me sae wake I can hardly 
 dra yaa foat afore tudder. 
 
 Sarah. Waist hart! It's a terrable bad thing 
 when it fairly gits haad oa yan. What yee hard I 
 wor at weddin, I racken. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, an kirsenin teea, an feight hefter 
 awe. 
 
 Sarah. Sic deains wor nivver seen ea awe 
 Beetham parish. Ise glad yee er cum this hefter- 
 nean, for awr aud fowks gane toth berrin of my 
 noant's son's wife's grondy ; sae we can hev a bit 
 a tauk tae awr sels. 
 
 Jennet. Ise reet fain Ise cum this hefter-nean, 
 awr fowks oa atth moss. Cum, I lang tae hear 
 abaut this weddin. 
 
 E 3 
 
54 
 
 Sarah, Lord, barn ! I knaanit weel whaar tae 
 begin ; thear wor neen on us set off frae this side, 
 an we wur awe dond in awr varra best claiths, yee 
 may be sure : I bed on me new stampt gawn et ea 
 bout a John Eisk, an gav him three shilin a yerd 
 for it, me white petycoat, an me girt plaited cap an 
 me corls, white stockins, an claith shoon, an thout 
 I leakt varra fine ; Bet bed on her stampt gawn, an 
 a fearful girt plaited cap an a neckcloth on her 
 heaad ; barn hed a varra conny cap on, godmudder 
 brout it frae Kendal, an varra bonny it leakt; it's 
 a conny lile lass for sure, an varra like Tom, an it 
 was dond awt es farrantly. I howd it while they 
 wor wed, an I thout parson leakt varra cross : he 
 sed when ea tewkth barn, This sud hae cum neen 
 months hence. We wor sadly freetend for fear he 
 sud scoud us, for yee kna bee's a reet gud man, en 
 he sed nae mair; an I thout imme mind I wod 
 nivver be wed while ea leevt before ea brout mesel 
 tae sic sham : Ise sure we wor fearful glad when 
 we hed gitten it owar. We went toth yale hause 
 en hed four girt hauls a punch, an wimmen hed 
 caaks, an terrable merry we wor ; an awe raaid 
 heaam fearful weel ; anth youngans raaid forth 
 riban, me cusen Betty bangd awth lads an gat it 
 for sure. We hed a varra gud dinner at her fad- 
 der's : hefter we hed dun, Tom leakt awt twoa hotels 
 a rum he hed fotcht frae Lankester, an meaad a 
 fearful girt haul a punch, an he leakt es if he wor 
 fearful weel pleast et he wor wed ; Sam an Dick, 
 
55 
 
 Bet's twoa cusens, sang monny a conny sang, an 
 fearful gud singers they er, I wod they wod cum 
 ofFen tae Silverdale chappel. Whenth punch wor 
 drank, Tom swear ivvery man an lass sud drink a 
 girt dram, an that lass et refused sud hev it put 
 dawn her throat wie a coaf horn ; wimmen meaad 
 a girt deal a.wark but it sinified nowt, for drink it 
 they mud en dud ; an I think wie yale an punch 
 at Beetham, their varra gud drink at diner, an 
 punch an drams, we wor sum on us far gaan, an 
 began tae be varra quarrelsum. Bet's nuncle Joan 
 hofferd tae lig five ginneas et his auld mear wod 
 draa Tom ath Hives twoa carts, horses, en awe, en 
 put sum brass imme fadder's hand ; Sam leet et 
 sayth mear wod draa baith horses, carts, en awe 
 toth Dule ; wie that Tom gat up an lent a girt 
 drive at Sam, drave him agaynth chimley back, an 
 if she hedn't new laaid on a lock a mul he wod hae 
 been saarly bornt ; he brast his noase, an what wie 
 blead an seat I nivver saw sic a seet. He dud nit 
 lig lang, up he gat an tewk haad ev Tom beeth 
 shirt-neck, rave it awe dawn, an throppled him, an 
 shackt him tul he meaad him spew oa amang us ; 
 Tom up wie his gripen kneaf en felt Sam owar, an 
 fel a-top on him an skreengd him terrably, an if 
 nae yan hed pood em frae tegidder, it's my thouts 
 they wod hae kilt yan anudder they wor sae mad. 
 
 Jennet, Ise fearful fain I wor nit thear, 1st a 
 been freetend toth death. I hard Sam wor varra 
 ill dun teya. 
 
 Sarah. It wor rang on him to mell on em, they 
 
56 
 
 wor sayin nowt tae him, but when drink's in wit's 
 awt ; Tom's a varra lungess fello, an he hed nae 
 reet tae strike a blaw at Sam ; but he wor gayle une 
 wie him, for he gav him twoa black een, an rave his 
 fine lin shirt wie a girt hausin rufFel tae bits, an 
 taar his new stampt vest down toth pocket, it wor 
 new on Easter Sunday, he wor at Borton in it for 
 first time. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, but Sam spoilt his coaat ith dirt 
 ath flear, he nivver can put it on agayn tul it's 
 scaurd at Kendal. 
 
 Saeah. What sinifies taukin, they wor baith 
 toth blaam ; we wimmen tewk Sam an wesht him 
 as weel es we cud, baith feace en coaat, an gav him 
 sum alleker en brown paaper tae lig on a girt caul 
 on his braw, an Ise sureth lad wor wae enuff; as 
 toth Tom he went away swearin he wod be up wie 
 him for rivein his claiths when they wor dawn ath 
 flear. Bet wor sae freetend she clam on taeth lang 
 teaable wie her barn, an awe us wimmen creap intoth 
 neak beeth hooun, an stead up tul we went toth 
 part Tom an Sam, an I hort my thaum terrably wie 
 pooin em frae tegidder, for they braaid skrat an fout 
 like mad fowk, nay for sure they beaat yan anudder ; 
 anth aud fello et caused oath wark creap intulth 
 neak, he wos sae flayd. 
 
 Jennet. Yee cannit think what a tauk it hes 
 meaad ith nebborhood ; an ivvery yan bleaams 
 Tom, for Sam's a varra soaber quiet lad, I oways 
 thout, an I hev knawn him monny a yeer, 
 
 Sarah. Aye, en may kna him langer : fowk says 
 
57 
 
 he huddles thee a bit, soa thaus like tae hod ea his 
 side. Is Bit that true, Jennet ? 
 
 Jennet. Neaa lass can he seen wie onny lad, but 
 nebbors gies it awt he huddles her. Sam al leak 
 hier then me ; yee kna heeas a staat, an nae daut 
 will be for a girt porshon : yee kna he huddles 
 Mally, she can bring him a parrak. 
 
 Sarah. I omast think hee'l hae Jennet, she can 
 bring mair then yan when her fadder dees. He 
 esht me atth weddin when ea saw yee. He seemd 
 fearful wae yee bed gitten bald ath shakin, an sed 
 yee wor a terrable conny lass. Aye, sed I, An 
 shee's gangin tae wed a reet conny lad. Whaas 
 that? he sed. I sed, A reet smart young sailor, 
 she gat in wie him when she wor at Lankester. He 
 leakt wae, an sed nowt for a gud bit, then esht 
 meth man's neaam. I sed, What er yee jellus 
 Sammy ? He sed. Nay, nit I. But I saw he wor 
 ameast ready to greet ; I'll be hangd en he dunnit 
 luv the, say what tae will agayn it. Jennet. 
 
 Jennet. Dud he gang wie yee toth merry-neet ? 
 
 Sarah. Nae for sartan, he war toth ill braaid tae 
 hev onny thouts atth merry-neet. 
 
 Jennet. I hard et Tom puncht him an lowpt on 
 his teaas ; bee's a lairly ugly as ivver wor unhangd. 
 
 Sarah. Aye, that he is, but bee's up ith ward en 
 cares for nae yan ; an if o'th ward wor ea my mind 
 Ise care as lile for him ; beside staat he meaaks a 
 paur wie his apples, plaums, an straeberrys, for 
 bee's for ivvery thing et stirs, he en his sister er a 
 
58 
 
 reet par ath greedy yans ; an they racken his earth 
 is as gud as onny ith parish, an hee's oways muckin 
 it, soa yee kna itst way toth gud crops. 
 
 Jennet. Neaa daut. Haw com yee on atth 
 merry-neet ? 
 
 Sarah. Whya, barn, th Dule hed thrawn his club 
 amang us that day for sartan ; I gat frae yaa spot 
 ea foin awt tae anudder. I racken we wor twenty 
 on us, lads an lasses, awe dond in awr varra best, 
 an blind Tom wor fiddler, an a gud fiddler he is ; 
 an we donst abaut twoa haurs, then they went 
 raund an gidderd a penny a-piece fraeth lasses an 
 toopence a-piece fraeth lads. That lairly ugly Joan, 
 et leevs wie farmer Furrows, wad nit part wie his 
 brass, tho he donst as mitch as onny yan, an tanked 
 varra shamful toth wimmen ; wie that young Harry 
 Scar tewk him beeth britches an tumled him awt 
 oth donsin-loft dawn stairs. He sed he hed lost 
 sum brass, but nae yan heed him. We then began 
 to donse agayn, an went on a gud bit, en monny a 
 conny jig an reel teya ; then they wor awe for 
 cuntry-donses, an we went dawn yan varra weel ; 
 neisht cupple et com toth top cood for Seasons, 
 when it wor playd lad cud nit lead it ofi", this 
 meaad a deal a scraffle; wie that Harry Scar sed, 
 Tak my partner, I'll gan^ dawnth donse an shoo 
 thee, then than may begin thee sel. He sed He 
 wodn't, he cud deat. They tryd monny a time, 
 but cud meya nowt on't. Coo up anudder tune, 
 sed Harry. I'll nit, sedth lad, An thau's a saucy 
 
oaf for mellm omme ; an sed he wad feight him if 
 he wad gang awt oth donsin-loft. Wie that o'th 
 lasses gat abaut Harry an wad nit let him feight, 
 an oa bleaamd tudder lad for meaakin a stir abaut 
 nowt; an for my part I wor sae teerd I esht my 
 cusen Ann tae let us gang heaam, for my heaad wor 
 ready to rive wie noise an din ; but tae nae pur- 
 pose, she wod nit gang wieawt Harry. 
 
 Jennet. Like enuff ; fowk sen they er gangin tae 
 be wed. I hard hee's tornd butcher, an started for 
 his sel last Tuesday at Borton, an they hev taen a 
 hause ; an yee kna that leaks likely. 
 
 Sarah. Aye, I racken it's true. Whya they'l 
 mak a conny farrently par, en they baith dra ya 
 way ittel dea varra weel ; shee's gayly nottable, an 
 I racken ea is part he leaks like a varra widdersful 
 graidly young man. Wiltae hev a swoap a tee, or 
 a swoap a bortery-bery wine ? yan than sal hev, soa 
 mak nae words lass. 
 
 Jennet. I hev nae occashon for nin ; sae preia 
 gie yer sel nae trubble abaut fotchin me awt. 
 
 Sarah. Yees hev yan for sure, sae chuse. 
 
 Jennet. Whya, barn, en ea mun I'll hev a swoap 
 a tee ; an yeel leak ith cup for me, an tell me when 
 ea mun be wed : I kna year a varra gud hand at 
 fortun-tellin, 
 
 Sarah. Odd-white tae ! thau knaas Ise nae fortun- 
 teller ; en ea cud telt fortunes I'd ea gean nin toth 
 donsin-neet, for sartan. 
 
 Jennet. What time gat tae heaam, a preia ? 
 
 Sarah. When ea cudn't git Ann tae cum heaam, 
 
60 
 
 I steaad up an hoflferd to cum me sel, when that 
 plaigy Dick Sanders pood me on his knee ; I gat 
 up an wad gang, wie that he raav me happron awt 
 oth bindin, pood creak awt oth keep omme petty- 
 coat, an tae meaak it up wie me, he cood for hoaf- 
 a-dusen caaks, an wad meya me tae em, an wod en 
 dud cum heaam wie me intulth bargin. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, I racken Dick dudn't like tae see 
 onny yan huddle thee but his sel. Is nit that it, 
 lass ? . 
 
 Sarah. What yee hev hard hee's yan ev my 
 sweetharts. Lord ! this ward is brimful a lees, for 
 sartan. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, thear's lees enow, but I racken 
 that's nin. 
 
 Sarah. Yee may be mistaan as weel as udder 
 fowk. Yee mun kna I went to Arnside Tawer, wie 
 awr breaady toth bull, an she wod nit stand, but 
 set off an ran up Tawer Hill an throoth Loan on tae 
 Middle Barra Plane, an I hefter her, tul I wor 
 welly brosen. Dick wor cumin up frae Silverdale, 
 an tornd her, helpt me wie her toth bull, an then 
 went heaam wie me. An while ea leev I'll nivver 
 tak a kaw mair ; Ise sure it's a varra shamful sarvis 
 to send onny young woman on, en what I think 
 imme hart it's dun ea nae spot but Beetham parrish. 
 En frae this nebbors ses we er sweetharts. 
 
 Jennet. Poor lass, haw they belie it ! a coriny 
 lile neat yan, it cannit bide to be taukt on ! Hah ! 
 hah! hah! 
 
 Sarah. Nay, laff en tae will. I care nowt haw 
 
61 
 
 monny sweetharts I hev ; I sat up three neets last 
 week wie three sendry yans, soa yee see I hev 
 plenty. 
 
 Jennet. Ise whaint soary tae hear thau er sic a 
 maislykin ; thau er hortin thee ane health, en hap- 
 pen for them thau caars nowt for. Preia leak awt 
 yan an stick ta him, an let awth rest gang by ; yee 
 can but maak yan a husband, an yee hae my wish 
 et yee may takth best. 
 
 Saeah. Thank yee, thank yee; but ye knaath 
 fairs cumin on, an I kna oa thor lads al treat me 
 at fair. Oa it's conny spoart tae sit up in a raum- 
 window drinkin wine en brandy-sack, hittin caake, 
 en leakin inteth geaat at monny a reet nice lass et 
 can git nae yan to tak her in, an to see em leak up 
 at yan ready to greet wie spite an envy ; oa haw I 
 lafFwhen I see em : an if it rain it's mair pastime 
 behoaf, to see em stand under shop windows an ea 
 dures dropping wet, while Ise donsin dry an warm. 
 An ifth lads git a swoap a drink, an foe to quar- 
 relin abaut yan, it's finer spoart behoaf tae see twoa 
 dunces reddy to knock yan anudder's brains awt for 
 a lass et cares nowt abaut them ; it's fearful merry. 
 
 Jennet. Thau an I er ea twoa ways a thinkin. I 
 dunnet think it's for onny woman's credit tae sit 
 up wie sae monny lads : oppertunity is a fearful 
 dangerous thing, en lies beenth dawnfoa ea monny 
 a conny lass. Tak thau care et sum a thor lads 
 dea thee nae rang : mind th aud sayin, " Shee's weel 
 
62 
 
 keept et God keeps ;" en dunnet think sae mitch oa 
 thee ane strength. 
 
 Sarah. Thau is grown sae grave yan wad think 
 than wor just gangin to luv an obay. Preia when 
 is yaur wed din feast tae be hodden ? 
 
 Jennet. Ise cum tae invite yee naw; it's tae be 
 neisht Seterday. 
 
 Sarah. Is tae leein, or is tae ea gud girnin 
 earnest ? 
 
 Jennet. Nay for sure ; fadder fowk hes meaad 
 it up ea baith sides, en I racken Sammy an I hes 
 nit mitch agayn it. 
 
 Sarah. Whya for sure yee er a sly par ; haw snug 
 yee hae kept it. Whya Ise cum tath be sure. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, preia dea ; yee mun be my brides- 
 maid, for thear is nae lass I like as weel as yee. 
 I thout nit tae been wed yet, but my fadder hed a 
 mind tae see me settled in his lifetime, an he hof- 
 ferd tae give us laa hause tae leev in, en twoa crofts 
 enth lile moss, a kaw, en a heffer, an awr grey 
 horse, hoaf ath Scot bee's feedin, an a flick a bacon, 
 woo tae meaak three par a blankets an twoa happins, 
 en me mudder al spin an gie me twoa dusen a tow 
 for sheets an bord claiths, an three-score paund a 
 hard brass. Sammy thout we hed better tak him 
 ith mind ; aud fowk mun be taen ith humour, 
 yee kna. 
 
 Sarah. Yer fadder is a varra graidly aud fello. 
 Ise sure mine wad nit part wie a groat while he 
 
63 
 
 leevs ; he oft says hee'l keep it as lang as he leevs, 
 an if barns will wed they mun work as he hes dun. 
 Yet a lile matter frae yans fadder dus weel tae 
 beginth ward wie, an if it wor a lile Scot an twoa 
 or three guds, it wod set yan forit ; for when yan 
 hes awe to by, an lile toth dea with, it's hard. I 
 nivver dare wed, what thear's meal poak, maut 
 poak, groat poak, flawer poak, an saut poak. I 
 nivver dare wed while ea leev, barn, for sartan. 
 Ise quite flayd. 
 
 Jennet. I warrant tae thau'l awter e that whenth 
 reet yan cums. Me fadder wor tae hed a hundred 
 paund wie me mudder, but me gronfadder ran back, 
 an he nivver gat nowt frae him ; when her mudder 
 deed she left her a shilin an a flaurd pocket, my 
 noant Margery gat awth rest, en yee see she hes 
 nae yan left for it. 
 
 Sarah. It wor a bornin sham, for sure. Thee 
 noant Margery's a nipper ; she wod flea two dules 
 for yaa skin, barn. But Ise reet fain yer fadder 
 will dea sae farently be yee; yeel dea I warrant 
 tae ; yeel be careful an dra baith yaa way, an bee's 
 a reet gud humourd lad, an than mun feend awt 
 his way, an yan stoup toth tudder ; en I racken 
 that's best way tae leev quietly yan wie tudder. 
 
 Jennet. I'll dea me best to meaak him content. 
 When he cums heaam hee'l hev oways twoa things 
 ready for him, cleanliness an gud humour ; an 
 what he brings I'll dea me best to gar it gang es 
 far es ea can, for I daut monny a lass leases her 
 
 f2 
 
64 
 
 husband's luv wie gangin a slattern hafter weddin. 
 I think I wod be mair conceted abaut me sel : what 
 sinifies gittin a hart if yan cannit keep it. 
 
 Sarah. That's reet, barn, tak maist pleaser at 
 heaam, nivver gang frae hause tae hause gossapin 
 an neglectin thee ane wark; it's a poar hause et 
 deaam cannit keep her sel deain in't. I racken 
 thaul be thrang sewin an meaakin towart haus- 
 keepin. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, wees nit gang toth aur sels this 
 quarter, Ise be varra thrang spinnin for sure. My 
 mudder hes geen me a par a varra fine blankets an 
 a flaurd border she workt at school for a petycoat, 
 I hev baund em weet, an varra grand they leak. 
 Soa yee see Ise ossin towart hausekeepin. 
 
 Sarah. Whya nowt but weel. Wees nit hev 
 the weddin an kirsenin at yaa time, that's a cumfort. 
 
 Jennet. Hed Sammy ivver offerd onny thing 
 that's mismannerd to me, awr courtship wod sean 
 hae been at an end. I dunnet mean to tank agayn 
 onny yan, but I think if o'th lasses wod keepth 
 men at a girter distance, an nit let em tak sic liberty 
 as they deya, thear wod be fewer lasses brout to 
 sham than ther is, ea my mind. 
 
 Sarah. Nay for sure, my noant Betty says et 
 while lasses al tank saucy tank toth men, an let 
 them tauk it ea ther hearin, lasses al dea wars; 
 for she says a lass et al prostitute her ears al nit 
 stick tae deyat seaam wie her body. 
 
 Jennet. Marry, I think shee's reet, for what man 
 
65 
 
 wad chuse a wife frae sic a gang ; an whativver 
 company he keep afore weddin, hee'd like an honest 
 wife. 
 
 Sabah, I think sae teya, Thau hes behaavd 
 thee sel varra connoly while a lass, an I dunnet 
 fear but thaul dea soa when a wife. 
 
 Jennet. I hoap sae; but tae gang an see me 
 cusen Aggy an her husband, it wod quite flay yan 
 frae ivver been wed. 
 
 Sarah. Dustay think they deaa foe awt, or is it 
 but nebbors' tauk ? 
 
 Jennet. Lord, barn ! I saw enufF me sel. Me 
 mudder lent her a whicknin, an we wor bawn at 
 brew, soa I went for it ; I hard a fearful noise afore 
 ea hoppend dure, I thout tae tornd agayn, hawivver 
 I thrast hoppen dure, an saa sic deains as wod a 
 welly meaad yan hong ther sel, chees-hoast liggin 
 ath flear, cream-pot broaken ea twoa, cream runnin 
 rawndth hause, an they twoa liggin amang it, 
 feightin, scrattin, an brayan yan anudder as hard 
 as they cud, an ther feaces nowt but blead an 
 batter. 
 
 Sarah. Marcy on us frae weddin say I! Haw 
 fell they awt, kna yee ? 
 
 Jennet. When she saw me they gat up, an Tom 
 sed, Yee see, cusen, what a lairly Ise teed teaa; 
 this is oa her ane deains, an abaut nowt teaa. I 
 com awt oth shuppen an esht her, bed she put up 
 me dinner an a hotel a drink, I wos gaain toth 
 
 p3 
 
66 
 
 moss ; she sed I mud tak sum saur-milk an breaad, 
 eu be hongd, it wor tae gud for me ; she hed just 
 takenth hoast awt oth whey, an she threw hoast, 
 bassan, en awe at me, mist me, but dang it reet 
 agaynth cream-pot an brack it to bits ; I gat haad 
 on her, I thout she wor mad, she punched, scrat, 
 an biaat, I then tumeld her dawn ath flear, an 
 sweaar I wod bend her, for Ise sure shee's mad, or 
 she wod nivver dea as she dus. Sic a seet yee 
 nivver saw, her cap pood off, her hair hingin abaut 
 her een, her bedgawn rivven, an nae neckcloth on ; 
 she coad him oath faul neaams she cud think on. 
 I gat a spoan an streave to seaav sum ath cream, 
 an he an I picked upth hoast an what cream we 
 cud, it hed run intul sum hoals ith flear, soa et 
 we seaavd a conny swoap ; as tae her part she 
 sat ith neak shakin her foat an singin. He leakt 
 abaut an tewk what he cud find for his dinner an 
 set off. I then esht her forth whicknin. She coad 
 Tom fearfully, an sed she hed a gud mind toth run 
 oway frae him. I sed, I think it wod deya better 
 en tae cud run frae thee ane ill humor, an larn tae 
 behave the sel dutifully to thee ane husband, en nit 
 meya the sel a cuntry's tank ; consider than is tae 
 leev thee heaal life wie this man, an tae gang on a 
 thisen is a fearful thing ; than wants nae sence, soa 
 preia, sed I, tak it intul consideration, an leev 
 quietly. She cryd, an seemd wae for what she hed 
 dun ; but haw she gangs on I knanit, for I hard 
 
67 
 
 nowt oa her sen. I'll esh her an her husband to 
 my weddin, for I was at thairs ; an a Goddil wees 
 nivver dea as they dea. 
 
 Sarah. For sure this weddin's like draain ith 
 lottery, thear is monny blanks for yan prize. I 
 think imme hart thear's few gud husbands. Dustay 
 think thear yan in a score ? 
 
 Jennet. Marry, I fear it's a lottery a baith sides, 
 thear's monny bad wives, en oft a gud Jack meaaks 
 a gud Jill ; but yans like toth dea yans best when 
 yans teed. 
 
 Sarah. Varra true, barn. 
 
 Jennet. I desire an yee see that plaigy Dick 
 Sanders, yeel esh him to my weddin. What if tae 
 doon't like him than can bide him ith seam raum, 
 I racken, 
 
 Sarah. I care nowt abaut him. 
 
 Jennet. Ise glad oa that ; for Sammy an hee's 
 terrable girt, an he towd Sammy he wor baun et 
 wed wie his cusen Ann, sae yeel be rid on him ; I 
 question but it's tae be neisht week. 
 
 Sarah. Istealeein? Is toth joakin? Preia tell 
 truth. 
 
 Jennet. What ails tea, than leaks as if thau wor 
 gaain to greet, thau er as white as me cap. Cum 
 preia keep up yer hart, nae yan will tak it luv frae 
 it. I dud it but to try yee. 
 
 Sarah. Ah ! Hang thee for a lairly, thau's 
 meaad me seek. 
 
 Jennet. Aye, I see haw yeer hodden ; girt words 
 
68 
 
 cums of wake stomacks. What, dustay forgie me 
 lass? 
 
 Sarah. Aye that ea dea; but I kna mair naw 
 then I dud befoar, for I nivver thout I caard mitch 
 for him, but I naw kna I cannit bide tae part wie 
 him. I'd be laith he knew it, it wod mak him 
 aboon wie his sel. 
 
 Jennet. Whya, as thau hes fund awt thau likes 
 yan better then awth rest, preia send tudder to leak 
 for sweetharts in anudder spot. 
 
 Sakah, I think I sal. What, er yee bawn ? 
 
 Jennet. Aye, I meaad a lang stay, awr fowk al 
 be at heaam afore me. Yee hev a paur a conny 
 sheep aforeth dure. I forgat to tell thee I saw ea 
 yaa field as ea com throu yaa ya be it sel, I thout 
 it wor mappen badly. 
 
 Sarah. Ise set tae a bit, then Ise see what ails it. 
 My fadder gav me four lams, an last yeer they hed 
 twoa a-piece, oa but yan ; soa thau sees I hae sumet 
 toart a fortun. Stay while ea putth key owarth 
 dure. Naw Ise reddy. 
 
 END OF dialogue III. 
 
DIALOGUE IV. 
 
 Between JBarhary and Mary, containing observa- 
 tions and remarhs on a journey to London. 
 
 Barbary. Sartanly ! er yee gitten heaam agayn ? 
 
 Mary. Aye, I com heaam yester neet, an I thout 
 I wud tae see yee first spot ea went tea. En haw er 
 yee awe heer? Haw's yaur gud man an my lile god- 
 dowter ? I brout her a Lunon laken, a conny bab. 
 
 Barbary. Ah Lord ! it's fearful pratty indeed ; 
 but yee wur tae bleaam tae put yersel tae onny 
 cost abaut her, shee'l be meaar praud on it. Her 
 fadder hes nivver^been weel senth cock-feights ; he 
 gat drunk an fell ith loan, an gat caad : he meaans 
 him fearfully on his back. 
 
 Mary. Waist hart ! that's bad ; it's brout on 
 ruematism, I racken. 
 
 Barbary. Aye, hee's sairly plaigd wee't. Yer 
 leak white. Haw likd yee Lunon ? 
 
 Mary. Nit et awe, I wad nit leev thear for auth 
 ward ; it's a miry dirty spot, an sic rumblin a 
 coaches an carts we can hardly hear yan anudder 
 tauk; full- a pride an that ets dannet. 
 
70 
 
 Barbary. Fowk tauks et yer unkle hes left yee 
 a thausand paund : a girt porshon indeed. Yee'l 
 hev sweetharts enaw, for naw-a-days lads is awe 
 for lasses wie brass. 
 
 Mary. Ise varra thankful for my shear ; I nivver 
 expected onny thing frae him ; he nivver tewk onny 
 kennin tae me in his lifetime ; an I leakd for nowt 
 at his death. He hes left me cusen monny a 
 thausand, but they er sae grand they'l kna haw tae 
 spend it. 
 
 Barbary. I daut paur Thomas el be thrawn awt 
 a favor ; thau'l leak beer. 
 
 Mary. Ise be in nae hast abaut it ; Ise think tae 
 weel a mesel tae hev out tae dea wie onny I kna. 
 I hev enuff, en ea meaak gud use on't. As tae 
 Thomas we bed a sort of a bree on't afore ea went ; 
 I think Ise hev nae mair tae dea wie him. 
 
 Barbary. Wheu ! wheu ! Sweetharts foes awt 
 en foes in oft ; yee'l kiss an be frens. What was 
 tae jellus on him, lass ? 
 
 Mary. Yee mun kna I bed geen him me cum- 
 pany a heal yeer, an I thout him a varra graidly 
 lad, en I cud hev trysted mesel wie him onny 
 whaars ; but yaa neet we wur sittin tegedder, en he 
 behaavd his sel varra unseemly tae me ; I gat frae 
 him hefter mitch scraffling, an lit up a cannel, an 
 set it ath teaable; he eshd what that wur for; I 
 towd him tae leak at him, I wod see if he cud for 
 sham dea ith leet what he bed offerd ith dark ; I 
 bid him git heaam, an nivver mair cum ea my 
 
71 
 
 cumpany; he leakd varra silly, an wod fain hev 
 meaad it up, but I wodn't. Week hefter I went 
 tae Lunon. 
 
 Barbary. Whya mind tesel, an than may git a 
 man wie a staat. 
 
 Mary. Whya I cud hae been wed ea Lunon, 
 tul a man et hed a girt shop, en dond as fine, en 
 leakd like a squire ; but I dud nit like tae leev in a 
 tawn. He wur me cusen's wife breeder, an she 
 meaad a girt tae due for me tae hev him ; but I 
 wadn't, I hed nae mind et awe. 
 
 Barbary. Haw likes tae Lunon ? Plenty wod 
 hae the when thau hes sae mitch money, either ith 
 tawn er cuntry. I sud hae been whaint sorry hed 
 tae wed that man an stayd thear. Wur tae nit 
 afeard a gangin awt ? 
 
 Mary. I nivver went awt be mesel, er Ise sure I 
 sud hae been lost, for yee nivver sae mair fowk at 
 Kendal Fair than is oways ith streets ; an when we 
 er gangin yee er sae knockd an jowd, an bemired 
 wie dirt, et yee mun hev clean stockins ivvery time 
 yee gang awt, or ye wod be a sham tae be seen. I 
 wur sae teerd wie waukin twoa miles ith streets, nay 
 warse then ivver I wur wie a day's shearin ; me 
 cusen wur sae fat she cud nit wauk, soa we maaistly 
 raaid. 
 
 Barbary. What did the cusen keep a horse an a 
 shanderee ? 
 
 Mary. Nay, nay, nit he, we oways raaid in a 
 coach. Whya, barn, yee may hire a coach ea onny 
 
72 
 
 street ; ivvery soul ea Lunoa rides ea coaches : 
 howd up' yer finger an they'l cum ! 
 
 BARBARy. Lord ! lord ! what a fine spot it mun 
 be. What maislikins yan is nit tae gang fra heaam 
 when yan is young. What fearful things thau hes 
 seen, en I nivver mun see : I mun stay atth awd 
 spot awe me life. 
 
 Mahy. Nae dout but gangin frae heaam is varra 
 pleasin, en meaaks a girt auteration in yans man- 
 ners ; a body knaas better haw tae carry thersel 
 when they er amang gentlefowk ; yan leaks nit 
 quite sae gawmin. 
 
 Barbary. En preia what dud yee see? Wor 
 yee at onny plays er merry-neets ? 
 
 Mary. Plays ! plays ! aye, aye, I wur at a play, 
 but I hard oa nae merry-neets. I wur at yaa play 
 they cood a tragedy ; me cusen an I went sean tae 
 git a gud spot ; th playhause wur bigger than 
 Beetham kirk; we steaad a lang time atth dure 
 befoar we cud git in, but when I dud git in I wur 
 quite gloperd tae see sic a grand pleaase, far bigger 
 than Beetham kirk, an set raund wie forms, an they 
 wur ready tae rive ; an monny on em hed brout 
 wine, an punch, an caaks, an oranges, an seemd 
 varra merry ; hefter a while, I think imme hart 
 thear wor forty fiddlers an trumpets an horns, oa 
 maks, streak up an playd a varra conny tune ; then 
 a lang green curtain wur drawn up, an a fine lang 
 picture at reachd fraeth top oth hause toth bottom, 
 then it oppend ith midst an play began. It wur 
 
73 
 
 summet abaut yaa king killin anudder, nay, he 
 kilt him befoar awr feaces, an a varra fine aud man 
 he wor, I cud nit help greetin he wur sae like me 
 gronfadder. 
 
 Barbary. En what then, I preia ? 
 
 Mary. Whya then thear com twoa lile lads, an 
 this lairly ugly bargand wie a plaigy dannet tae 
 morder em, an then he puzend his wife, an kilt 
 monny mair, then he went tae bed. Marcy on us ! 
 me varra flesh creeps omme bains while I tell yee, 
 haw thor fowk et he hed kilt, raaise awt oth yearth, 
 an steaad raund him, en thof he wor asleep he saa 
 em, en he wrought, en greaand, en bawnced as en 
 he hed been in a fit, at last he whackerd en wor 
 ill flayd ; wicked es he was, I cud nit help being 
 sorry for him ; a bad consence mun be a sair thing 
 tae bide. He sed he war warse freetend wie dreamin 
 then ivver he wur ea battle. 
 
 Barbary. Hang sic lairlys ! I hev nae pity for 
 em. What end dud he meaak ? 
 
 Mary. Sic rappis comonly git their due. He 
 wur kilt be yan at was meaad king in his raum. 
 But what vexd me warse then awth tudder, me 
 cusen wad meaak me believe it wor awe true. 
 Lunoners wod threap awt intul cuntry-fowk, an 
 think they will be soft enufF tae swallow awe their 
 lees, but she was mistane ea me. 
 
 Barbary. Aye, they think varra lile of us. 
 
 Mary. It wor hardly hoaf owar when this lairly 
 wur kilt. Thear wor a lang pictur hung frae top 
 
 G 
 
74 
 
 oth hause tath bottom, it seemd hoaf-a-haaiker lang, 
 it wur slit ith midst, they draad it a baith sides, an 
 then we saa a fine wood wie picturs like raeks an 
 scars as we see on Beetham fell, ant sun peepin awt 
 on a claud, it shind reet on a girt egg at laid ath 
 fleur, an yee mud see it stir, hefter a bit it fell ea 
 twoa an awfc jumpt a lile blackemoor; it thunnerd 
 terrably, en awt oth yearth rin a droace a witches, 
 an they leakd at this lile blackemoor, an they seemd 
 fearful fond on him, an dud their spels owar him ; 
 belive yee mud see him wax, nay I tell nae lees, 
 they gav him a wooden sword, I thout it wur liker a 
 girt thible, an he wur as big es a man in a minit ; 
 they charmd this sword soa that he cud dea what 
 he wod wie it ; he wor sae pleasd he lowpt an 
 beald abaut like a young bull ; witches steaad 
 gloarin at him, an then sank intoth yearth; he 
 dancd abaut, en wur dond like a mountebank's foal, 
 when a site a fowk com in wie fiddlers gangin tae a 
 weddin, en sumhow this black fello contrivd tae 
 steaal th wife et sud hae been, en gat oflP wie her 
 unknane. 
 
 Barbary. Ea my thout she mud be a leet en, et 
 cud sae sean awter her mind : she wur better lost 
 then fund. 
 
 Mary. Aye, but I racken th man thout udderwas, 
 for he sent hefter her, ent sarvant fand her awt, an 
 went en meaad sum meamuas tae his maister, for 
 they nivver yan on em spaek oath time, they wur 
 then hefter him ; but he sean cheated em, for whoap 
 
75 
 
 went thor picturs, en oa at yance thear wur woaars 
 biggin a girt grand hause ; Ise sure I was gloppend 
 haw it com thear, I wur sairly flayd ; black run up 
 streight toth top oth biggin, man hefter him, black 
 pood awt his thibel et witches gav him, hit it a 
 knock, daun com th hause man en awe. Aye, ye 
 gloar, but it's true for sartan. Sum time I thout 
 it mud be cunjerin an a wicked sin, but when I 
 leakd raund an saa th king an queen, an monny a 
 ther barns, an a deal a fine fowk beside, I thout it 
 mud be summet like a man I yance saa at Millthop, 
 et cunjered money awt of yans pocket, an cut ther 
 neckclaith an gloves ea monny bits, an when he 
 gav it yee wur nae warse ; an he wur a fine gentle- 
 man et wad nit hae dun it if it wor nit reet. 
 
 Barbary. Larnin is a fine thing tae be sure, en 
 scholars can dea what sic as me wad think cudn't 
 be done wieawt the Dule's help. But gang on, a 
 preia. 
 
 Mary. As sean as th hause wor dawn, black com 
 in, he streaak wie his sword, as he coad it, an thear 
 wor forty barns gitten ther lessons, en this black 
 lairly lurkd amang em, but he wur sean seen be yan 
 oth wediners, en ran tae tell ; black dond maister's 
 gawn on, then sum fellows wad tak him, but he 
 scaapd yance mair, for nae body kent him he wor 
 bawnd ith lang gawn ; then, ea less time then I cud 
 tell, anudder comical trick a thor picturs ; thear wor 
 a windmill gangin, black ran up a stee, man hefter 
 him, on toth top, black jumpd dawn eth far side, 
 
 g2 
 
76 
 
 paur man wur ath fleers, en raund it went, he cryd 
 awt terrably, an weel he mud, yee kna he cudn't 
 help bein sadly hort ; black com tae this side oth 
 mill, hit a bang wie his sword, dawn went paur 
 maislykin en oa ; next up started a smiddy, thear 
 wur a steddy en men maakin horse-shoon, I saa a 
 man blaw th belas, 
 
 Barbary. Whya for sure this leaks varra like 
 cunjerin, an yet awr king is quite tae gud a man 
 tae gang tae onny spot but what's reet, than may 
 be sure. Dustay nit think et thor seets thau saa 
 isn't let yan behind anudder, en when black felt 
 picturs owar, then yee saa em ? Whya it may be 
 soa, I knanit ; but what thinks tae ? 
 
 Mary. Marry ! I nivver thout ea that, for I was 
 ill flayd, en gat up en sed I wad gang heaam, I wad 
 stay nae longer, for I thout nin but the Dule cud 
 dea sic tricks. 
 
 Barbary. Marcy on us ! Marcy on us ! What 
 deains yee hev seen. Com yee heaam then ? 
 
 Mary, Nay, barn, I cud nit git awt, but I shut 
 me een, an nivver hoppend em mair tul awe was 
 owar. Me cusen wor bleady mad at me, cood me 
 cuntry foals, clauns, an I knanit what ; she taukd 
 sae fast en sae fine, I kent nit what she sed, sae it 
 wor quite lost ea me. 
 
 Barbary. What, went ye tae onny other spots, 
 or dud ye gang agayn toth playhause. 
 
 Mary. Nay, I'd bed enuff"; we went tae see th 
 giants. Lord hae marcy on me! they hed feacea 
 
77 
 
 as braaid as th dial at Dallam Tavver, en I think 
 they wod nit stand strick up ith heeghst hause ith 
 parish. 
 
 Barbary. Lord ! Lord ! what yee hev seen ! Wor 
 thor giants alive ? 
 
 Mary. Nay, nay, lemme see, — they er nit whick 
 I racken ; they er what they coo otamys. 
 
 Barbary. Like enuff. What saw yee else ; onny 
 new farly ? 
 
 Mary. I quite forgitten tae tell yee what a nice 
 donee I saw et play-hause. Thor picturs draaid 
 aside, en then we saw a fine lang wood, en et far 
 end a man an a woman wur cumin owar a steel, 
 they com down oth way donsin, an a varra conny 
 tune they hed ; thay wor sae lish they seemd 
 hardly tae touch groond, I cud hae leakd at em 
 awe day ; when they wor teerd awt com six men 
 an as monny wimen awt oth side ath raum, an sic 
 fine donsin I nivver saa ner mun see agayn ; they 
 wur awe bawnd alike, an I nivver saa onny like em 
 ea awe me born days. 
 
 Barbary. I sud hae likd tae been wie yee; I 
 wur oways fearful fond ea donsin, Saa yee awt else 
 et wur conny while yee stayd ? Weel may gentl- 
 fowk be fond ea gangin tae Lunon, when thear sae 
 monny spoarts for em tae gang tae. But preia tell 
 on, for I cud hear the for ewer. I hoap than hasn't 
 dun? 
 
 Mary. Dun ! I think it wod tak a month tae tell 
 thee what I've seen ; but ea my mind I saw a deal ea 
 
 g3 
 
78 
 
 witchcraft an cunjeration. I wur yaa time gangin 
 wie me cusen's wife dawn a lang street, an she sed, 
 Leak up at that clock. We stud a bit, an I saa 
 twoa men cum awt oa eider side eth clock, an when 
 it streak they hit it hang wie a club. She sed they 
 wur meaad a wood. But can wood dea this ? Sham 
 ith ward ! sic deains near a kirk, it mun be rang Ise 
 sartan. 
 
 Barbary. This Lunon mun be a fearful wicked 
 spot. Dustay think thear is nae godly fowk in't ? 
 
 Mary. I knanit, for me cusen fowk nivver went 
 toth kirk while I staid. I wur whaint sorry tae 
 hear her tell her dowters tae hod thersels ea this lids 
 an that lids, but nae prayer or catechism I hard ; 
 they wor corlin an donnin anth forenean, anth 
 hefter we raaid in a coach intul sum cuntry spot tae 
 tee an then we hed a bottl a wine an caak: rare 
 leevin, we wanted for nowt, neider tae hit ner 
 drink ; but for awe that I wished mysel at heaam 
 agayn Ise sure. 
 
 Barbary. What, te cusen sure wad be kind tae 
 the? 
 
 Mary. Aye, he was varra weel, but she was 
 oways at me abaut me donnin, an wanted me tae by 
 this kirly merly er tudder. I was forcd tae by 
 monny things et I thout I'd lile occashon for, er 
 they wad nit gang awt wie me. I used to esh what 
 I mud dea wie em when ea gat heaam ; I towd her 
 I wur brout up ith cuntry, whaar a mannerly bed- 
 gawn an linsey petycoat whaar owr ivvery day 
 
79 
 
 donnin, en ea conny stamp gawn for Sunday, an I 
 thout I leakd es weel es my nebbors, an es for 
 settin mesel up for a gentlwoman I nivver sud, for 
 I bed nit manners for't, I sud meak mashment on't, 
 sae I hed better be as ea was. 
 
 Barbary. Yee sed truly indeed, for tae be dond 
 fine an knanit haw to carry yansel, we sud be nowt 
 but spoart for ivvery foal. I oft leak at awr 
 squire's wife en think haw nice she leaks, en sum 
 haw carrys hersel es I cudn't en ea hed oth ward ; 
 they larn toth donee en sing, en tak conny steps, 
 an howd thersels up, an dea es yee en I cudn't dea ; 
 beside they er oways wie sic as thersels, an beers 
 nae ruff tauk. 
 
 Mary. Varra true ; but when I towd her haw I 
 hed leevd, she wod fling up her heaad an leak as 
 scornful, an coo me a wulgar cratur ; anth dowter, 
 et was nit owar foreteen, wod thra up her heaad like 
 an unbroken cout at me wulgality. 
 
 Barbary. Marcy on us ! what wur that ? 
 
 Mary. Nay I knanit what she meaant, sae I wur 
 yeasy abaut it. Me cusen's wife is dond up in a 
 forenean wie a yallow silk neckclaith raund her 
 heaad, her gawn drawn up tae her gisard, en a girt 
 ruff raund her neck, sae leetly clad yee may see 
 her shap ; for sartan I shamd wie em I promise yee, 
 when I wur dond awt imme ruff en es they wod hae 
 me, I wur sae shamd I thout ivvery yan leakt at me, 
 
 Barbary. Lord hev marcy on us ! what fashons 
 thear is ith ward. 
 
80 
 
 Mary. Sic deains imme cusen's hause yee nivver 
 wad belive. Me unkle gat him a gud spot, an left 
 him monny thausans er he cud nit dea as he dus ; 
 dowters larns tae play on a thing cood a pena, hes 
 a maister cummin twice a week tae teach em ; they 
 sang teat, but I think I cud hev bangd eider on em 
 at singin wieawt a maister. 
 
 Barbaby. Why an they gang on a thisan they'l 
 spend what they hev. Thau ses she wur dond awt 
 ith moarnin, what dud she don twice ea yaa day? 
 
 Mary. Aye, ith hefternean she wor ea muslin 
 as thin es a cap boarder, an sae lang they lapd 
 raund chaars an teaables enuff tae ding em owar. 
 Lang coaats is fit for nae raums but sic es Dallam 
 Tawer, whaar ther gawns can traail alang wieawt 
 gittin haad ath guds, er draain th fender hefter em. 
 
 Barbary. It wur a lile hause I racken ? 
 
 Mary. Th parlour wur lile enufF, but what they 
 cood th draain-raum wur a varra fine yan, an a gay 
 girt en ; I staard first time I wur in't tae see sic 
 grand deains ; she knackd en sed she wur tae hev a 
 party that ewnin. 
 
 Barbary. A party ! what's that preia ? 
 
 Mary. What, barn ! I knew nae mair then thee 
 what she meant, but I fand it wur a paur a fowk 
 com tae lake et cards, an bed tee at eight o'clock, 
 she eshd me if I cud lake ; I sed. Aye, et three 
 handed lant, an pops, an pars. She fetchd up a 
 girt gird a laffin, an sed Nane thear knew sic cuntry 
 gams. 
 
81 
 
 Barbary. Thau mud ea sed her maister kent it, 
 en awe his seed, breed, an generation ; for sure 
 they er aboon ivvery thing, pride mun hev a foa. 
 
 Mary. Ea lile bit afoar I com away, th audest 
 dowter com intae my loft, an sed, cusen see what 
 my papa hes meaad me a present on, a beautyful 
 wig. Ea wig, sed I, I wur guite gloppend. Leak, 
 sed she, Don't I leak mighty well in't. I knew nit 
 what to say, I sed, I think you want nae wig, ye 
 hev haar enuff. She fleard imme feace an sed, It's 
 quite th fashon, but cuntry peple er sae claunish 
 won can't mak them dacent. But she spak sae fine, 
 I can't tank like her, en yee'l me belive, soa she 
 siseld awt eth loft saain. Why mudder hes a wig. 
 
 Barbary. Is tae leein ? or is tae speakin truth ? 
 Sflesh ! thau's maakin gam Ise sure. Is ther onny 
 gardins eth Lunon, er is it awe hauses ? 
 
 Mary. Aye, sic a yan as yee nivver saa, barn, 
 for oa maks a gardin stuff, en potates wieawt end, 
 et ivver ye can neaam, en far cheaper then it's at 
 Kendal ; raas oa carts, an it's a reet nice spot. 
 Barbary. What is ther but yaa gardin ? 
 Mary. Aye, monny scores I dar be bawnd, but 
 they oa cum here toth be selt ; they coo this spot 
 Common Gardin, an ivvery yan gangs thear tae by ; 
 thear is oa maks ea things tae sel. Ea Lunon if 
 yee hev monay, ye may hev awt tae hit onny time 
 ith day, reddy roasted er boild. It's a wondros 
 spot, en yet I was glad tae leaave it. 
 
 Barbary. Aye, than thout a paur Thomas ; 
 
82 
 
 thau gat nae huddlin ea Lunon, I racken. Spaek 
 truth, dud tae nivver wish the sel wie him ; hee's 
 a bonny young man Ise sure, en they say et Bet, 
 his cusen, is varra fond on him. But cum, what 
 else dud tae see ? 
 
 Mary. Yaa day me cusen sed Sadlers Wells 
 wor oppend that neet ; oh then we mun oa gang, 
 for th play-hause wur shut, she sed. We set off in 
 a coach tae this Sadlers Wells. Thear wur a pawer 
 oth fidling, en men donsd a raaips, hed a teaable en 
 glasses on it, I knanit haw they dud, I wur quite 
 freetend wie em ; then ea man donsd on a slack 
 wire, I thout he wod brick his neck. Me cusen 
 lafFd an seemd fearfully pleasd; but I thout the 
 wire leakd nae thicker then noggy wife thread ; he 
 swang on't an seemd varra careless ; I wur reddy 
 toth soond, I thout he wad brick his neck; he 
 went up a stee at steaad agayn nowt ; I wur then 
 sure I mud be amang dules. I gat tae say th 
 Lord's Prayer, then I knew nowt cud hort me. 
 Me cusens clapt ther hands, an offen eshd me. Is 
 nit this clever ? Is hit nit great ? Dud yee ivver see 
 th like ea Westmorland ? Nay, thout I, God for- 
 bid I sud; we er brout up thear ith fear ea God, 
 an nit ea wonderin at dule tricks. At last donsin 
 was owar, en thear cum sum lile tinny dogs dond 
 ea gawns en petycoats, they donsd an staad up ea 
 ther hinder legs ; then com a pig an towd fortuns, 
 this was the connyest seet I saa ea Lunon, pig sed 
 I sud nit be a yeer unwed : think ea that Barbary. 
 
83 
 
 Barbary. Why a like enuff; I think that may 
 cum true. 
 
 Mary. I knanit what may happen, but I hae nea 
 thouts on't at this time. I hev sum thouts ea 
 gangin tae Lirple for a month, I hev a cusen thear 
 hes oft eshd me tae cum. I think tae gang ith 
 stage-coach, for Ise weary wie sailing. 
 
 Barbary. Whya whar dud thau sail teya ? 
 
 Mary, Whya I saild monny a time while I wur 
 ea Lunon. Thear is oways boats liggin ith watter 
 for onny yan et el hire em. We went teya a spot 
 coad Greenige ea yan a thor lile boats ; I wor ill 
 flayd, for we seemd close toth flead. I saa a 
 terrable fine palace, an a conny park, a heigh hill in't, 
 we went toth top on't, an me cusen sed, Sit dawn 
 ath this form. I dud, en oway it ran toth bottom 
 wie me ; I nivver thout but I sud hae been ith 
 back, en I cud nit stop mesel whativver I cud dea ; 
 me cusen followed me, an tuck haad omme arm 
 up agayn, en wur varra merry wie me, but I telt 
 him I likd nae sic spoart ; en wur glad when we 
 gat heaam agayn et neet. Ya thing I saa et pleasd 
 me weel, that wor swans sittin ith watter ; they 
 leakd varra grand indeed. 
 
 Barbary. I hev hard a swans. What er they 
 preia, I forgit ? 
 
 Mary. They er like girt geese, er rader like girt 
 steggs, sittin ath top oth watter; they leak sae 
 grand ; en if ye hev onny caak er owt tae giv em, 
 
84 
 
 they'l follow th boat they er sae teaam. Nae yan 
 dar kill em. 
 
 Barbary. What er th king's ? What ye saa him, 
 enth wife, enth barns ? 
 
 Mary. Hee's a varra gud leakin auld man, an 
 shea's a fine leakin woman ; shee's like yee I think, 
 she taks a deal ea snufF; dowters is varra fine 
 young quality maak ea wimmen ; they hed oa girt 
 heaps on, an sic fedders ea ther heads, an necks 
 shines like stars. But I saa lyons, an queen's ass, 
 an lord mare, an methodist chappel, an Bagnio 
 Wells, en twoa men hangd et Newgate, en forty 
 things beside. 
 
 Barbary. Whya for sure yee'l be priaani cum- 
 pany ea lang winter neets. I wod I wor neer yee, 
 yee'l be for Kirby tae yer noant's ; I racken yee'l 
 nit gang tae Lirple yet ? 
 
 Mary. Nae, I cannit find imme hart tae leaav 
 her yet ; shee's been a mudder tae me, an she sal 
 want for nout naw I hev it imme paur, for her ane 
 barn is soa taen up wie huddlin et she minds nin of 
 her ; hed her fadder thout she wod hev dun es she 
 hes, he wod hev left her mudder mair, en her less. 
 But I fear nout et dow el cum on her en she don't 
 awter sean. 
 
 Barbary. I hear shee's gaain tae wed Fredrick 
 et com wie sum girt sougers to Kirby. Is it true, 
 thinkstea ? I daut en she dea shee'l maak a paur 
 weddin on't. 
 
85 
 
 Mary. Shee'l hev him en hee'l hev her, for shee's 
 stark mad on him ; awe her kin hes taukd tae her. 
 She says hev him she will en she ligs in a sendry 
 kaw boose ivvery neet ; nay, shee'l gang ea beggin 
 wie him. 
 
 Barbary. Like enuff she will, for it's my thout 
 hee's an arrant dannet. 
 
 Mary. I nivver ea oa my time kent yan oa thor 
 luv matches ivver dea weel: thear sud be sum 
 thout as well as luv. What can yan dea wie a 
 hause-full ea barns, an nowt but luv tae gang tae 
 market wie ; will it by bread er flesh ? nay, ittel 
 groo varra coad when it's dond ea poverty. Luv 
 parrd wie a lile tae stock a farm, en by twoa er 
 three guds, dus varra weel. 
 
 BA.RBARY. Whya, for her ane seak, I wish she 
 wod dea weel 
 
 Mary. Lord, barn, shee's gittin in wie sic a gang 
 as el nivver dea her gud, en indeed shee's quite ea 
 bait hersel. 
 
 Barbary. Dud tae see the eusen Cicely while 
 thau wor ea Lunon ? 
 
 Mary. Aye, monny a time. She keeps a girt 
 yale-hause, welly beeth Tawer, en shee's groon sic 
 a girt fat tulse es yee nivver saa; but they due 
 fearful weel. I sud step in tae see yaur nebbors en 
 ant er they will be vexed, en think me porshon hes 
 raeaad me praud. 
 
 Barbary. Dunnet stay lang, gud lass. I'll hev 
 tee reddy sean ; I nowt but bread tae toaast ; kettle 
 
 H 
 
86 
 
 dus boil. Hang the for a mammelt ! leak at this 
 lairly tom-cat haw he lies hitten a bit raund ivvery 
 bun ; for sure me maister maks sae mitch wark wie 
 him es en he wor a lile barn. 
 
 Mary. Lord bless us ! hee's a fearful girt cat, 
 he wod flay yan wor yan tae meet him in a wood, I 
 nivver saa his marrow ; but I racken he leevs weel 
 maaks him groo ea this lids. 
 
 Barbary. Aye, hee'l tak caar on his sel. Naw 
 dunnet stay. 
 
 Mary. I'll be back en nea time. 
 
 END OF DIALOGUE IV. 
 
87 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 BY MRS. ANNE WHEELER. 
 Tune, — " Bobbin Joan." 
 
 /~^ UD morrow, gossip Nan, 
 ^-^ Haw dus awe at heaam dea ? 
 Haw dus ivvery yan, 
 Lile Dick en awe dea ? 
 Tom is gaylie weel, 
 Sends his sarvis teaa; 
 Sail hes hor her heel, 
 Er wod hea cum et seea. 
 
 Lile Dick hes deet his coat, 
 Wie follin widdle waddle, 
 He slird in wie his foat 
 Intul a dirty poadle. 
 Spinky hes coav'd a bull, 
 En I thout tea selt it ; 
 Soo brak awt oth hull 
 En varra nearly kilt it. 
 
 Bett is girt wie barn ; 
 I think they'r awe gane crasy ; 
 She'd better mind her gam, 
 But she's fearful laasey. 
 
 h2 
 
En wha dea think mun haait^ 
 They say simple Sammy ; 
 Troth ! I'd be laith to say't, 
 But it belongs to Jammy, 
 
 Awr lass hes taen her tow, 
 An gane in heaste to don her, 
 Shee's gaain toth this show, 
 For nowt et dow el cum on her. 
 Jennet went toth see't, 
 En com an telt sic wonders, 
 She sed nin like them cud deat; 
 Why, barn, they meaad it thunder. 
 
 Sic deains is awt ea rule, 
 Yee may be varra sartan, 
 They'r dealin wie the Dule 
 When they dra up ther cortan. 
 Wod awr Tom but stay oa neet. 
 When he gangs wie fish tae Kendal, 
 Mass ! I'd gang en see't, 
 I'd kna haw they fend all. 
 
 I hae gitten a swoap a gin, 
 Rare hummin liquor. 
 Troth, I'm on the merry pin. 
 Cum gud lass be quicker. 
 Here's to oa awr varra gud healths^ 
 En may we hae plenty on it ; 
 I hate to drink by stealth, 
 Sfish ! I hardly ken my bonnit. 
 
89 
 
 I cannit miss this spot, 
 But mun coo et seea, 
 I'd rader gang rawndth Knot, 
 Then nit say haw deea. 
 Fare yee weel, dear Ann. 
 As I am a sinner, 
 Clock hes strucken yan, 
 Fleaks toth fry for dinner. 
 
 THE KIRBY FEIGHT.* 
 
 npiGHTY-EIGHT wor Kirby feight, 
 
 When nivver a man was slain ; 
 They yatt their meaat, an drank ther drink, 
 An sae com merrily heaam agayn. 
 
 * After the abdication of James the Second, in the year 
 1688, a rumour was spread in tte north of England, that 
 he was lying off the Yorkshire coast, ready to make a 
 descent with a numerous army from France, in hopes of 
 regaining his lost throne. This report gave the Lord Lieu- 
 tenant of Westmoreland an opportunity of showing his own 
 and the people's attachment to the new order of things ; he 
 accordingly called out the Posse Comitatus, comprising all 
 able-bodied men from sixteen to sixty. The order was obeyed 
 with alacrity, and the inhabitants met armed in a field called 
 Miller's Close, near Kendal, from whence they marched to 
 Kirby Lonsdale. This historical fact explains the above 
 popular rhyme, the meaning of which is, at this day, perhaps, 
 not generally understood. 
 
90 
 
 THE APPLEBY SCHOOL-BOY'S SPEECH. 
 
 "^TTE wur twoa lile lads et hed tae coe et a 
 ^ smiddy, tae hev our new clogs cakert en 
 snout bandit. Hefter that we clanterd dawnt 
 street, en hed tae gang tae a lile tawn coed Burrels ; 
 we set dawn that titter up sud coe tudder up neisht 
 mornin, but it happend that I laid ower lang ea 
 bed. I plaid trouen three heaal days, en then 
 ventert tae gang taet skule. When th maister saa 
 me, he sed, You sir, cum here. I went up sadly 
 freetent. He sed, What for hev yee been sae lang 
 away ? I sed, I wod hae cum titter, but th wedder 
 was sae clashy, anth loans sae clarty, et me grond- 
 fadder sed I cud nivver git teaard throut. 
 
 THE BRIGSTEER PEAT-LEADER'S 
 SPEECH. 
 
 "|\ /TY deam gat a bad stitchen pain in her side 
 this summer wie forkin hay ; she tryd oa 
 ath nebbors cud think on tae mend her, but nin on 
 them cud due her onny gud. She was sae ill, barn, 
 I wod nit hev given a peat for her life ; but hevin 
 sum of Rank's Balsam ith cubbert, et awr lad hed 
 
91 
 
 been tackin on for a brocken showder, an he is 
 now mendan connoly, thinken it mappen mud due 
 her gud, she gat hald et bottle, wieawt mindent 
 direction-paaper, an teuk a girt swig ; it went thro 
 ivvery bean in her skin, aye, tea her varra teaa- 
 ends, barn ! She was better derectly, en hes aild 
 nowt nivver sen. 
 
 END OF THE WESTMORELAND DIALECT. 
 
A COLLECTION 
 
 POEMS. SONGS, BALLADS. &c. 
 
 CUMBERLAND DIALECT. 
 
THE CUMBERLAND DIALECT. 
 
 HARVEST; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BASHFUL SHEPHERD. 
 
 a pastoral. 
 
 BY THE REV. JOSIAH RELPH.* 
 
 \\7"HEN welcome rain the weary reapers drove 
 
 Beneath the shelter of a neighbouring grove, 
 Robin, a love-sick swain, lagg'd far behind. 
 Nor seem'd the weight of falling showers to mind ; 
 A distant solitary shade he sought, 
 And thus disclos'd the troubles of his thought. — 
 
 * The following Pieces in the Cumberland Dialect, are 
 extracted from " Relph's Miscellany of Poems," 8vo., Glasgow, 
 1747. They were edited by his pupil the Rev. Mr. Denton. 
 
 The Rev. Josiah Relph was the son of a Cumberland States- 
 man, who, on a paternal inheritance which could not exceed, if 
 it even amounted to, thirty pounds a year, brought up a family 
 of three sons and a daughter, one of whom he educated for a 
 learned profession. Josiah was sent first to Appleby school, — 
 one of the many excellent schools of this country, — then to 
 Glasgow ; he afterwards engaged in a grammar school in his 
 
 i2 
 
96 
 
 Ay, ay, thur drops may cuil my outside heat ; 
 Thur callar blasts may wear the boilen sweat ; 
 But my het bluid, my heart aw in a bruil. 
 Nor callar blasts can wear, nor drops can cuil. 
 
 native place, and succeeded to the perpetual curacy there ; but 
 there is no reason to believe that his income was ever more 
 than fifty pounds. 
 
 It appears from his Diary that his stepmother was harsh and 
 unkind to him and to his sister, whom he dearly loved, the 
 father siding with his wife ; an injury which he felt the more 
 poignantly from his having either entirely, or verj' near, made 
 up to him all the expense he had been at in his education. 
 " In a lonely dell," says Mr. Boucher (Hutchinson's Cumber- 
 land, vol. ii, p. 415), "by a murmuring stream, under the 
 canopy of heaven, he had provided himself a table and a stool, 
 and a little raised seat or altar of sods ; hither, in all his diffi- 
 culties and distresses, in imitation of his Saviour, he retired 
 and prayed ; rising from his knees, he generally committed to 
 paper the meditation on which he had been employed, or the 
 resolves he had then formed. On business and emergencies 
 which he deemed still more momentous, he withdrew into the 
 church, and there walking in the aisles, in that awful solitude, 
 poured out his soul in prayer and praise to his Maker. His 
 sermons were usually meditated in the church-yard, after the 
 evening had closed. The awe which his footsteps excited at 
 that unusual hour is not yet forgotten by the villagers." 
 
 He continued his school when his constitution was visibly 
 giving way to that disorder which at length proved mortal, 
 being accelerated by his ascetic mode of living. A few days 
 before his death, he sent for all his pupils, one by one, into his 
 chamber — a more affecting interview it is not possible to con- 
 ceive. One of them, who is still living, acknowledges that he 
 never thinks of it without awe ; it reminds him, he says, of the 
 
97 
 
 Here, here it was (a wae light on the pleace) 
 'At first I gat a glifF o' Betty's feace, 
 Blyth on this trod the smurker tripp'd, and theer 
 At the deail-head unluckily we shear ; 
 Heedless I glim'd, nor cou'd my een command, 
 Till gash the sickle went into my hand : 
 Down hell'd the bluid ; the shearers aw brast out 
 In sweels of laughter ; Betty luik'd about ; 
 Reed grew my fingers, reeder far my feace : 
 What cou'd I de in seek a dispert kease ! 
 
 Away I sleeng'd, to grandy meade my mean. 
 My grandy (God be wud her now she's geane) 
 Skilfu' the gushen bluid wi' cockwebs staid, 
 Then on the sair an healen plaister laid ; 
 The healen plaister eas'd the painful sair. 
 The arr indeed remains, but naething mair. 
 
 last judgment. He was perfectly composed, collected, and 
 serene. His valedictory admonitions were not very long, but 
 they were earnest and pathetic. He addressed each of them in 
 terms somewhat different, adapted to their different tempers 
 and circumstances ; but in one charge he was uniform, — lead a 
 good life that your death may be easy, and you everlastingly 
 happy. He died of a consumption before he had completed 
 his thirty-second year. After many years a monument was 
 erected to his memory by Mr. Boucher. 
 
 The characters as well as imagery of the Cumbrian Pastorals, 
 were taken from real life ; there was hardly a person in the 
 village who could not point out those who had sate for his 
 Cursty and Peggy. The amorous maiden was well known, and 
 died a few years ago at a very advanced age. — Southey's Later 
 English Poets, vol. i, p. 418. |. 
 
 I 3 
 
98 
 
 Not sae that other wound, that inward smart; 
 My grandy cou'd not cure a bleedin heart. 
 I've bworn the bitter torment three lang year, 
 And aw my life-time mun be fworc'd to bear, 
 'Less Betty will a kind physician pruive, 
 For nin but she has skill to medcin luive. 
 
 But how shou'd honest Betty give relief? 
 Betty's a perfet stranger to my grief. 
 Oft I've resolv'd my ailment to explain ; 
 Oft I've resolv'd indeed — but all in vain : 
 A springin blush spred fast owr aither cheek, 
 Down Robin luik'd and deuce a word cou'd speak. 
 
 Can I forget that night ? — I never can ! — 
 When on the clean-sweep'd hearth the spinnels ran ; 
 The lasses drew their line wi' busy speed ; 
 The lads as busy minded ev'ry thread ; 
 When, sad ! the line sae slender Betty drew, 
 Snap went the thread and down the spinnel flew. 
 To me it meade — the lads began to glop — 
 What cou'd I de ? I mud, mud take it up ; 
 I tuik it up, and (what gangs pleaguy hard) 
 E'en reach'd it back without the sweet reward. 
 
 O lastin stain ! e'en yet it's eith to treace 
 A guilty conscience in my blushen feace ; 
 I fain wou'd wesh it out but never can. 
 Still fair it bides like bluid of sackless man. 
 
 Nought sae was Wully bashfu'. Wully spied 
 A pair of scissors at the lass's side ; 
 Thar lowsed — he sleely droped the spinnel down. 
 And what said Betty? — Betty struive to frown; 
 
99 
 
 tFp flew her hand to souse the cowren lad : 
 But, ah ! I thought it fell not down owr sad. 
 What follow'd I think mickle to repeat : 
 My teeth aw watter'd then, and watter yet. 
 
 E'en weel is he 'at ever he was bworn ! 
 He's free fraw aw this hitterment and scworn. 
 What mun I still be fash'd wi' straglen sheep, 
 Wi' far-fetch'd sighs, and things I said asleep ; 
 Still shamefully left snafflen by my sell. 
 And still, still dog'd wi' the damn'd neame o' mell ! 
 
 Whare's now the pith (this luive,the deuce ga' wi't) 
 The pith I show'd whene'er we struive, to beat ; 
 When a lang Ivvonin through the cworn I meade, 
 And, bustlin far behind, the leave survey'd. 
 
 Dear heart! that pith is geane and comes nae mair 
 Till Betty's kindness sail the loss repair ; 
 And she's not like — how sud she '? — to be kind, 
 Till I have freely spoken out my mind ; 
 Till I have learn'd to feace the maiden clean, 
 Oil'd my slow tongue, and edg'd my sheepish een. 
 
 A buik theer is-*-a bulk, the neame — shem faw't. 
 Some thing o' compliments I think they caw't, 
 'At meakes a clownish lad a clever spark : 
 
 hed I this, this buik wad de my wark ! 
 And I's resolv'd to hav'et whatever't cost. 
 
 My flute — for what's my flute if Betty's lost ! — 
 And if sae bonny a lass but be my bride, 
 
 1 need not any comfort lait beside. 
 
 Farewell my flute then yet or Carlile Fair ! 
 When to the stationer's I'll stright repair, 
 
100 
 
 And bauldly for thur compliments enquear : 
 Care I a fardin — let the 'prentice jeer. 
 
 That duine, a handsome letter I'll indite, — 
 Handsome as ever country lad did write, — 
 A letter 'at sail tell her aw I feel, 
 And aw ray wants without a blush reveal. 
 
 But now the clouds brek off and sineways run, 
 Out frae his shelter lively luiks the sun, 
 Brave hearty blasts the droopin barley dry. 
 The lads are gawn to shear — and sae mun I. 
 
 HAY-TIME; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE CONSTANT LOVERS. 
 ^ lastoral. 
 
 CURSTY AND PeGGY. 
 
 ITT^ARM shone the sun, the wind as warmly blew, 
 No longer cool'd by draughts of morning dew? 
 When in the field a faithful pair appear' d, 
 A faithful pair full happily endear'd ; 
 Hasty in rows they raked the meadow's pride, 
 Then sank, amid the softness, side by side, 
 To wait the withering force of wind and sun, 
 And thus their artless tale of love besun. — 
 
101 
 
 CURSTY. 
 
 A finer hay-day seer was never seen, 
 The greenish sops already luik less green, 
 As weel the greenish sops will suin he dried, 
 As Sawney's 'bacco spred by th' ingle side. 
 
 Peggy. 
 And see how finely striped the fields appear, 
 Striped like the gown 'at I on Sundays wear ; 
 White shows the rye, the big of blaker hue, 
 The bluimen pezz, green ment wi' reed and blue. 
 
 CuRSTY. 
 
 Let other lads to spworts and pastimes run, 
 And spoil their Sunday clease and clash their shoon. 
 If Peggy in the field my partner be, 
 To work at hay is better spwort to me. 
 
 Peggy. 
 Let other lasses ride to Eosely Fair, 
 And mazle up and down the market there, 
 I envy not their happy treats and them ; 
 Happier my sell if Roger bides at heame. 
 
 CuRSTY. 
 
 It's hard aw day the heavy scy' to swing. 
 But if my lass a holesome breakfast bring. 
 E'en mowing-time is better far, I swear, 
 Then Cursenmas and aw it's dainty chear. 
 
102 
 
 Peggy. 
 Far is the Gursin off, top-ful the kits, 
 But if my Cursty bears the milk by fits, 
 For gallopin to wakes I ne'er gang wood, 
 For ev'ry night's a wake or full as good. 
 
 Cursty. 
 Can thou remember — I xemember't weel — 
 Sin call wee things we claver'd owr yon steel, 
 Lang willy-wands for hoops I yust to bay, 
 To meake my canny lass a leady gay. 
 
 Peggy. 
 
 Then dadg'd we to the bog owr meadows dree. 
 To plet a sword and seevy cap for thee ; 
 Set off with seevy cap and seevy sword, 
 My Cursty luik'd as great as anny Iword. 
 
 Cursty. 
 Beneath a dyke, full menny a langsome day, 
 We sat and beelded houses fine o' clay ; 
 For dishes, acorn cups stuid dess'd in rows. 
 And broken pots for dublers mens'd the waws. 
 
 Peggy. 
 
 may we better houses get than thar, 
 Far Irirger dishes, dublers brighter far ; 
 And ever mair delighted may we be, 
 
 1 to meake Cursty fine, and Cursty me. 
 
103 
 
 CURSTY. 
 
 Eight oft at schuil I've spelder'd owr thy rows ; 
 Full manny a time I've foughten in thy cause ; 
 And when in winter miry ways let in, 
 I bear thee on my back thro' thick and thin. 
 
 Peggy. 
 As suin as e'er I learn'd to kest a loup, 
 Warm mittens wap'd thy fingers warmly up ; 
 And when at heels I spied thy stockings out, 
 I darn'd them suin, or suin set on a clout. 
 
 CuRSTY. 
 
 how I lik'd to see thee on the fleer ; 
 At spworts, if I was trier to be seer, 
 
 1 reach'd the fancy ruddily to thee, 
 
 For nin danc'd hawf sae weel in Cursty's eye. 
 
 Peggy. 
 how I swet when, for the costly prize. 
 Thou grup'd some lusty lad of greater size ; 
 But when I saw him scrawlen on the plain, 
 My heart aw flacker'd for't, I was sae fain. 
 
 Curst y. 
 
 See, owr the field the whurlin sunshine whiews, 
 The shadow fast the sunshine fair pursues ; 
 From Crusty thus oft Peggy seem'd to hast, 
 As fair she fled, he after her as fast. 
 
104 
 
 Peggy. 
 Ay, laddy, seem'd indeed, for truth to tell, 
 Oft wittingly I stummerd, oft I fell ; 
 Pretendin some unlucky wramp or strean. 
 For Cursty's kind guid-natur'd heart to mean. 
 
 CURSTY. 
 
 Sweet is this kiss as smell of dwallowed hay. 
 Or the fresh prumrose on the first of May ; 
 Sweet to the teaste as pears or apples moam, 
 Nay, sweeter than the sweetest honeycomb. 
 
 Peggy, 
 But let us rise, the sun's owr Carrack fell ; 
 And luik ! whae's yon 'at's walking to the well ? 
 Up, Cursty, up ; for God's sake let me gang, 
 For fear the maister put us in a sang. 
 
 THE NINETEENTH IDYLLIUM OF 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 A E time as Cupy, sweet-tuith'd fairy, 
 A hive, owr ventersome, wad herry, 
 A bee was nettled at the wrang, 
 And gave his hand a dispert stifhg. 
 
105 
 
 It stoundit sare, and sare it swell'd, 
 He puft and stampt, and flang and yell'd ; 
 Then 'way full drive to mammy scowr't, 
 And held her't up to blow't and cur't : 
 Wondren sae feckless-like a varment 
 Cud have sae fearfu' mikle harm in't. 
 
 She smurk'd; — and pra' tha', says his mudder, 
 Is not lile Cupy seek anudder ? 
 Just seek anudder varment's he, 
 A feckless-like but fearfu' bee. 
 
 THE EIGHTH ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK 
 OF HORACE. 
 
 TT'S wrang indeed now, Jenny, white, 
 -*- To spoil a lad sae rare : 
 The gams 'at yence were his delyte 
 Peer Jacky minds nae mair. 
 
 Nae mair he cracks the leave o' th' green, 
 
 The cliverest far aburn, 
 But lakes at wait-not-whats wuthin 
 
 Aw Sunday efternuin. 
 
 Nae mair i' th' nights thro' woods he leads 
 
 To treace the wandrin brock. 
 But sits i' th' nuik, and nought else heeds 
 
 But Jenny and her rock. 
 
106 
 
 Thus Harculus, 'at, ballats say, 
 Made parlish monsters stoop, 
 
 Flang his great mikle club away, 
 And tuik a spinnel up. 
 
 ST. AGNES' FAST; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE AMOUROUS MAIDEN. 
 
 a pastoral. 
 
 'OW lang I've fasted, and 'tis hardly four ; 
 This day I doubt 'ill ne'er be gitten owr. 
 And theer as lang a night, aleis ! beside : 
 I lall thought fasts seek fearful things to bide. 
 
 Fie, Roger, fie ! a sairy lass to wrang. 
 And let her aw this trouble undergang. 
 What gars thee stay ? — indeed it's badly duine. 
 Come, come thy ways — thou mud as weel come suin. 
 For come thou mun, aw mothers wise agree ; 
 And mothers wise can never seer aw lee. 
 
 As I was powen pezz to scawd ae night, 
 0' ane wi' neen it was my luck to light ; 
 This fain I underneath my bouster lied. 
 And gat as fast as e'er I cou'd to bed ; 
 
107 
 
 I dreamt — the pleasent dreem I's ne'er forgit: 
 And, ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet. 
 
 A pippin frae an apple fair I cut, 
 And clwose at ween my thoom and finger put ; 
 Then cried, whore wons my luive, come tell me true 
 And even forret stright away it flew, 
 It flew as Roger's house it wad hev hit : 
 And, ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet. 
 
 I laited last aw Hallow-even lang 
 For growen nuts the busses neak'd amang ; 
 Wi' twea at last I met ; to aither nut 
 I gave a neame, and beith i' th' ingle put, 
 Right bonnily he burnt nor flinch'd a bit : 
 And, ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet. 
 
 Turnips, ae Saturday, I pared, and yell 
 A paring seav'd my sweetheart's neame to tell ; 
 Slap fell it on the fleer, aw ran to view, 
 And cawt it like a C, but cawt not true. 
 For nought, I's seer, but R the scrawl wad fit : 
 And, ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet. 
 
 A fortune-teller leately com about. 
 And my twea guid King-Gweorges I powt out ; 
 Baith, baith (and was not that a pity) went, 
 And yet I cannot caw them badly spent ; 
 She sign'd a bonny lad and a large kit : 
 And, ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet. 
 
 When t'other night the bride was put to bed, 
 And we wad try whea's turn was neest to wed ; 
 Oft owr the shouder flung the stockin fell. 
 But not yen hat the mark except my sell, 
 
 k2 
 
108 
 
 I on her feace directly meade it bit : 
 And, ah ! this cruel Roger comes not yet. 
 
 But what need I fash me any mare, 
 He'll be obleeg'd, avoid it ne'er sae sare, 
 To come at last ; it's own'd it seems to be, 
 And weel I waite what's own'd yen cannot flee. 
 Or sud he never come, and thur fulfil, 
 Sud cruel Roger pruive sae cruel still, 
 I mun not like a fuil gang fast aw day, 
 And kest my sell just wittenly away. 
 
 She said, and softly slipping 'cross the floor, 
 With easy fingers op'd the silent door ; 
 Thrice to her head she rais'd the luncheon brown, 
 Thrice lick'd her lips, and three times laid it down ; 
 Purpos'd, at length, the very worst to pruive : 
 'Twas easier, sure, to die of ought than luive. 
 
 THE SEVENTH ODE OF THE SECOND 
 BOOK OF HORACE. 
 
 nnHE snow hes left the fells and fled. 
 
 Their tops i' green the trees hev cled, 
 The grund wi' sindry flowers is sown. 
 And to their stint the becks are fawn ; 
 Nor fear the Nymphs and Graces mair 
 To dance it in the meadows bare. 
 
109 
 
 The year, 'at slips sae fast away> 
 
 Whispers we mun not think to stay : 
 
 The spring suin thows the winter frost ; 
 
 To meet the spring does simmer post ; 
 
 Frae simmer autumn cleeks the hauld, 
 
 And back at yence is winter cauld. 
 
 Yit muins off-hand meake up their loss ; 
 
 But suin as we the watter cross, 
 
 To Tullus great, ^neas guid, 
 
 We're dust and shadows wuthout bluid. 
 
 And whae, Torquatus, can be sworn 
 
 'At thame ahuin 'ill grant to-mworn ? 
 
 Leeve than ; wha't's war't i' murry chear 
 
 Frae thankless heirs is gitten clear. 
 
 When death, my freind, yence ligs you fast. 
 
 And Minos just your duim has past, 
 
 Your reace, and wit, and worth, 'ill mak 
 
 But a peer shift to bring you back. 
 
 Diana — she's a goddess tee — 
 
 Gets not Hippolytus set free ; 
 
 And Theseus aw that strength o' thine 
 
 Can never brek Pirithous' chyne. 
 
 END OF RELPH S POEMS. 
 
 k3 
 
PASTORALS. &c. 
 
 BY EWAN CLARK.* 
 SEYMON AND SAMMY. 
 
 Seymon. 
 "11[7"HAT ailsta, Jammy, thou's sae soon a-fit ? 
 
 Day wulln't peep thur twea lang hoaf-hours 
 yet; 
 Ise pincht to ken my thoum afore my eyne, 
 And not ae lavrock yet has left the green. 
 
 Jammy. 
 The self-same question, Seym, I to thee make ; 
 For, to my thinking, Seymon's wide awake. 
 
 Seymon. 
 True, Jammy, true, owr true is what thou says ; 
 I've not yence winkt thur seeven lang neets and days. 
 My Nan's the cru'lest lass that e'er was bworn, 
 To o' my sighs she answers nought but scworn ; 
 
 * From his Miscellaneous Poems, 8vo, Whitehaven, 1779, 
 
Ill 
 
 'Twas this day week we rhaakt the meadow's 
 
 preyde, — 
 And sen that day thur eyne have wokent weyde, — 
 The sun sheynt het, we o' wi' ae consent, 
 To flee its fworce, to the deyke gutter went ; 
 Each lad tuik her he lik'd upon his knee, 
 Ninne stood unmarrow'd save my Nan and me. 
 I set my tongue to luive, and said, " Sweet Nan ! 
 When o' the laave are down why sud we stan ? 
 Come to thy Seym — thy Seymkin's only preyde ! — 
 If nought thou grant me aeways grace my seyde." 
 " Wa whoo-te-whoo !" she cried, and scowpt away, 
 " I wad as soon come to our cur-dog Tray." 
 My varra bluid ran cald within my breest. 
 Thus to be lickent to a dum brute beast ; 
 The lads gaapt wide, the lasses gloppt about, 
 I sigh'd and luikt full sheepishly nae doubt. 
 'Twas but yestreen — a waefu' day, God kens ! — 
 We loaded hay down in the wide Lang-tens ; 
 The wark was pleasant, and shwort seemt the day, 
 For Nan was loader and I forkt the hay, 
 And could have forkt a month without a mheal ; 
 Luiking at Nan my pith would never fail. 
 A cannier loaded car thou never saw ; 
 Ninne loads like Nan — ninne, ninne amang them o'. 
 When o' was duine, I cruep to the car seyde, 
 And gleymin up, wi' beath my arms spread weyde, 
 "Come luive," quo I, "I'll waanly take thee down." 
 " Stand off, thou gowk," she answer'd with a frown 
 
112 
 
 Then with a spang luopt down amang the hay. 
 I clowt my lugs ; what could I dee or say. 
 Waes me ! Oh, Jammy, hard's peer Seymon's kease ! 
 Wad that I nee'r had seen her wutchin feace ! 
 Ise o' foan frae my coat six inch or maar ; 
 This weafu' luive pulls down a body sare. 
 
 Jammy. 
 
 simple Seymon ! that's thy proper name, 
 Pluck up thy heart and be a man, for shame ; 
 Leave thur waes-me's, sighs, sobs, and seek like 
 
 stuff, 
 For women mind not whinging-wark a snuff. 
 I'll tell thee how I sarv'd my lassy, man, — 
 And I luive Rhwose as weel as thou loves Nan, — 
 We loaded hay tee in yon three-nuickt clwose, 
 Mysel was forker and the loader Rhwose ; 
 She smurkt sae sweetly, luikt wi' seek a grace, 
 
 1 got lyle wrought for glymin at her face ; 
 Wi' mickle-a-de the ropes at last were tied, 
 When " Flower of flowers, my red-cheekt Rwose," 
 
 I cried, 
 " Skurrle, skurrle thee down — I'll kep thee — come 
 
 thy ways — 
 I'll luik behint me — never mind thy claes." 
 " Nay, Jammy, nay," she cried, " I'll come mysell." 
 She came, but streit into my arms she fell ; 
 I coddelt her clwose, and gave her many a smack, 
 For full five minutes not a word she spak ; 
 
113 
 
 When she gat loose she luikt like ane reed-mad, 
 
 Up went her rake wi' " Tak thee that, my lad !" 
 
 Twice maar she rais'd it, "Aye, and that, and that !" 
 
 Waanely it fell, I hardlins felt each bat ; 
 
 For o' her frowning, I could plainly see 
 
 A luively smile sit lurkin in her ee. 
 
 At neet I met her by her own sweet sell, 
 
 And then but lovers munnet o' things tell. 
 
 Seymon. 
 Oh, Jammy, thou's deep vers'd in womankind, 
 Kens o' their feekrnent, feikment ways I find ; 
 Wad thou but 'vise me how to make Nan mine, 
 At Roslay Fair I'll treat wi' bluid-reed wine. 
 
 Jammy. 
 I'll freely do't, and hope 'twill mend thy state, 
 Ise griev'd to hear thee whinging at this rate. 
 When neest Nan frumps and frowns, and flisks and 
 
 kicks. 
 Tell her thou sees through o' her shallow tricks. 
 And sen she leads thee seek a wild-goose chace, 
 Thou'lt owr the burn off hand to blinkin Bess. 
 And seem to gang ; thou'lt hear her in a crack 
 Cry " Mayslin gowk ! I nobbit juokt — come back !" 
 
 Seymon. 
 Thanks, Jammy, thanks, I find thy council's reet ; 
 When Nan I've strwockt she's pulsht me like a peet. 
 
114 
 
 I'll now grow wise, I've been a fool owr lang, 
 I'll change my nwote and sing a difF'rent sang. 
 Whish ! yon's their Tray, Nan's ganging to the kye ; 
 I'll follow, and my new-fanglt courtship try. 
 
 ROGER MADE HAPPY. 
 
 a l^astoral 
 
 /~\NE summer morn, at early peep of day, 
 ^"'^ Ere yet the birds had left the dewy spray, 
 A faithful couple sought the darksome grove. 
 And thus, alternate, told their artless love. 
 
 Roger. 
 Mun I still sigh, and luik with a sad feace"? 
 Will Susan never pity my peer kease '? 
 Mun I still grean, and hing my heartless head, 
 And luik like yen just risen frae the dead ? 
 Wulta' still wear a heart sae hard, my luive ? 
 Can sighs ne'er soften't, nor compleenins muive ? 
 Alais ! my saul is sadly out of tune ; 
 Thy scworn will send me to the kirk-garth suin. 
 
 Susan. 
 What have I duine by either word or deed, 
 To gar thee sigh, luik sad, or hing thy heed ? 
 
115 
 
 Roger. 
 Ah ! mun I tell thee what thou kens owr weel, 
 The slights I suffer, and the pangs I feel ? 
 Have I not follow'd thee four years or maar, 
 In hopes thy favour and thy love to share ? 
 Treated at fairs with ale, and shwort keakes tee ? — 
 The keakes thou lik'd, but ah ! thou likes not me ; 
 When oft I clapp'd, and strwoak'd thy cheeks sae 
 
 reed, 
 Thou fidgt and cried, " Thou's not strwoak me in- 
 deed !" 
 When but last night thou smil'd on slavrin Jack, 
 I saw, and heard owr weel each hearty swack. 
 This is the cause that makes — how sud it fail ? — 
 My heart sae heartless, and my cheek sae pale. 
 
 Susan. 
 Thou wrangs me, Roger; wrangs thy Susan still ; 
 Jack kiss'd me unawares agein my will. 
 If I did smile 'twas not the smile of luive. 
 For ninne but Roger can my heart approve. 
 
 Roger. 
 Is this a dream to drown peer Roger's care ? 
 If sae, wad I may never woken maar ! 
 Is I awake ? It, sure, can never be 
 
 Susan, 
 Thy een are oppen, and, nae doubt, they see. 
 
116 
 
 EOGER. 
 
 Nay, then Ise blist ! I now believe my ears, 
 
 And to the winds kest o' my fuilish fears ; 
 
 Nae maar of greans, nae maar of greaves I'll tell ; 
 
 Eoger is richer than King George himsell. 
 
 Thus let me clasp thee — kiss thee thus to death 
 
 Susan. 
 Stop ! — stop, dear Roger ! — or thou'lt stop my 
 breath. 
 
 Roger. 
 Thy lips are sweeter, sweeter far, I vow, 
 Than honey made frae sweetest flowers that grow : 
 Honey suin surfeits, maks a body seek, 
 But I could feast on thur sweet lips a week. 
 
 Susan. 
 I'll seave them for thee, then, ninne else shall 
 
 share : 
 But 0, ne'er leave them for a sweeter pair ! 
 
 Roger. 
 A sweeter pair ! that cannot, cannot be, 
 A sweeter pair were never smack'd by me. 
 Sooner shall leaves in spring forget to sprout ; 
 Sooner shall cats in Cawdaw dive for trout ; 
 Sooner shall gluttons run away frae meat ; 
 Sooner shall hounds and hares in friendship meet ; 
 
 I 
 
117 
 
 Thur may, but it can never come to pass 
 That I should leave thee for another lass. 
 
 Susan. 
 Sooner shall milk drop frae our Crummy's horns ; 
 Sooner shall apples grow on prickly thorns ; 
 Sooner shall urchins bang swuft hares in race ; 
 Or Skiddow-fell come skipping to this place : 
 Thur things may happen, but it never can 
 That I should leave thee for another man. 
 
 Roger. 
 
 Bless on that tongue ! but luik, my Susan, luik ! 
 
 Old Esther's chimley has begun to smuik. 
 
 A hasty kiss now seal'd their faithful vows, 
 Roger the scythe, and Susan sought the cows. 
 
 COSTARD'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 TT^'AES me ! what's this that lugs sae at my 
 ^^ heart, 
 
 And fills my breast with seek a dispert smart ? 
 Can 't be that thing cawt luive ? Good folks now 
 
 tell, 
 And Ise set down just how I find mysel. 
 
 L 
 
118 
 
 When Ise with Nell my heart keeps such a rout, 
 
 It lowps, and lowps, as if it wad lowp out ; 
 
 Ise apt to think — judge if my thoughts be reet — 
 
 It fain wad fling 't sell at sweet Nelly's feet. 
 
 But when Ise frae her, oh ! it's fearfu' flat, 
 
 My hand can hardlins find it gang pit pat ; 
 
 It's o' sae sare, it mun for sartin bleed ; 
 
 It seems as heavy as a steane o' leed. 
 
 My neighbours jeer me, and cry, " See, cocks-dogs ! 
 
 Costard's reed heels are glourin owr his clogs !" 
 
 It's but owr true, and I mun beide their flouts, 
 
 For I've nae heart to darn or clap on clouts. 
 
 Sleep has forsworn me, as thur een can tell, 
 
 Or if I sleep I dream of nought but Nell. 
 
 A keam's grown quite a stranger to my heed, 
 
 My cheeks luik white that us'd to luik sae reed, 
 
 Clwose but my een and you wad swear Ise deed ; 
 
 If this be luive nae spwort in't can I spy ; 
 
 Good Lword deliver us frae luive ! say I. 
 
 I used to sing my sang, and crack my joke, 
 
 And shake my sides at murth like other folk, 
 
 But Ise sare chang'd frae what I used to be ; 
 
 Luik i' my feace, and you may fairly see 
 
 Ise nowther like to live nor like to dee. 
 
 If Ise not eas'd, and soon, of this ill pain, 
 
 I'll burn my sonnets and ne'er sing again. 
 
119 
 
 THE FAITHFUL PAIR. 
 
 a lastoral 
 
 /"^NE summer's evening, when the sun was set, 
 ^^ Young Dick and Dolly by appointment met, 
 Beneath a hedge they squatted side by side, 
 When thus Dick spoke, and thus his Doll replied. 
 
 Dick. 
 Let Iwords and ladies pruss the downy seat, 
 And on fine carpets set their mincin feet, 
 I grudge them not their cushions soft — not I, 
 This ground seems softer when sweet Dolly's by. 
 
 Dolly. 
 
 Let other lasses shine in silken gowns. 
 And fix fause hair upo' their cockin crowns, 
 Seek fashions I'll ne'er follow while Ise whick, 
 Lang as plain grogram and thur locks please Dick. 
 
 Dick. 
 Till I kent thee I never kent true bliss, 
 Never, dear Doll, I swear by this sweet kiss ; 
 To fairs and spworts and murry-nights I've geane. 
 But like sweet Doll I never yet saw yen. 
 
 L 2 
 
120 
 
 Dolly. 
 
 Thouf Ise but young — just sweet sixteen, no more — 
 I might have had sweethearts at least a scwore ; 
 But ninne amang them o' could please my ee 
 Till Dick I saw : right soon I fancied thee. 
 
 Dick. 
 Blist Whusen Tuesday ! — best day in the year — 
 I, on that day furst saw my Dolly dear. 
 My twea shwort keakes were war'd weel worth the 
 
 while, 
 For Dolly took them — took them with a smile. 
 
 Dolly. 
 Thar keaks, thar silent keaks, did maar for thee 
 Than a week's wooing frae some tongues wad dee. 
 The teane I eat, the other carefu' laid 
 Beneath my bouster ; when I went to bed 
 I turn'd north, south, I turn'd me east and west, 
 And thus I cried ere I crap to my nest, 
 " May luiky dreams laake round my head this night, 
 And show my true-luive to my langing sight." 
 I dream'd — cocksfish ! as sere as Ise here whick — 
 The leeve-lang night of nought but thee, my Dick ; 
 And when I wokent — keaks have powerfu' charms — 
 I fand the bed-claes clwose rowd in my arms. 
 
 Dick. 
 And m'happen thout 'twas me ? 
 
121 
 
 Dolly. 
 
 Nay, that I'll keep ; 
 But never lass, sere, had a sweeter sleep. 
 
 Dick. 
 The case is a clear case ; I plainly see 
 That Dick's ordain'd for Doll and Doll for me. 
 Why sud we santer ? if my Doll thinks fit, 
 The nwote this varra mworning shall be writ, 
 And gien on Sunday to the parish-clerk : 
 There ne'er comes luck of dilly-dallying wark. 
 Why silent, luive? and why that blushing cheek? 
 1 hope 'tis right plain English that I speak. 
 
 Dolly. 
 Plain as a pike-staff. — But what need I say ? 
 Ise ready ; and have been this mony a day. 
 
 l3 
 
122 
 
 A BALLAD.* 
 
 Sung at the Cumberland Anniversary Meeting, 
 London, April 14, 1785. 
 
 I kest 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 — I've meade 
 
 free 
 To thrust mjsel 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 honesi-like feaces, sec freedom, and then 
 Sae feyne, — to be seer ye're aw parliament-men. 
 
 Derry down, &c. 
 Since I's here, if you will lend your lugs to my sang, 
 I'll tell you how aw things in Cummerland gang ; 
 How we live — I mean starve — for, God bliss 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're tax'd when we're bworn, and we're tax'd 
 
 when we dee ; 
 Now countrymen these are hard laws, d'ye see. 
 
 Derry down, &c. 
 
 * Taken from Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, 
 
123 
 
 My honest plain neighbor, 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 — argo, tax upon drink — 
 Wad mek yen red mad only on it to think. 
 Then the measure's sae smaw ! — between me and you. 
 We may drink till we're brussen before we're hawf 
 fou. 
 
 Derry down, &c. 
 And windows — ey, there I can feelingly speak — 
 I paid three wheyte shillins 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 ! 
 
 Derry down, &c. 
 
 END OF EWAN CLARK S POEMS. 
 
COPY OF A LETTER* 
 
 BY 
 
 A YOUNG SHEPHERD TO HIS FRIEND IN 
 BORROWDALE, 
 
 Describing his Voyage from Whitehaven to Dub- 
 lin ; the wonderful sights he saw there ; and tlie 
 hardships he hod to encounter. 
 
 T send te thisan, to tell thee amackily what dreed- 
 
 ful fine things I saw ith' rwoad tuv an at yon 
 
 Dublin, and t' hardships I've bidden. I set forrat 
 
 * The following piece was written by Mr. Isaac Ritson, of 
 Eamont Bridge. As a specimen of the Cumberland Dialect, 
 it has not, says Jollie, been exceeded — perhaps never equalled. 
 This, however, is not its only merit, it abounds throughout with 
 genuine humour, sarcastic, yet innocent, and hid under the 
 natural veil of rustic simplicity. The author, a young man of 
 more than ordinary talent, was the son of Isaac and Elizabeth 
 Ritson, and was born in the year 1761 ; he received a classical 
 education under the Rev. Mr. Blain; at the early age of sixteen 
 he commenced his career as a teacher or schoolmaster, at Car- 
 lisle, and afterwards at Penrith, but with little success ; he then 
 made a journey into Scotland with the intention of studying 
 medicine at Edinburgh, after residing there two years he went to 
 London, professedly with a view of completing his medical 
 education by an attendance at the Hospitals and on Lectures. 
 
125 
 
 o' Midsummer day, and gat to Whitehebben, a girt 
 sea-side town, whare sea-nags eats cwoals out o' rack 
 hurrys, like as barrels dus yal drink. I think sea- 
 nags is nut varry wild, for tha winter them i' girt 
 fwoalds wi' out yats ; an as I was luiken about to 
 gang to Ireland, I saw twea duzzen o' fellows myakin 
 a sea-nag tedder styake ov iron ; I ast yan o' them 
 if I cud git riden to Dublin ? an a man in a three- 
 nuickt hat, 'at knackt like rotten sticks, telt me I 
 mud gang wid him, for a thing they caw tide, like 
 t' post oth land, was gangin, an waddent stay o' nea 
 body niver. Then four men in a lile sea-nag, a 
 fwoal I think, 'at tha caw't a bwoat, heltert our 
 nag an led it out oth fwoald, then our nag slipt t' 
 helter an ran away ; but tha hang up a deal ov 
 wind-clyaths like blinder-brydals, wi' hundreds a 
 
 In London, as well as at Edinburgh, he supported himself by his 
 literary exertions ; he published a translation of Homer's Hymn 
 to Venus, which, though but indifferently executed, was not ill 
 received: in his poetical effusions there was an original wild- 
 ness, his mind was strongly tinctured with the sombrous mag- 
 nificence of his native county, so that his poetry, like Gray's, 
 was sometimes overloaded with what Dr. Johnson calls a 
 cumbrous splendour. Some specimens of his Muse will be 
 found in Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, vol. i., p. 335. 
 He wrote the Preface to Clarke's Survey of the Lakes, and for 
 a short period the medical articles in the Monthly Review ; but 
 many of his best works are lost, particularly a masterly trans- 
 lation of Hesiod's Theogony. After a short but irregular life 
 in London, he died, after a few weeks' illness, at Islington, in 
 1789, and in the twenty-seventh year of his age, — Boucher. 
 
126 
 
 ryapes for rines. Land ran away an left us ; an 
 our nag had eaten so many cwoals it was cowdy, an 
 cantert up wi' tya end an down wi' tudder. I turnt 
 as seek as a peet, an spewt aw 'at iver was imma. 
 Oh wunds ! I was bad, I thout I sud ha deet ; I 
 spewt aw cullers. Neest day efter we set forrat, an 
 island met us, tha cawt it Man ; I wad fain a seen't 
 cumd hard tull us, but it slipt away by and left us ; 
 but sum mare land met us neest day efter, but it 
 was varra shy, but we followt it up becose they sed 
 Dublin was on't. I perswadet t' man ith three- 
 nuikt hat to ourgit it if he brast his nag, and he telt 
 a fellow to twine tail on't, as tha dua swine or bulls 
 when tha carry them to bait at Kessick an tha 
 wiln't gang on ; then we gat to Dublin presently. 
 But I bed like tull a forgitten to tell thee, sick girt 
 black fish we saw ; tha snourt when tha cum out 
 oth girt dub like thunner, and tha swallow land- 
 nags as hens dus bigg ; mappen eat sea-nags when 
 tha dee. It was a nice breet mwornin when we 
 war i' Dublin Bay, as tha caw't, whar t' sea gangs up 
 towart land as a dog dus to th' heed ov a bull. 
 Twea men i' yan o' their bwoats cum to our nag 
 side ; they cawt them Paddeys, yan cuddn't tell 
 thar toke be geese ; tha drank heartily ov our water, 
 it stinkt tyu, but we bed nout better to drink, fort 
 girt dubs as sote as brine, it wad puzzen thee if 
 thou tyasted it ; we ga them twea fellows ith bwoat 
 a belter, an tha led our nag into Dublin as wild as 
 'twas. But oh ! man, what a fine cuntrv thar was 
 
127 
 
 ov tudder side on us ; hooses as white as drip, an 
 as rank as mice. Dublin town luikt like a girt 
 foald full o' sheep, 'at yan cud nohbut just see 
 t' heeds on ; chymlas luikd like hworns, an kurk 
 steeples and spires, as they caw them, like as menny 
 gyote hworns amang tudder. Sea-nags is as rank 
 i' Dublin beck as if thou was luikin at ten thousand 
 geese in a gutter ; tha hevn't foalds for them as we 
 hev iv England, town keeps them warm i' winter, 
 but tha feed them wi' beck sand, as tha dya at 
 Whitehebben wi' cwoals, but nut out o' rack hurries, 
 they've a mouth in at t' side, whar men feeds tem 
 in at wi' girt iron spuins. But oh ! man, it was 
 lucky I leet ov a man 'at went to t' scuil wi' me 
 when I was a lile lad ; we war deevlish thick, an 
 he sed he wad let me see aw things. If I bed gyan 
 into Dublin be me sell, yan may gang fifty miles a 
 day and nout but hoos for boos, and like our 
 Iwonins for length, yan cannot see t' yearth for 
 pyavment neawhore, nor I sud nivver seen awld 
 England agyan if I bed been be me sell, I dare say, 
 for tha ur the deevil for settin yan wrang if yan ass 
 them. Thare's hooses tha caw public beeldings 
 'at's sae fine I can't tell thee what tha ur like. The 
 Parlemen-hoos, whore gentlemen gang to bate yan 
 annuder, thare's a vast ov girt styan props oth 
 fwor side on't; thare's a room wi' reed furms in't 
 whore tha feight, I luik it's bluid m'appen ; thare 
 was a lyle woman let's see that hoos, about four 
 fuit bee, she was as thick as three awld mears 
 
128 
 
 twined togidder, I wondert 'at she didn't grow 
 hear, leaven in a hoos twenty or thirty fuit hee, but 
 she was as bryad. as a haycock. Anenst it, about 
 a styan-throw off Parlemen-hoos, was Collership- 
 hoos, it's a bigger plyaca ner tuddar. If thou was 
 iver in a ply ace whore girt crags hing our ov aw 
 sides o' thee, it wad be like t' square, as tha caw't, 
 ith middle o'th Collership-hooses ; fwok 'at I saw 
 thare war t' myast o' them as black as deevils ; it 
 sartainly isn't hell, but tha say tha get deed fwoks 
 out o' thar graves ; I think it's true, for I saw a 
 vast of deed fwoke byans, an sum lockt up i' glass 
 coffins wi' flesh on, an tha had barns and bits o' 
 flesh persirv'd i' bottles as fwok dus berries ; thare 
 was a fellow wid a bunch o' keys 'at oppent locks 
 an duirs as fast as luik, it myad me think of Rebe- 
 lations, whore yan reeds oth keys of deeth and hell : 
 thou mappen understandh that plyace. We war in 
 a plyace tha caws Musium, whore thare's aw things 
 'at's comical, a thousan things 'at tow niver saw, 
 ner I can caw ; thare war muse-deer hworns as 
 bryad as our back-bword, an bits ov ow manner ov 
 hworns ; I cannot tell thee what, but thare's t' 
 whorns nyamed i'th Rebelations ; an wee'l hev a 
 vast o' toke fra I be yable to cum and see thee. 
 
 I was at a plyace tha caw Common Exchange, 
 whore fwok fra aw nuiks o'th warld meet togidder 
 to bye an sell aw things 'at iver thou can nyam, 
 t' midst on't's like at beehive, but stands o' tod ov 
 lang freestan legs, wid a girt round winda i'th crown 
 
129 
 
 otft, and like a wide hoos round about legs, a 
 covers as mikel ground as t' tarn at t' Gowd Arks 
 inn, thou kenst. I saw a plyace tha caw Cassel, 
 whore a man tha caw 'Tennant leevs, he's stuart ov 
 Irelan for our king, t' Iword meer of Dublin's his 
 heed servant; an fwok sed he went throo hell to 
 kurk ivry Sunday ; I thout it had been sum street 
 Iwonin, mappen, 'at thad caw sae, but I fairly saw 
 him stannin like a duir steed, rais'd about twea 
 yeards o' th' yearth, but I think he was chain'd 
 tuth spot becose he dudn't stur, mappen dezd, but 
 it was a durk black Iwonin cover'd our wi' black 
 hooses, an I perswadet my fuit to carry me a guid 
 way off seek curositys, for I was amyast freetint to 
 deeth ; but it was varra weel I hed strenth to run 
 away. Now thou may be sure I gev my comrad a 
 deevilish lessin for traillin me throo hell, he's flait 
 o' nout, but carry'd me to parish-kurk, it's as big 
 as town for girtness, an as menny fwok at it ; thare 
 was hoaf-a-duzzen o' priests at wark, but wee'd 
 nobbut staid a bit when summet tha cawt roworgins 
 began a beelin like a hundred mad bulls, an as 
 menny lile lads i' thar sarks began a screemin mur- 
 der, I think, for ivry heel was like thunner ; my 
 feet then carr't me without perswadin, in a calleevir 
 owr fwok and aw 'at iver was imme way, till I gat 
 intul a great feeld a mile aboot, tha cawd it Steben's 
 Green, I think efter a man on a girt gray nag, 'at 
 was stannan a-top on a lile hoos it midst on't; 
 hee'd his sword drawn, but he durst not git off for 
 
 M 
 
130 
 
 want o' room ; I think tha sed hee'd been freetint 
 as 1 was, but I was sae freetint I hardly knew what 
 I dud or sed : but I saw annuder man a-top ov a 
 lile hoos, i'th midst ov a girt street Iwonin, I 
 think tha wer brudders, for their cwoats was like a 
 slyated hoos-side, an tha wer as pale as deeth i'th 
 fyace like me sell ; round t' fwoar-cawd feeld was 
 t' finist gravel gyat thou iver stept on, an thar was 
 hundreds an thousans o' fwok stavlan about on't. 
 I began to be as mad as I was at cwolly when it 
 brack t' neck o'th bell-wether, 'at tha waddent help 
 t' man and his nag down when it was amyast dark ; 
 I was mad an swet for feer, and durst not say a 
 word, becose there was sae many three-nuikt hat 
 men theer, an lyadies, as tha caw them : I'd better 
 a been i' Borrodale. I hev oft thought sen, if we 
 had yan o' them lyadies amang our bigg she wad 
 sarra to keek t' crows oft bravely, I ast a man 'at 
 I kent, what wast matter wi' sum o'th wummon 
 fwok 'at tha war sae bryad tea way, an he telt me it 
 was a fashion to weer huips ; nut a badden nowther 
 if it keep their legs togidder, for thare war sum o' 
 them varra bonny ; but I waddent hev yan o' them 
 for a wife an she'd a' Borrodale, wi' out tha wad 
 doff their huips when tha gang to bed, for thar as 
 bryad as enny bed in Borrodale, and thou knows 
 thare wad be nea room but a-top o' them, an what 
 sleep cud yan git a-top ov a whick bed ; hang them ! 
 thar aw white-heedit like our weet-miller lasses, an 
 tha tawk an yilp like mice. I wunder what tha 
 see 'at fancy seek, but tha've nice lile fuit, maks 
 
131 
 
 me think tha wad pruiv nimmel shipperts ov our 
 brant fells ; an we wad lern them to soav and clip, 
 an thair huip-pockets wad be varra sarviceable to 
 put a lam in ov aider side, in a coald mwornin in 
 spring, when thair starvt amyast an gits lile milk. 
 But to be shwort, as our priest sez in his sarment, I 
 hadn't time to think ov ow this when I saw't, for 
 my fuit ran wimma throo amang fwok an owr fwok 
 sae fast, I freetint them, tha thout that oth donnot 
 was imma, tha mud o' thout reet if they'd thout 'at 
 t' donnot had settin me forrat, for if tha keep seek 
 farlies o' purpos to freeten fwoks, thare's nea matter 
 how menny o' them be trodden to deeth ; but I'll 
 promise thee I nivir stopt till I gat tull a sea-nag 
 'at com to England ; an I was seek agyan afwore I 
 gat hyam, I cud nouther eat nor drink aw th' time, 
 an if thou saw me now thou cuddent tell me be a 
 frosk 'at had been hung up bith heels i'th sunshine, 
 an dryt to deeth, for I's as thin as lantern leets. 
 
 I think thou munnet expect to see me this month, 
 this is three days at hyam, an I've a stomack fit to 
 eat t' horse ehint t' saddle ; I git five myals o' day, 
 and a snack when I gang to bed. I whop I's git 
 Strang agyan or't be lang an than I'll cum to see thee. 
 This is nobbut like the clock when it gis warnin to 
 strike twelve, to what I'll tell thee when I cum. 
 
 My kind lyuiv tu thee, an may gyud luck keep 
 thee fra aw 'at's bad, an dunnet be keen o' gangin 
 abroad for feer th' donnot git thee. 
 
 end op the letter. 
 
 m2 
 
POEMS, &c, 
 
 Bt 
 
 JOHN STAGG.* 
 
 THE BRIDEWAIN. 
 
 The subject of the following poem, with many of the incidents 
 it contains, may, perhaps, to some of our remoter countrymen, 
 appear rather romantic and ludicrous, whilst others may be 
 disposed to object entirely to the verity of such a narrative ; 
 but to those who are more intimately acquainted with the rural 
 manners and simple customs of the county of Cumberland, I am 
 confident of their acknowledging every circumstance that has 
 been introduced; nay, even what may appear the fanciful 
 embellishments of this pastoral. It is a fact well known to the 
 inhabitants of this county, that when a youthful couple conceive 
 a disposition to venture on the voyage of matrimony, with perhaps 
 more of the assurances of the blind god, than the blind goddess, 
 or in plain English, with more love than money, the bridegroom 
 generally engages two or three of his companions to assist him 
 in canvassing round ten or a dozen of the adjacent parishes;, 
 
 * From his Collection of Poems 12mo., Wigton, 1808. 
 
133 
 
 where they invite all, indiscriminately, to assemble on such a 
 day, to assist in solemnizing the nuptials of — — 
 
 On the day appointed, which is generally a week or fortnight 
 after the day of invitation, the country people, for many miles 
 round, repair to the house of the young couple, or place where 
 the marriage is to be celebrated, where is witnessed a scene of 
 truly rural festivity; the exercises, and various entertainments 
 which aid in beguiling this day of convivial merriment, are what 
 chiefly occupy the subsequent verses. 
 
 \ ' YOU 'at smudge at merry teales, 
 ■^-^ Or at devarshon sheyle, 
 Or goff and gurn at tuolliments, 
 Now lend your lugs a wheyle ; 
 For sec an infair I've been at 
 
 As hes but seldom been, 
 Whar was sec wallopin' an' wark 
 As varra few hev seen 
 
 By neeght or day. 
 
 Bit furst I'll tell you how an' why 
 
 This parlish bout begun, 
 An' when an' whar, an' whea they war 
 
 'At meade a' this feyne fun. 
 Furst, you raun ken, a youthfu' pair, 
 
 By frugal thrift exceyted, 
 Wad hev a brydewain, an', of course, 
 
 The country roun' inveyted 
 
 Agean that day. 
 M 3 
 
I3'4 
 
 At S— b— n— s, i'th' Abbey Holme, 
 
 This weddin' it was hauden, 
 But 'or the teyme arriv'd some friens 
 
 An' neybors furst war cawd on ; 
 Wi' them in council grave they fixt 
 
 What methods to proceed on, 
 An' a' the bus'ness there an' than 
 
 Was finally agreed on, 
 
 Clean thro' that day, 
 
 Neist day a dizzen lish young lads, 
 
 Wi' naigs weel graith'd an' hearty, 
 Wi' whup an' spur, thro' stenk an' stoore, 
 
 Set off, a jolly party ; 
 Frae town to town leyke weyld they flew. 
 
 Or house, whare'er they spied yen, 
 An iv'ry lad or lass they met, 
 
 I'th' house or out, to th' breydewain 
 
 They bade that day^ 
 
 Thro' o'th' Holme parish furst they ruode, 
 
 Frae th' Auld Kiln to Kurkbreyde, 
 To Aikton, Bowness, Banton, Brufi", 
 
 An' roun' o'th' country seyde ; 
 An' mony a harlin reace they hed 
 
 Owr pasture, hill, an' deale, 
 An' monnie a cowp an' kaik they gat. 
 
 An monnie a tift o' yell, 
 
 I'th' rwoad that day. 
 
 m 
 
135 
 
 An' some rirode east, an' some ruode west, 
 
 An' some ruode fast an' far, 
 An' some gat sae mislear'd wi' drink, 
 
 They ruode the de'il kens whar. 
 Now th' auld guid fwokes that staid at heame, 
 
 As thropweyfe they war thrang, 
 An' meat an' drink, an' ither things, 
 
 Reight moider'd war amang 
 
 Thro' a' that day. 
 
 Now a' their hidden owr an' duone, 
 
 Reight tir'd they heamward speed, 
 But some at th' Abbey owr a quart 
 
 Theirsells to slocken 'greed ; 
 Then great Job Bruff gat on a thruff 
 
 An' rais'd a fearfu' rout, 
 'At some day suon at S — b — n — s 
 
 They'd hev a parlish bout 
 
 O'th' breydewain day. 
 
 At last this sizlin pack consent. 
 
 When dark, towards heame to draw. 
 Then down to th' Cwoate, for t'other slwote, 
 
 They gallop yen an' a' ; 
 This neeght, the cheerfu' breyde-pot's drunk, 
 
 Wi' dances, sangs, an' murth. 
 An' mebby some sma' jobs are duone 
 
 That bus'ness may ca' furtL 
 
 Some other day. 
 
136 
 
 But now the lang-expected mworn 
 
 Of murriment arrives, 
 Wheyle helter-skelter frae a' airts 
 
 I' swarms the country drives, 
 The lasses in their feyne pearce claes, 
 
 The lads baith trig an' souple ; 
 Owr hill an' knowe, thro' seugh an' sowe. 
 
 Comes tiftan many o' couple, 
 
 Hauf saim'd that day, 
 
 Frae Cowgoe, Brumfelt, an Cruokdake, 
 
 Frae Speatry, Bwoal, an' Bowtan, 
 An' iv'ry parish roun' about, 
 
 The fwoks i' swarms come row ten : 
 An' monnie a queerfar'd jwoat was there, 
 
 An' monnie an unco't shaver. 
 Some wantin' mence, some wantin' sense. 
 
 An' some their best behaviour 
 
 Put on that day. 
 
 Frae Angerton wheyte to Dubbmill 
 
 Nin mist, as yen may say, 
 But a' wi' yae consent seem'd met 
 
 To mence this merry day. 
 Wheyle Allonby turn'd out en masse, 
 
 Ding dang, baith man an' woman, 
 An' parlish pranks 'mang Silloth banks 
 
 They hed as they were comin' 
 
 To th' Cwoate that day. 
 
137 
 
 But it wad need a Homer's head 
 
 War I to tak' in han', 
 To sing or say what fwok that day 
 
 War there, or how they wan ; 
 For far an' near, an' God kens whare^ 
 
 By common invitation, 
 Wi' young an' auld, and great an' laal, 
 
 Seem'd met on this occasion, 
 
 Wi' glee that day. 
 
 Lang Leeny com wi' woal-ey'd Wull, 
 
 Wi' thing o' Causway Head, 
 Wi' what's they ca' him o' Foulseyke ; 
 
 Tom Bewly an' Jack Reed, 
 Wi' jumpin' Jonathan, auld Joe Barnes, 
 
 Dumb Jer'my an' lang Beaty ; 
 Wi' thungumhob o' Southerfield, 
 
 Hard's Miller an' peed Peaty, 
 
 War there that day, 
 
 Blackan o' Warton he was there. 
 
 An Barwise Lads o'th' Tarns, 
 Wi' Irish Cursty, Canterin Ned, 
 
 An' fratcheous Gweordy Barns ; 
 Wi' stutrin' Isaac, lispin' Frank, 
 
 Job Keay, an' Robby Weyse, 
 An hundred mair wheas neams to tell 
 
 Or sing wad sarra tweyce. 
 
 Com' on this day. 
 
138 
 
 In shwort to say upon this day, 
 
 Frae yae nuik an' anither, 
 Twea thousand war, frae far an' near. 
 
 Assembled here together. 
 The rwoads war clean, the weather warm, 
 
 The lasses a' luik'd preymly. 
 An' whup for smack, the party pack, 
 
 A' aimin' to be teymly 
 
 O'th' sod this day. 
 
 Wi' bizzy care the blushin' breyde 
 
 An' maids theirsells are bussin, 
 Wheyle some wi' pillion seats an' sonks 
 
 To gear their naigs are fussin. 
 Wi' glentin' spurs an' weel clean' d buits, 
 
 Lin' sark, an' neyce cword breeches, 
 The breydegroom roun' the midden pant, 
 
 Proud as a peacock stretches, 
 
 Eeeght crouse that day. 
 
 Now heevy skeevy off they set 
 
 To th' kurk, a merry crew. 
 Some gravely pac'd up th' turnpike rwoad, 
 
 Wheyle some like leeghtnin' flew ; 
 Neer ak, they a' gat there i' teyme, 
 
 The priest was ready waitin'. 
 The wed'ners just took gluts a-piece 
 
 Wheyle he his bulk was laitin', 
 
 Frae th' kist that day. 
 
139 
 
 His lesson fund an' a' set reeght, 
 
 To wark they gat wi' speed ; 
 You tak' this woman for your weyfe : 
 
 The breydegroom grumph'd Agreed. 
 An' you, young woman, promise here 
 
 To honour an' obey 
 Your spouse in a' he may require : 
 
 The breyde said, man tan, N-yea, 
 
 Wee'l see some day. 
 
 Clwose buckl'd now, the parson paid, 
 
 Furth frae tha kurk they waddle, 
 An' thick an' threefauF, han' owr head, 
 
 Each lowps out owr his saddle. 
 The lasses lap up 'hint their lads, 
 
 Some stridlin' an' some seydeways ; 
 An' some there war that wish'd their lot 
 
 Had been what Ann's, the breyde, was, 
 
 Ay, oft that day. 
 
 A' hors'd agean, streeght up th' town geate, 
 
 Leyke weyld-fire off they flee, 
 An' nowther puol nor peet-stack flinch, 
 
 They're off wi' seek a bree. 
 'Twas a fair start, it's a preyme reace ; 
 
 Winge you ! how fast they gang ; 
 But yonder's Jerry Skelton lad, 
 
 He's fawn off wid a whang. 
 
 For seer this day. 
 
140 
 
 Brown o'th' Moss-seyde how he does reyde, 
 
 Wi' lang-neck'd spurs he's rivan; 
 An' yonder's Glaister, o'th' Black Deyke, 
 
 Leyke that o' donnet drivan ; 
 As for yon Peape if he escape 
 
 A neck-breck it's uncommon, 
 But Weyse grey meare, had she been here, 
 
 She wad been bang'd by nea man 
 
 A't's here to-day. 
 
 But now they're fairly out o' seeght. 
 
 An' wheyte doun Coava lonnin. 
 Come we mun fettle up oursells, 
 
 It's teyme we sud be donnin ; 
 I waddent leyke to be owr lang, 
 
 Come Jwosep, Izbel, hie ye, 
 You'll suin be buss'd, an' nin behin', 
 
 I faickins, sal gang bye ye 
 
 O'th' rwoad this day. 
 
 Now th' weddiners are^at th' far end. 
 
 An' a' thro' ither cruonin', 
 Wheyle th' fiddlers they're at wark i'th' leathe, 
 
 An' thrang they're the fiddle tuning ; 
 Tom Trimmel, Tommy Baxter, Stagg, 
 
 Nay, hauf-a-scowre they've led in, 
 An' they're a' rozzlin' up their bows 
 
 To streyke up Cuddy's Weddin' 
 
 Wi' glee this day. 
 
141 
 
 The breyde now on a coppy-stuol 
 
 Sits down i'th' fauld a' whithrin , 
 With pewter dibler on her lap 
 
 On which her towgher's gethrin' ; 
 The fwoak, leyke pez in a keale-pot, 
 
 Are yen thro' t'other minglin', 
 An' crowns an' hauf-crowns, thick as hail, 
 
 Are i' the dibler jinglin', 
 
 Reeght fast that day. 
 
 Nit yen, that's owther mence or sheame, 
 
 Wad be that snaflin ninny, 
 As to hand back their gift, nay some 
 
 Wad whuther in a guinea. 
 I'th' meanteyme the fiddlers changg'd and play'd 
 
 As hard as they cou'd peg, 
 Till th' offering it was feckly duon, 
 
 When back to th' barn to sweg 
 
 They bows'd that day. 
 
 Now loundrin' shives o' cheese an' breed 
 
 Are down their gizzrin's whang'd. 
 An' some there war cud scarcely speak 
 
 Their thropples were sae pang'd ; 
 Bit twea or three let-down's o' yell 
 
 Soon set their hawses free, 
 When thus with pith restword yence mair. 
 
 They took anudder spree, tj 
 
 Till cramm'd that day. 
 
142 
 
 Indeed there was some feckless fwoak, 
 
 'At luikt to be owr neyce, 
 'At nobbit nibblen peyk't and eat 
 
 Just like as monny meyce ; 
 Bit then there was some yetherin' dogs, 
 
 'At owr the leave laid th' capsteane, 
 For some they said eat lumps as big 
 
 As Sammy Liank's lapsteane, 
 
 I'th' barn that day. 
 
 They're keyte's weel trigg'd wi' solid geer, 
 
 They now began to guzzle, 
 Wheyle yell in jugs an' cans was brought 
 
 An' held to iv'ry muzzle ; 
 They drank in piggins, peynts, or quarts. 
 
 Or ought 'at com' to han', 
 An' some they belt it down sae fast 
 
 They suin cud hardly stan' 
 
 Tharsells that day. 
 
 At last some lish young souple lads 
 
 Their naigs frae th' buoses brought. 
 An' off they set to try a reace, 
 
 The prize was neist to nought, 
 A rig-reape, braugham, pair o' beams, 
 
 Or something o' that swort ; 
 Nae matter, trifle as it was. 
 
 It made them famish spwort 
 
 O'th' sands that day. 
 
143 
 
 Some for a pair of mittans loup ; 
 
 Some wurstled for a belt ; 
 Some play'd at pennice-steans for brass ; 
 
 An' some amaist gat fel't ; 
 Hitch-step-an'-loup some tried for spwort, 
 
 Wi' monny a sair exertion ; 
 Ithers for bits o' 'bacco gurn'd, 
 
 An' sec leyke daft devarshon 
 
 Put owr that day. 
 
 Now some o'th' menceful mak o' fwoak 
 
 As suon as things war settled, 
 When they'd yence hed a decent snack 
 
 To set off heamewards fettled ; 
 Bit monny a yen there was that staid, — 
 
 Auld sly-buits that war deeper, — 
 An' Philip Mesher cried hout, Stop ! 
 
 Guid drink was never cheaper 
 
 Than't's here to-day. 
 
 Full monny a reeght good teyper com', 
 
 As th' country seyde cud brag on ; 
 Nay, there was some that at a win 
 
 Cud tuom down a yeal flaggon. 
 Wi' casks weel season'd frae a' nuiks 
 
 Thur bachanalions gether'd ; 
 An' some there war 'at clash't their keytes 
 
 Till they war fairly yether'd 
 
 Wi' drink that day. 
 
 n2 
 
144 
 
 Some crack o' brandy, some o' rum, 
 
 An' some o' weyne far sought, 
 That drink o' my opinion's best 
 
 'At we can get for nought ; 
 That day i' this seame thought wi' me 
 
 I witnessed monny a seyper. 
 For bleth'rin' Lanty Eutson gat 
 
 As full as onny peyper, 
 
 Suon on that day. 
 
 Wi' fiddlin', dancin', cracks an' yell, 
 
 The day slipt swuftly owr, 
 An' monny a scwore 'or darknin' gat 
 
 As drunk as they cud glowr ; 
 When great Tom Carr, that man o' war. 
 
 Com' stackrin' on to th' fleer, 
 He slapt his ham', an' cried, " Od dam, 
 
 I'll box wi' onny here 
 
 'At dare this day." 
 
 Then Watty Farguson, provwok'd 
 
 To hear this haufthick rattle, 
 Fetch'd him a fluet under th' lug, 
 
 An' sae began their battle ; 
 Clash tuot they fell, wi' thumps pell-mell, 
 
 Wheyle a' was hurdum-durdum ; 
 An' some amang the skemmels fell. 
 
 An ithers nearly smxiir'd them 
 
 I'th' fray that neeght. 
 
145 
 
 Then up lap Lowrie o' the Lees, 
 
 An' leyke a madman ranted, 
 A lang flail souple fuU'd his neif 
 
 That owr fwoak's heads he flaunted ; 
 He yoller'd out for Cursty Bell, 
 
 Whea last Yule eve had vex'd him, 
 But was sae daft he could not see 
 
 Puor Kit tho' he sat next him 
 
 I'th' leathe that neeght. 
 
 Kit gat a braugham in his han', 
 
 Wi' veng'ance whurl'd it at him, 
 The collar leeghted roun' his neck, 
 
 An' to the fleer it pat him. 
 Loud sweels o' laughter dirl'd their lugs, 
 
 The fwoak war a' sae fain ; 
 An' wheyle he sprawl'd wi' reage an' sheame, 
 
 Some cried out he was slain 
 
 Cauld deed that neeght. 
 
 Twea gurnin' gibbies in a nuik 
 
 Sat fratchin' yen anudder, 
 An' nought wad sarra them but they 
 
 Wad hev a match together ; 
 A single roun' for hauf-a-crown 
 
 The question was to pruive, 
 But t'yen objected to the bet, 
 
 An' said he box'd for luive 
 
 Or nought that neeght. 
 
 N 3 
 
146 
 
 Then off their duds thar duosters doft, 
 
 An' tirl'd to their bare buffs, 
 Beath teyke-leyke tuolian roun' the barn, 
 
 An' dealen clumsy clufFs ; 
 But Sir John Barleycorn sae sway'd 
 
 Their slaps they a' flew 'slant, 
 Till a — e owr head they cowp'd at last, 
 
 Lang stretch'd i'th' midden pant, 
 
 Weel sows'd that neeght. 
 
 Just leyke as when some druove o' kye 
 
 Brek back and a — ewards hurry, 
 Sae here thar govisons leyke font 
 
 Wad yen anudder lurry ; 
 Stark'd mother neak'd they skelp'd about. 
 
 An' some gat deev'lish knockan ; 
 But th' silly Blackburd o' Well Rash, 
 
 Puor man, his leg gat broken 
 
 Some way that neeght. 
 
 The fiddlers bang'd up on their legs, 
 
 Some fought, some swear, some holloed ; 
 The lasses, skurlin, clamb up th' mews. 
 
 An' some slee hanniels follow' d. 
 Bit suon as a' this stoore was laid, 
 
 An' a' was whisht an' whiat. 
 Bounce down they lap, the spwort renew, 
 
 Anudder spell to try at 
 
 Their reels that neeght. 
 
147 
 
 Lang sair they kevvel'd, danc'd and sang, 
 
 An' parlish dusts they hed, 
 Till it began to grow nar th' teyme 
 
 'At fwoak sud gang to bed ; 
 The breydemaids, a' wi' fuslin care, 
 
 The breyde, hauf-yieldin', doft, 
 An' the blythe pair, in a han' clap, 
 
 War guessend up i' th' loft, 
 
 Reeght snug that neeght. 
 
 The couple now i' th' blankets stow'd, 
 
 A swort o' th' revellan bruocies. 
 Unsatisfied, wi' a' consent. 
 
 Went lethran down to Lucy's ; 
 Just leyke louse nowt they bang'd up stairs, 
 
 Th' lang room it bum'd an' thunner'd, 
 An' some yen'd thought t've brought down't house 
 
 About them waddent skunner'd, 
 
 Wi' noise that neeght. 
 
 Here th' better mak o' them that com' 
 
 Wi' country-dances vapour' d ; 
 Bit them that dought not try sec sprees 
 
 Wi' jigs an' three-reels capor'd; 
 Mull'd yell an' punch flew roun' leyke steyfe, 
 
 The fiddler's a' gat fuddled ; 
 An' monny a lad their sweethearts hed 
 . ' I' nuiks an' corners huddled 
 
 Unseen that neearht 
 
148 
 
 Auld Deacon, wi' his puffs an' speyce, 
 
 Was there ; wi' him Dog Mary 
 Wi' snaps an' gingerbread galwore, 
 
 Tho' neyce fwoak ca'd them slairy ; 
 Bit plenty nought o'th' secret knew, 
 
 An' fast their brass was wairin' ; 
 An' th' lads reeght-keyn'd the lasses treat, 
 
 Wi' monny a teasty fairin' 
 
 I' dauds that day. 
 
 At last 'twas gitten wheyte fuor days, 
 
 The lavrocks shrill war whuslin', 
 Wheyle yen by yen, wheyte daiz'd an' deylt, 
 
 O'th rwoard t' wards heame are wrustlin' ; 
 Bit some wad yet hev t'other quart 
 
 Befwore o'th' geate they'd venture, 
 Sae ramm'd away to Richard Rigg's 
 
 An' leyke mad owsen enter 
 
 Owr drunk that day. 
 
 Here a' was yae confusion thro', 
 
 Loud crackin', fratchin', swearin', 
 An' some o'th' hallan or th' mell deers, 
 
 Their geylefat guts war clearin'. 
 Wheyle 'bacco-reek beath but an' ben, 
 
 Had full'd leyke a kiln logie, 
 An' some that scarce could baud their legs 
 
 War dancin' th' Reels o' Bogie, 
 
 Stark mad that neesrht. 
 
149 
 
 Som6 heads an' thraws war stretch'd i'th' nuik, 
 
 An' loud as brawns war snowran ; 
 Others wi' bluid an' glore a' clamm'd, 
 
 War leyke stick'd rattens glowran. 
 The fiddlers they i'th' parlour fought, 
 
 An' yen anudder pelted, 
 Tom Trimmel, leyke Mendoza fierce. 
 
 Poor Tommy Baxter welted 
 
 Reeght sair that neeght. 
 
 Wheyte tir'd at last wi' drink an' noise, 
 
 Hauf wauken an' hauf sleepin', 
 I heamwards fettled off mysell. 
 
 Just as the sun was peepin'. 
 Full monny a teyme I've thought sen syne, 
 
 On that seame bidden weddin' ; 
 An' heaven, in prayer, to bless that pair. 
 
 Have begg'd, in bwoard an' bed in, 
 
 E'er sen that day. 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 T?AST the patt'ring hail was fa'ing 
 And the sowping rain as thick. 
 Loud and snell the whurlwind blowing, 
 Wheyle the neeght was dark as pick. 
 
150 
 
 When upon her strea couch liggail, 
 Susan steep' d her waukreyfe een, 
 
 And about her crazy biggin 
 
 Rwoard the hollow whurlblast keen. 
 
 In each arm a bairn lay sleepin', 
 I' their luiks lank famine sat, 
 
 And their een seem'd blear'd wi' weepin' 
 For the things they seldom gat. 
 
 On her Iwonly bed she toss'd her, 
 Darkin till the tempest ceas'd ; 
 
 But, puor lass, nae change of posture 
 Calm'd the conflict of her breast. 
 
 In her feace a heart sair anguish" d 
 Meight a stranger's eye survey ; 
 
 Six dree years had Susan languish'd 
 Sen her Walter went away. 
 
 He, far owr the stormy ocean, 
 Was on India's distant shore, 
 
 Courtin' fortune and promotion 
 E'en amid the battle's rwoar, 
 
 Sair agean his inclination 
 
 Watty left his heame and ease, 
 
 Weyfe, bairns, and ilk keyn'd relation, 
 To traverse the dangerous seas. 
 
151 
 
 Widow-leyke, his absence mournin', 
 Monny a sleepless night she past, 
 
 Prayin' ay his seafe returnin', 
 
 As she lythed the lengthnin' blast. 
 
 Blwoated grew her een and squalid 
 That befwore wi' lustre fill'd, 
 
 Wan her lip, her cheek how pallid 
 That Vermillion once excell'd. 
 
 i^ence the rwose and lily blend it 
 In fair Susan's breydal feace, 
 
 3ut fwoak said, whea erst had ken'd it, 
 Sadly alter' d was the cease. 
 
 She whea leate sae douse and jolly, 
 Need hae turn'd her feace frae nean, 
 
 3uon thro' grief and melancholy 
 Turns to parfect skin and beane. 
 
 Cruel fate, thy mandate alter, 
 Oft she murmur'd in despair, 
 
 Give me, give me back my Walter, 
 Give me him, I ask nae mair 
 
 Here, disconsolate and weary. 
 Are my days of sorrow past, 
 
 An' my neeghts forlorn and eerie. 
 That ilk yen I wish my last. 
 
152 
 
 But a spring of whope yet cheers me, 
 And our wee yen's yammerin' noise, 
 
 Mair than ought to leyfe endears me, 
 Bwodin still some future joys. 
 
 Yes, my luive, tho' sair I mourn him. 
 Fate shall shield frae circling harms, 
 
 And keyn'd providence return him 
 To these lang-expecting arms. 
 
 Hark, the whurlblast loudly blusters. 
 Dreary howling owr my head, 
 
 A' with rage the tempest musters 
 On my crazy clay-built shed. 
 
 Wintry blasts, that bluster owr me. 
 Waft my sighs to Walter's ears ; 
 
 Gales auspicious quick restwore me 
 Him, whea's smeyles can dry my tears. 
 
 Fancy, whether wadst thou lead me. 
 Say what phantoms to impart, 
 
 Visionary shades owrspread me 
 To amuse my love-lorn heart. 
 
 There, my Walter's feace I view now 
 'Mid the leeghtnen's transient glare ; 
 
 Pleasing form, I'll thee pursue now, — 
 But 'tis geane, and I despair. 
 
153 
 
 Hark ! what shriek was that 'at mingled 
 
 Wi' the liftan tempest howl ? 
 On my ears leyke fate it jingled, 
 
 Piercing to my varra soul. 
 
 Was it not my true love ca'ing ? 
 
 Was't not leyke his weel-kenn'd tone ? 
 Say, puor heart, where art thou fa'ing ? 
 
 Fancy, say where art thou gone ? 
 
 Heavier now the tempest musters, 
 
 Down in plennets teems the rain, 
 Louder, ay, the whurlblast blusters 
 
 Sweepin' owr the spacious plain. 
 
 Susan, fiU'd wi' apprehension 
 
 At the dismal dang'rous rwoar, 
 Suon is fix'd in mute attention 
 
 Wi' loud knockins at her door. 
 
 " Susan, rise !" a voice loud bawling 
 
 Said, " unbar the envious door !" 
 " Whea commands?" she scream' d, then falling 
 
 Senseless, streek'd her on the fluor. 
 
 Wi' a rounge the yieldin' hinges 
 
 Frae the partin' stoothens flee, 
 In the storm-struck stranger swinges, 
 
 Walter enters — yes, 'twas he ! 
 
154 
 
 Swift to Susan's aid he hies him, 
 Greapin' roun' the weel-kenn'd bower, 
 
 Leeght the leeghtnin's flash supplies him, 
 Her he spies upon the fluor ; 
 
 In his arms he gently rears her, 
 Softly lifts her droopin' head, 
 
 Anxious owr the room he bears her. 
 And recleyn'd her on her bed. 
 
 But his tongue was pinch' d to falter 
 " Wake, my fair one, wake and see ; 
 
 " Wake, and cheer thy long-lost Walter, 
 " Seafe return'd to luive and thee." 
 
 Lang she sleeps not, strugglin' nature, 
 Suon suspended, leyfe restwores ; 
 
 On his habit, form, and stature 
 Wi' impatient weyldness pores. 
 
 Frae his arms in deep confusion 
 
 Till her ingle swift she flies, 
 Thoughtful this was a' illusion 
 
 That bewitch'd her ears and eyes ; 
 
 Prodlin' up the smotherin' embers. 
 Swift the sweelin' hether flies, 
 
 She nae trace of him remembers, 
 Alter'd sair by his disguise. 
 
155 
 
 Sowp'd wi' rain, wi' glore bespatter'd, 
 
 Frowzy beard and visage wan, 
 Teated locks and garments tatter' d, 
 
 Mair he seem'd of ghaist than man. 
 
 " Ah," cried he, " can time sae alter 
 " Fwoaks as thus to be forgot : 
 
 " Fair yen, I'm thy faithful Walter; 
 " Canst thou, Susan, know me not ?" 
 
 When his weel-kenn'd voice she listens, 
 A' her doubts are suon supprest, 
 
 In her een keen transpwort glistens, 
 And she sunk upon his breast. 
 
 Here awheyle with ardour glowing 
 Stuode the lover and his weyfe, 
 
 Beath their hearts wi' joy owrflowing, 
 Suon he kiss'd her into leyfe. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " thou lang-lost stranger, 
 " Thou art still my husband dear ; 
 
 " Seafe, I whope, return'd frae danger, 
 " And nae mair to leave me here. 
 
 " What, tho' thou'rt wi' muck bespatter'd ; 
 
 " What, tho' thou'rt in weafu' pleyght, 
 ** Matted locks and vestments tatter'd, 
 
 " Still thou art my saul's deleyte. 
 
 o2 
 
156 
 
 " Here, my luive, let us together, 
 " Thro' leyfe's mazy windins weade, 
 
 " Each assisting yen anither 
 
 " Oft may leeght our common leade." 
 
 When thus Walter, lowly bendin' 
 On his knees, wi' hands uprais'd : 
 
 '^ Heav'n, the virtuous still defendin', 
 " Ever be thy guidness prais'd, 
 
 " Here fulfill'd is a' I need for ; 
 
 " Here are a' my sorrows lost ; 
 " And the gear I sair have tried for 
 
 " Sweetens frae the pains it cost. 
 
 " Know, my luive, tho' foul and tatter'd 
 " In my present garb and graith ; 
 
 " The' with muck and mire bespatter'd, 
 " I've enough to bless us baith. 
 
 " Fortune, to my plans propitious, 
 " Has bestow'd me rowth o' wealth ; 
 
 " Heaven, to virtue still auspicious, 
 " Thro' a' has ay preserv'd my health. 
 
 " Tweyce ten thousand pounds await me,- 
 " We sal yet see happier days, — 
 
 " Yet nae rank sal e'er elate me, 
 " Providence commands my praise. 
 
157 
 
 " 'Midst the battle's devastation 
 
 " Fell my captain stunn'd with blows ; 
 
 " I succeeded to his station, 
 
 " By this chance my fortune rose, 
 
 " Wealth in heaps now seem'd to press me ; 
 
 " Honours wait me day and night ; 
 " Fortune seem'd resolv'd to bless me, 
 
 " In amends for former spite. 
 
 " Thus with riches in abundance 
 " Suon I quitted India's shore, 
 
 " And, securin' that redundance, 
 " Sought agean my native shore. 
 
 " But of a' the joys I've teasted, 
 
 " Or mun ee'r expect to teaste 
 " In teyme to come, or teyme far weasted, 
 
 " This, this moment joys me meast. 
 
 " Suon as London pwort we enter' d, 
 
 " OffI set without delay; 
 " Thro' the storms and tempests ventur'd : 
 
 " Luive nae patience had for stay. 
 
 " Cheer thee, then, my Susan, cheer thee, 
 " Pleasure yet thy cheek shall cheer ; 
 
 " Think thy Wat will ay be near thee ; 
 " Think thy luive will ay be near." 
 
 o3 
 
158 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S EPISTLE. 
 
 TWOHN o' West-en, auld friend, how fen' ye?' 
 
 Wull this new year for better ken ye ; 
 Or, leyke me, rather mar than men' ye 
 
 By its addition ? 
 In sec a case we've nought, depend ye. 
 
 But fworc'd submission. 
 
 But faith to glump ye I'd be sweer, 
 
 I wish ye luck o' this new year ; 
 
 May frien'ly cracks and Curs'nmas cheer 
 
 Eelax your care j . 
 Wi' health, lang leyfe, an' rowth o' gear 
 
 For ever mair. 
 
 Tho' guidness wi' this new year gift ye. 
 
 Another eken to your fifty, 
 
 As tho' by stap an' stap 'twad lift ye 
 
 Clean owr the deyke ; 
 Yet let nae snafflin' cares e'er drift ye 
 
 To pleen an' peyke. 
 
 Shaeme fa' thur pingin' gowks that grummel 
 At weasten teyme, an' munge an' mummel 
 'Cause they, leyke millions mair, mun crummel 
 
 In death's dark dungeon; 
 It's nonsense o' sec stuff to jummel, 
 
 An guff-leyke mungan. 
 
159 
 
 Hout man ! what signifies repeynin' 
 
 Owr grankin', snifteran', twistin', tweynin', 
 
 If down leyfe's hill we he decleynin' 
 
 We cannot slack ; 
 Than gang on decent without wheynin' 
 
 Or hingin' hack. 
 
 Leyfe, mak' the. best on't's, nowght owr pleesin', 
 As every day some fash comes teasin', 
 An' oft eneugh the wheels want greesin' 
 
 To keep them ga'un; 
 Then brouce about nor tek sec preesin' 
 
 To nate our awn. 
 
 They're puor ill-natur'd souls that cry, 
 This warl' is destitute of joy ; 
 We ken they lee, an' if they try 
 
 Sec thoughts are banisht 
 Our lot of leyfe's not far a-jy 
 
 If reeghtly mannisht. 
 
 But if we wullent be content 
 
 Wi' th' blessings sec as heav'n has sent, 
 
 But obstinately wad prevent 
 
 Wise fate's decree ; 
 See fwoak mun just pursue the bent 
 
 I' their own bree. 
 
160 
 
 As for me, neybor, as lang leevan, 
 I'll ay be wheyte reseygnt to heaven, 
 An' thankfu' tak' the guid things given 
 
 For fear o' forfeit : 
 Lest, for the swarth, I, past retrievan, 
 
 The substance torfeit. 
 
 What, if the hand of fate unkind 
 Has us'd us fremtly, need we peyne ? 
 Tho' you've lost your seeght an' me meyne. 
 
 We cannot menc! it 
 Let us be glad the powers deveyne 
 
 Nae war extendit. 
 
 Let us — sen leyfe is but a span — 
 Still be as canty as we can ; 
 Eememb'ring heav'n has order'd man 
 
 To practice patience, 
 An' not to murmur 'neath his han' 
 
 Leyke feckless gations. 
 
 Methinks I hear you cry, " Hout, stop ! 
 " An' let sec feckless preachments drop ; 
 " Thou meynds we weel o' some foul fop 
 
 " I'th' pulpit rantan." 
 Wey, than, we'el frae this subject pop 
 
 An' cease this cantin'. 
 
161 
 
 Yet, man, it's lang sen we, togither, 
 Hev hed a crack wi' yen anither. 
 An now Fm nowther leath nor lither, 
 
 If ye've a meynde, 
 To reang first tea part an' than t'other 
 
 Of auld lang syne. 
 
 Ay speyte of wreen ill-natures says, 
 For seer we yence hed happy days, 
 An' plizzer smeyl'd on aw our ways 
 
 Thro' house an' bow'r, 
 Tho' now the heart-inspirin' blaze 
 
 Is feckly owr. 
 
 Of a' the scenes in leyfe's lang round, 
 Sweet youth ! leyke thee nin can be found, 
 With plizzer thou dost meast abound, — 
 
 Threyce happy teymes- 
 Wi' joys wheyte parfit, fair, an' sound, 
 
 Unclogg'd by creymes. 
 
 Or when of luive, the kittlin' dart 
 Furst whithers i'th' unconscious heart, 
 Wi' a' the pleasin' painfu' smart. 
 
 Sec passions awn. 
 An' raptures dirl thro' every part 
 
 Befwore unknown. 
 
162 
 
 Than doubly sweet the lavrock sang ; 
 Wi' smeylin' sweets the cowslips sprang ; 
 An' a' the grove, wi' gladsome chang, 
 
 Their joy confest : 
 An' happiness, the heale day lang, 
 
 Glow'd in each breast. 
 
 Oft on that season I reflect. 
 
 That, when possess'd, I did neglect, 
 
 For which mysell I now correct, 
 
 Tho' owr an' past ; 
 But which I ever mun respect, 
 
 Aye, to my last. 
 
 Oftteymes I think, by mem'ry led. 
 What curious arguments we've hed, 
 Or crack'd away till gawn to bed 
 
 Was wheyte forgitten. 
 An' a' the lave, by sleep owrsped, 
 
 War round us sitten. 
 
 Someteymes i'th' winter-neeghts, when dark. 
 We'd into th' Ladies' Di'rys yark, 
 There, wi' charade or rebus stark. 
 
 We'd hev a bout, 
 An' monny a teyme we'd puzzlin' wark 
 
 To find them out. 
 
 I 
 
163 
 
 Someteymes we'd politics in han' — 
 The king, the laws, the reeghts o' man, 
 The parish clash, the empire's ban', 
 
 Just as it chanc'd ; 
 Each art an' science now an' than 
 
 By turns advanc'd. 
 
 For subjects we but seldom sought, 
 They gaily oft war leile or nought, 
 Ne'er ak, they ay amusement brought, 
 
 An' that was plenty ; 
 We freely spak' whate'er we thought 
 
 Without being stenty. 
 
 But shaugh ! what if thar teymes be geane 
 An' distance part us, need we greane ? 
 We're nowther on us left owr leane. 
 
 What need o' grievin' ? 
 We now an' then can meet agean 
 
 Wheyle we're beath leevin' 
 
 Ay, lad, be seer, whene'er I can, 
 I'll come an' see you now an' than, 
 To hear an' see how matters stan' 
 
 Mang th' Brough-seyde fwoaks ; 
 Or what new clish-ma-claver's gaun. 
 
 Or jeybes or jwoaks. 
 
164 
 
 For stilFt mun rather ease my meynde — 
 'At is but owr dispos'd to tweyne — 
 To ruminate on auld lang seyne, — 
 
 That happy season, — 
 For which thro' th' leave o' leyfe we peyne, 
 
 An' guid's our reason. 
 
 Yes, man ! there's plizzer in receytin' 
 Concerns 'at yence war sae inveytin' ; 
 An' even now I feel deleyght in, 
 
 By fair reflection, 
 The varra things which here I'm wreytin' 
 
 Frae recollection. 
 
 Fell memory, leyke a mirror true, 
 Each youthful pasteyme hands to view, 
 An' we wi' eagerness pursue 
 
 The font delusion, 
 Rangin' the pleasin' lab'rynth thro' 
 
 In weyld extrusion. 
 
 The weel-kent haunts I visit keen, 
 Or, sauntrin', pace the paddled green. 
 War monny a festive bout has been 
 
 An' jocund turn. 
 Ah, man ! the days that we hev seen 
 
 Mun ne'er return. 
 
165 
 
 Thro' th' Iwonly kurk-garth as I stray, 
 Surroundin' heaps o' kindred clay 
 In dumb monition seem to say, 
 
 Wi' ghaist-leyke ca',- 
 " Stop, neybor, an' awheyle survey 
 
 The end of a'." 
 
 Here my yence gay companions sleep ; 
 Or anters in yon mouldering heap 
 Some luivelier female form I weep, 
 
 An' lang may mourn ; 
 Or wi' the breyny tribute steep 
 
 A parent's urn. 
 
 But, fancy, quit this mournfu' scene. 
 Sec objects nobbit beat in spleen, 
 An' nae occasion sud be gien 
 
 To melancholy : 
 Leyfe's joys are far owr-few, I ween, 
 
 T' excuse this folly. 
 
 No ! let's be happy wheyle we may, 
 As leyfe's bit leyke a winter day, 
 An' hour on hour flees fast away 
 
 To reel of t'rest on't; 
 Let us, sen we've nut lang to stay. 
 
 Be meakin't best on't. 
 
1 
 
 166 
 
 If fortune keyndly sal supply 
 
 A' our desires, let us enjoy 
 
 Her welcome gifts, nor thrust a-jy 
 
 The gracious deed ; 
 Lest unassisted we apply 
 
 In pinchin' need. 
 
 But if beneath misfortune's han' 
 
 We plunge, an' feel her smartin' wan', 
 
 Let us wi' fortitude withstan' 
 
 The lash extended ; 
 As a' things come by heaven's comman'. 
 
 An' whea can mend it. 
 
 Still be your lot that happy state, 
 Unkent by a' th' extremes of fate, 
 Bit peace an' plenty on you wait 
 
 Clean thro' your leyfe ; 
 An' may nae skeath, at onny rate, 
 
 Mislear your weyfe. 
 
 Lang be your heart an' happins heale ; 
 Ne'er may your constitution geale ; 
 Bit swoaps o' drink an' guid lythe keale 
 
 Cheer up each day, 
 As lang as th' beck down Seggin Deale 
 
 Sal wind it's way. 
 
167 
 
 Bit now, my friend, guid evening te ye, 
 It's turning leate, sae peace be wi' ye; 
 I've nowght, except my prayers, to gie ye. 
 
 Ye ken me true ; 
 I'll some day suon pauk owr an' see ye. 
 
 Till then adieu. 
 Wigton, Jan. 1, 1805. 
 
 AULD LANG SEYNE. 
 
 T^7"HEILST some the soldier's deeds emblaze, 
 
 An' tauk of sieges and compaigns ; 
 Or some the weily statesman praise 
 
 Whea bauds of government the reins ; 
 Or others reang the rheymer's verse, 
 
 An' ca' the jinglin' sentence feyne ; 
 Be meyne the bus'ness to rehearse 
 
 The parlish turns of auld lang seyne. 
 
 Threyce-happy days of past deleight, 
 
 'At sliving teyme whurls fast away, 
 When plizzer smeyl'd on ev'ry neight, 
 
 An' spworts beguil'd the leeve-lang day : 
 'Twas than, 'or wardly fash I knew, 
 
 Or luive or loss had gar'd me peyne. 
 That oft, weel pleas'd, I wad review 
 
 The gladsome page of auld lang seyne. 
 
 p2 
 
168 
 
 Yence, on a clashy winter neight, 
 
 Wheyte maiz'd wi' loungin' on i'th' nuok, 
 A palmer' d out as chance wad heft, 
 
 An' till a neybor's house a tuok ; 
 The man was gaily up i' years, 
 
 An' wearin' fast to leyfe's decleyne. 
 An' monny a faimish teale cud tell 
 
 0' upturns duin i' auld lang seyne. 
 
 When veyle moss-troopers, bworder bred, 
 
 To reeve and pillage flock to arms, 
 By war than that-a-donnet led, 
 
 Bouz'd into Cumberland i' swarms : 
 Our kye, our owsen, off they druive ; 
 
 Our gear, our graith, our naigs, our sweyne ; 
 An' monny a lass, her luckless luive. 
 
 Was left to wail for auld lang seyne. 
 
 Yence on a teyme a hangrell gang 
 
 Com' with a bensil owr the sea, 
 Wheyle flocks an' herds they gar'd them spang. 
 
 An' pot a' the country in a bree ; 
 Up a dark lonnin fast they ruode, 
 
 Thinking to shelter their deseyne, 
 Whoaping their fit hauld to meak guid. 
 
 As monny a teyme they'd duone lang seyne. 
 
 Kemp Dobbie, as they canteran com% 
 
 Furst spyt them ; but, quo' he, " Ne'er ak, 
 
 Divent be flait o' them, lad Tom, 
 
 But let's cour down i' this deyke-back." 
 
169 
 
 Sae said, an' humly cowrs they sat, 
 Up brouc'd the. taistrels in a leyne 
 
 Till reeght fornenst them, up they gat 
 
 An' rvvor'd, " Now, lads, for auld lang seyne." 
 
 Back, helter-skelter, panic-struck, 
 
 T' wards heame they kevvel'd, yen and a'. 
 Nor ventur'd yen an a — ewards luik 
 
 For fear he'd in the gilders fa'. 
 Thus single twa abuon a scwore 
 
 Druive sleely frae their cwoarse deseyne ; 
 An' yet, tho' disbelief may glow'r, 
 
 This really com' to pass lang seyne. 
 
 Thus, thro' the langsome winter neights, 
 
 0' curious teales sec rowth he'd tell, 
 0' Brownies, gheasts, and flaysome seeghts, 
 
 Enough to flay the auld en's sell : 
 As how when witches here war reyfe, 
 
 Eeeght sonsy fwoak they gar't to peyne ; 
 An' Mitchell Scot's strange fearfu' leyfe, 
 
 He telt, reeght gleesomely, lang seyne. 
 
 Scot yence got CrifFell on his back, 
 
 Some pedder-leyke, as stwories tell ; 
 But whow ! his girtins gev a crack, 
 
 An' down his boozy burden fell. 
 Auld Nick and Scot yence kempt, they say, 
 
 Whea best a reape frae saun cud tweyne. 
 Clouts begg'd some caff"; quo' Mitchell, " Nay." 
 
 Sae bang'd the de'il at that lang seyne. 
 
 p3 
 
170 
 
 Wi' clish-ma-clatter, cracks, and jwokes, 
 
 My friend and me the evenings past, 
 Unenvying finger-fed feyne fwoaks, 
 
 Unmeyndfu' o' the whustlin' blast : 
 Wi' sweet content what needit mair ? 
 
 For nought need we our gizrins tweyne j 
 The auld man's common simple prayer 
 
 Was ay, " God be wi' auld lang seyne." 
 
 Someteymes he'd tauk in wondrous rheymes 
 
 About t' Rebellion, and how the Scots 
 Com' owr, and what sec parlish teymes 
 
 They hed to hide their butter-pots ; 
 A' maks o' gear i' sacks they huod ; 
 
 To th' fells they druive beath bease and sweyne. 
 Man ! it wad chill thy varra bluid 
 
 To hear o'th' warks o' auld lang seyne. 
 
 Yet tho' sec bruolliments galwore 
 
 Oft snaip'd the whyet of our days, 
 Yet, God be thank'd, this awfu' stowre 
 
 Suin ceas'd, wi' a' its feary phraise. 
 Then smeylin' peace yence mair restword 
 
 Content or joy to every meynde. 
 An' rowth an' plenty crown'd each bwoard; 
 
 Nae mair we fret for auld lang seyne. 
 
 Oh, weels me ! on thar happy teymes 
 When a' was freedom, friendship, joys, 
 
 'Or paughty preyde or neameless creymes 
 War kent our comforts to destroy ; 
 
171 
 
 Nae thoughts of rank engag'd the soul, 
 But equals seem'd the squire and heynd ; 
 
 The laird and dar'ker, cheek by chowle, 
 Wad sit and crack of auld lang seyne. 
 
 'Twas than, that nin, however great, 
 
 Abuin his neybor thought his sell, 
 Bit lads and lasses wont to meet 
 
 Wi' merry changs their teales to tell ; 
 Frae house to house the rock-gairds went 
 
 I'th' winter neights when t' muin did sheyne, 
 When luivesome sangs and blythe content 
 
 Begueyl'd the hours of auld lang seyne. 
 
 Lang streek'd out owr the clean hearth-steane, 
 
 The lads their sicker stations tuik, 
 Wheyle to beet on the elden ; yen, 
 
 As th' auld guid man, sat up i'th' nuik. 
 When Curs'nmas com' what stivan wark, 
 
 Wi' sweet minch'd-pyes and hackins feyne. 
 An' upshots constantly by dark, 
 
 Frae Yuole to Cannelmas lang seyne. 
 
 Bit suin as smeyling spring appear'd, 
 
 The farmer leaves the ingle seyde, 
 His naigs are graith'd, his plows are geer'd. 
 
 For ither winters to proveyde ; 
 Blythe as a lavrock owr the rig' 
 
 He lilts thro' monny a langsome leyne. 
 An' southy crops o' beans an' bigg 
 
 Neest year mek up for auld lang seyne. 
 
172 
 
 Owr a' the joys the seasons bring, 
 
 Nin, bonny hay-teyme ! comes leyke thee, 
 Weel pleas'd we lythe the lasses sing, 
 
 The lads drive on wi' hearty glee. 
 Rashly they scale the scattran swathe, 
 
 Wi' zig-zag fling the reakers tweyne, 
 An' seylin sweats their haffets bathe : 
 
 Sec wark was meyne, weel pleas'd, lang seyne. 
 
 But hay-teyme owr an' harvest com', 
 
 Shek reype an' ready to be shworne. 
 See how the kempan shearers bum, 
 
 An' rive an' bin' an' stock their cworn ; 
 At darknin' canty heam they turn, 
 
 Whar a douce supper pangs them feyne ; 
 Or, if they're duin a rivan curn, 
 
 Meks up for pinchery lang seyne. 
 
 Last, best of a', comes on Carle Fair, 
 
 Frae every 'art the young fwoak druive, 
 The lads weel donn'd, the lasses fair, 
 
 Joy in their een, their bwosoms luive ; 
 Wi' lowpin', dancin', and deray, 
 
 Wi' neyce shwort ceaks, sweet punch, an' weyne, 
 An' sec leyke things they spent the day : 
 
 There* s nae sp worts now leyke auld lang seyne. 
 
 Thus, vearst in legendary teale, 
 
 This auldfar'd chronicle cud tell 
 Things that yaens varra lugs wad geale, 
 
 Of what to this an' that befell ; 
 
173 
 
 Bit hirplan fast on leyfe's downhill, 
 
 His prejudice wad sair incleyne 
 To think the prizzent nought but ill, 
 
 An' nought at dow but auld lang seyne. 
 
 Frae sympathy, as strange as true, 
 
 E'en I his nwotions seem'd to catch, 
 For far-geane teymes when I review, 
 
 I'm with the prizzent leyke to fratch. 
 Yes, there's a secret plizzer springs 
 
 Frae retrospect that soothes the meynde ; 
 Reflection back to fancy brings 
 
 The joyous hours of auld lang seyne. 
 
 Fareweel ye moments of deleyght ; 
 
 Adieu ye scenes I lang may mourn, 
 Nae mair ye cheer my anxious seight, 
 
 Impossible ye shall return. 
 Leyfe's darknin' low'rs, the sun of youth 
 
 On wint'ry yeage mun cease to sheyne ; 
 And stoutest hearts confess this truth — 
 
 The prizzent's nought leyke auld lang seyne. 
 
 But whether 'tis the partial eye. 
 
 With glass inverted, shows the scene. 
 The guid things past resolve to spy. 
 
 An' blast the prizzent wid our spleen, 
 I know not ; — this alone I know. 
 
 Our past misfortunes we'd propeyne 
 T' oblivion, wheilst our prizzent woe 
 
 Maks dear the joys of auld lang seyne. 
 
174 
 
 For, as I range the weel-kenn'd haunts 
 
 Of past amusements, youthfu' bliss, 
 Wi' impulse strange my bwosom pants 
 
 For what yence was, for what now is ; 
 Each step I tread some far-fled hour 
 
 Of past endearment brings to meynde ; 
 Each callar shade an' silent bower 
 
 Ca' back the joys of auld lang seyne. 
 
 Then doubly-sweet the blackbird sang, 
 
 Wi' tenfold beauties smeyl'd the grove. 
 Creation round ya chorus rang, 
 
 'Twas plizzer's tuone inspir'd by luive ; 
 But when auld yeage, wi' slivin' han', 
 
 Sal roun' the heart insiduous tweyne, 
 'Tis than we see, an' only than, 
 
 The prizzent's nought leyke auld lang seyne. 
 
 TOM KNOTT. 
 
 a^OM KNOTT, leyke monny mair in leyfe, 
 
 Was pester' d with an ill-gien weyfe, 
 Frae mworn till neeght her mill-clack tongue 
 Dirl'd in his lugs, and loudly rung 
 The clangour of her squeel-peype thrwoat, 
 Tho' ey 'twas tuon'd in mischief's nwote; 
 
175 
 
 Whate'er he did, whate'er transacted, 
 
 Or whether ill or weel he acted, 
 
 Was a' as yen, for nowght was reeght, 
 
 An' Tib misca'd him day and neeght. 
 
 Which meade him wish his spouse uncivil, 
 
 Full monny a teyme was at the devil ; 
 
 Bit this he ay keep'd to his sell. 
 
 An' tho' aggriev'd durst never tell, 
 
 Because he knew reeght weel sud he 
 
 Set up his gob, directly she 
 
 Wad kick up hell's deleyght i'th' house, 
 
 Which meade him mum as onny mouse, 
 
 An', snuol-leyke, yield a fworc'd siibmission. 
 
 To what he deem'd a de'il's condition ; 
 
 Bit tho' to keep a whyat leyfe, 
 
 Tom teamly knockl'd till his wife, 
 
 Yet, now and then, he'd raise a durdum 
 
 Sae loud 'at hauf o'th' town meeght heard him ; 
 
 Bit this was oft at the Blue Bell, 
 
 When met wid haufthicks leyke his sell, 
 
 Owr some o' Nanny Newton's yell ; 
 
 Tom then wad tell a parlish teale, 
 
 Wad rive and rwore and raise a rumpus. 
 
 Ay someteymes swear by jing to thump us. 
 
 For, frae experience, oft we see 
 
 When fwoaks yence teaste of liberty 
 
 'At hev befwore oppression fun'. 
 
 Still to some daft extreme mun run. 
 
 And slaves, the meast oppress'd, still wou'd 
 
 Be th' greatest tyrants if they cou'd : 
 
176 
 
 Thus he, a sackless when at heame, 
 Nowght of guidman but just the neame, 
 Wad, when he reach'd a public-house, 
 Unkenn'd to Tib, turn deev'lish cruose, 
 An' domineer owr fwoaks, as vain 
 As if the town was a' his ain. 
 
 It chanc'd, ae Hallowe'en, that Tom, 
 Wi' Harry, Jack, an' Seymie, com', 
 An' monny jafflers leyke his sell. 
 To slwote awheyle at th' auld Blue Bell. 
 Ae whart fast after t'other follow'd. 
 They smuik'd, they drank, they sang, they hollo'd, 
 An' lang befwore the raidneeght hour 
 War a' as drunk as they cud glwore. 
 Loud noise, by some caw'd disputation, 
 For want of better conversation, 
 Employ'd this open throppl'd crew. 
 An' nonsense frae a' quarters flew, 
 An' things were said, as reason ended. 
 Unmeaning and as unintended. 
 Tom umbrage took at Winkin' Wat, 
 Whea something said, he knew not what, 
 Ne'er ak, it matter'd not a fardin ; 
 Tom goister'd, Watty begg'd his pardin ; 
 It was a' yen — " No, dam thy snout ! 
 Ise here ; if thou's a man, turn out ! 
 Thou's monny teyme run th' rig o' me 
 For leyle or nought ; bit now let's see 
 What mak' o' stuff thou is when tried. 
 Thou needn't gleyme, I'll yark thy hide ! 
 
177 
 
 I'll larn thee to cock-mantle will I ! 
 
 An' teach thee better manners, Billy !" 
 
 The room was full of noise an' racket, 
 
 Tom doff'd his neck'loth, hat, an' jacket, 
 
 An' leyke a madman stamp' d the fleer, 
 
 When — wicked luck ! — the entry deer 
 
 Just at that instant gev a creek, 
 
 In bang'd Tom's weyfe, she cuddent speak, 
 
 Eage tied her tongue, or else she would ; 
 
 Tom petrified with horror stood ; 
 
 A besom-shank her hand furst met, 
 
 Wi' which she, leyke a vengeance, set 
 
 Upon his reddy bare-mead back, 
 
 An' dealt him monny a wordie smack 
 
 Owr seydes an' shoulders, craig an' crown, 
 
 Until the bluid ran spurtlan down ; 
 
 At last her yammer outgeat fan'. 
 
 An' thus the rantipow began : — 
 
 " Thou nasty guid-for-neathing dog ! 
 
 Here is thou drunk as onny hog, 
 
 Wheyle th' bairns — a bonny speech indeed- 
 
 Mun sit without a beyte of bread. 
 
 thou's a menceless urlin ista, 
 
 Weel thou desarves thy pakes at dista. 
 
 An' you, — 'od wheyte leeght on you a' ! — 
 
 A set o' dow-for-noughts, to draw 
 
 Fwoak's men away to th' public-houses. 
 
 An' here to baud your midneeght bouses. 
 
 0, leytle stops me, bit I'd jaup 
 
 This whart o' yell about your scope !" 
 
178 
 
 Sae said, she cleck'd wi' baith her neeves 
 
 The glass an' stoup, an' on the thieves 
 
 Them shower'd ; at Seymie's chafts she clash'd 
 
 The whart, the glass at Jack she dash'd ; 
 
 An' when nae mair to throw she had 
 
 She clapp'd her han's an' skirl'd for mad. 
 
 Tom saw the storm was louder getheran, 
 
 An' flait o' gittan tudder letheran, 
 
 Thought it as prudent to retire 
 
 As stan' an' feace a second fire, 
 
 Sae thro' the snow stark-neak'd he pot, 
 
 Widout yence speeran for his shot ; 
 
 Tib, leyke a fury, cursan efter, 
 
 An' he, tho' swift, had ne bouk left her, 
 
 For heath gat nearly heame togither. 
 
 As speyte sped yen an' freeght the ither. 
 
 Here was a fearfu' altercation, 
 
 Wi' ill-far'd neames, noise an' vexation ; 
 
 Tho' Tom, peer man, nit mickle said, 
 
 But slipp'd off whiately to bed, 
 
 Yet Tib you meight hev heard a mile hence, 
 
 Till sleep had stuck' d her gob in silence. 
 
 Oh, man ! oh, man ! what pity 'tis, 
 That what we whop our heeghest bliss 
 Sud disappoint us ; nay, what's worse, 
 Sae oft turns out a real curse : 
 It shows man's want o' fworeseeght truly. 
 In not consideran matters duely, 
 And gives him monny ill-far'd cowps, 
 Whea, gowk-leyke, luiks not 'or he loups. 
 
179 
 
 But shaugh ! what signifies reflection, 
 To streyfe let's never add dejection. 
 Tom had eneugh o' this at heame 
 When th' meagrims tuok his stingy deame ; 
 But what o' that ? he now an' than 
 Cud be a middlin' happy man ; 
 Which shows that human disposition 
 Is seldom fix'd in yae condition. 
 
 Tho' leately Tom hed sec a bruoly 
 An' hey-bey wi' his weyfe, unhuoly, 
 When, to avoid her clamourous jaw, 
 He skelp'd stark-neak'd amang the snow, 
 Yet scarce a month was owr or mair, 
 When Tom, returnin' frae the fair, 
 Met his three crwonies on the rwoad. 
 An' he, a silly sackless pwoad, 
 God kens, smaw invitation sarra'd. 
 When thus wi' teypors sae weel marrow'd, 
 To gang an' pree anudder bicker 
 Of Nanny Newton's nappy liquor. 
 In bang'd our neybors helter-skelter. 
 For each was at a slwote a smelter. 
 An' he 'at fworemost cud advance 
 Ay thought he hed a double chance ; 
 Yence set, whart follow'd whart as fast 
 As if each yen hed been their last. 
 An' a' the foursome gat as merry 
 As tho' they'd drunken sack or cherry : 
 Teyme they begeyl'd wi' clish-ma-clatters. 
 An' crack'd on monny diff'rent matters, 
 
 q2 
 
180 
 
 Someteymes on trade, someteymes on war, 
 
 Someteymes on countries God kens whar. 
 
 When Seymie, that auld-fashion'd hannie 
 
 Whea was as slee as onny Daniel, 
 
 Declar'd to him 'twas parlish strange 
 
 That yell sud work sae mickle change 
 
 In fwoaks, especially, says he, 
 
 As we've beheld, frien' Tom, in thee. 
 
 For generally, we mun allow. 
 
 In brwolliments thou art nae cow. 
 
 Nay, for a pinch wad risk thy leyfe, 
 
 Bit when a rumpus wi' thy weyfe 
 
 Breks out, 'tis then a chang'd affair. 
 
 Thou has not hauf-a-word to spare ; 
 
 Why, man, she kelk'd thee leyke a log. 
 
 An' chess'd thee leyke a cwoley dog. 
 
 An' than sic ill-far'd neames she ca'd tha, 
 
 Thou wad be vex'd, Tom, I'll upho'd tha. 
 
 Damme! I'd try to mend this matter. 
 
 An' breydle her infernal clatter. 
 
 Tho' Tom a buzzard was at heame 
 
 Was not at every pleace the seame, 
 
 His stomach ne'er cud brook adveyce, 
 
 Especially in points sae neyce, 
 
 His weyfe the subject — feigh upon her ! — 
 
 But then you see it touch'd his honour. 
 
 Ay, there's the thing, that rais'd the rackety 
 
 Agean off flew cwoat, sark, and jacket, 
 
 Widout a why or wherefore speeran. 
 
 He rwose leyke onny deevil sweeran ; 
 
181 
 
 His thumps at random dealt pell-mell, 
 Beneath his strokes a' threesome fell ; 
 A' three he beat, threyce risk'd his leyfe, 
 Weant heame — was paick'd agean by th' weyfe. 
 
 ROSLEY FAIR. 
 
 ^^F Isthmean and Olympian games 
 ^^ Let ancient rheymers sing, 
 Their wrus tiers and their boxers neames 
 
 In noisy numbers sing ; 
 Or Egypt, when the annual Nile 
 
 Its common bounds owrran. 
 Sec auld far'd claver's not worth wheyle 
 
 Fwoaks leyke o' us to scan 
 
 I'th' prizzent day. 
 
 Twea thousand years are owr an' mair 
 
 Sen a' this nonsense vanish'd. 
 An' to th' de'il, by christian care, 
 
 Their pagan pliskits banish' d; 
 Wheylst modern teymes, by change refeyn'd, 
 
 For wisdom mair reputed, 
 For sp worts t' oblivion lang conseyn'd 
 
 Hev merrier instituted 
 
 In latter days, 
 Q 3 
 
1S2 
 
 I'or what avail'd their ramish routs, 
 
 Wi' Sampson-leyke exertions, 
 Their broken nappers, seylan snouts, 
 
 Cud thar be ca'd devarshions ? 
 Not Athens, tho' for sense renown'd. 
 
 Nor Thebes cud e'er compare 
 For pasteymes sec as may be found 
 
 Each year at Rosley Fair 
 
 O'th' second day. 
 
 Here mirth and merchandise are mix'd, 
 
 There Jove with tumult rages, 
 Here fraud an' ignorance are fix'd, 
 
 An' sense with craft engages ; 
 Sly villainy hands out her han' 
 
 Your pocket nuoks to reyfle ; 
 An' clouds are rais'd o' stour an' san', 
 
 Eneugh auld Nick to steyfle, 
 
 O'th' hill this day< 
 
 See frae a' quarters, east and west, 
 
 I' drwoves th' country coman, 
 Wheyle flocks o' naigs an' kye are press'd 
 
 By flocks o' men an' women ; 
 Buss'd i' their best the blythesome troop. 
 
 Bang forrat helter-skelter, 
 Wheyle monny 'mang the mingled group 
 
 O'th' geat war fit to swelter 
 
 Wi' heat that day. 
 
183 
 
 Here pedlars frae a' pairts repair, 
 
 Beath Yorkshire beytes and Scotch fwoak ; 
 An' Paddeys wi' their feyne lin' ware, 
 
 Tho' a' deseyn'd to botch fwoak ; 
 Cheat 'at cheat can's the common rule, 
 
 Fwoaks a' cheat yen anither. 
 For he 'at's nowther kneave or fuol, 
 
 Godseake ! what brought him hither 
 
 To th' fair this day. 
 
 See, mounted on an auld grey meare 
 
 Led forth in pompous preyde, 
 Auld Baxter fiddlin' thro' the fair, 
 
 Wi' th' bealiffs by his seyde ; 
 This is as mickle as to say, 
 
 The treyst is fairly started, 
 Now you may up an' cheat away, 
 
 For nae man shall be thwarted 
 
 'At's here this day. 
 
 Now for a brek — 'od seake, stan' clear ! 
 
 Nor luok for future evils, 
 A' Bewcastle's broken lowse see there. 
 
 They're ga'n leyke stark-mad deevils ; 
 Wi' whup an' spur they rive away, 
 
 An' drive down a' befwore them, 
 An' heaps on heaps are whurl'd away 
 
 Or leam'd ; — the vengeance rwoar them, 
 
 For brutes this day. 
 
184 
 
 Here ample rows o' tents are stretch'd, 
 
 The gurse-green common bigg'd on, 
 An' baggin, ready cuok'd, is fetch'd 
 
 Frae Peerith, Carle, an' Wigton ; 
 Wi' rowth o' spirits, Waynes, an' yell, 
 
 In bottles an' in barrels, 
 That will, ere neeght, if reeght's my teale. 
 
 Ferment a power o' quarrels 
 
 An' streyfe this day. 
 
 See Sawney, wi' his auld din'd yad. 
 
 Just cum'd frae Ecclefechan, 
 Gallin the gimmer wi' a gad, 
 
 Tho' leyke a porpoise peighan ; 
 He warrants her soun' win' a' lira' 
 
 As onny o' the hill, 
 Tho' feint a yen wad creedit him, 
 
 That's owther seeght or skill, 
 
 A word that day. 
 
 Patrick O'Flagan, wi' his cloth, 
 
 Comes on amang the rest. 
 And tells his dealers with an oath, 
 
 'Tis better than the best : — 
 " This yard, which cost me half-a-crown, 
 
 " For eighteen-pence I offer ; 
 " By Jasus, man, Fm quite torn down, 
 
 " Whieh forces me to proffer 
 
 " So cheap to-day," 
 
185 
 
 Here's Yorkshire impudence, d'ye see, 
 
 Advancin' for a brek, 
 Just as' in' threyce as much as he. 
 
 Kens he'll consent to tek : — 
 " Here, maister, buy a coit cloith here, 
 
 " Ye's have it chep, believe me, 
 " 'Tis of the foinest 'ool, I swear ; 
 
 " Mon, think ye I'd deceive ye? — 
 
 " Not I this day." 
 
 Luok, whar i'th' nuok o' yonder tent 
 
 Yon crew are slyly smugglin', 
 I warrant ye now thar gang are bent 
 
 To tek fwoak in by jugglin' ; 
 Some cut-purse dow-for-noughts, nae doubt, 
 
 That deevilments hev skill in, 
 An' some 'at com' weel leaden out 
 
 May gang widout a shillin' 
 
 Off heame this day. 
 
 Whisht ! what's yon noise amang yon crowd. 
 
 Yon rantin' an' huzzain', 
 Whar trumpets skirl an' drums beat loud. 
 
 An' organs sweet are pleyin': — 
 " Here, walk in, gentlemen, and see," 
 
 Exclaims a hobthrust fellow, 
 " The king and royal family, 
 
 " Auld Nick and Punchinello, 
 
 " In style this day. 
 
186 
 
 
 " Here's eagle, ostrich, and macaw, 
 
 
 " Wi' the fam'd horse o' knowledge, 
 
 
 " Who more sagacity can show 
 
 
 " Than twenty fools from college ; 
 
 
 " A thousand tricks by cards he'd tell, 
 
 
 " Each one esteem'd a wonder, 
 
 
 
 " And all the pack he knows so well 
 
 
 
 " I never knew him blunder 
 
 
 " By neeght or 
 
 day. 
 
 " See the huge elephant advance, 
 
 
 
 " Of men he'd carry tharty, 
 
 
 " A thousand leyke him sent to France 
 
 
 " Wad crush proud Bonaparty ; 
 
 
 " Here's the fierce tiger from Bengal, 
 
 
 " Th' opossum from Savannah, 
 
 
 " The royal lion and jackal, 
 
 
 " The lynx and fierce hyaena. 
 
 
 " Alive this 
 
 day. 
 
 " Do walk in, gentlemen, walk in. 
 
 
 " The price is only threepence— 
 
 
 " We're just a going to begin — 
 
 
 " You two step in for fi'pence. 
 
 
 " You ne'er have seen, in all your days, 
 
 
 " So fine a show as this is, 
 
 
 " Go where we will it gains the praise 
 
 
 " Of gentlemen and misses 
 
 
 " On every 
 
 day." 
 
187 
 
 Come, Jwhon, I think we'll shift our stan', 
 
 An' see what's yonder bawlin' ; 
 Winge ! lad, it's a quack doctor-man, 
 
 His drugs and nostrums callin' : — 
 " Here are the pills that cure all ills, 
 
 " An' sleype off ev'ry evil, 
 " The cramp, the stich, the pox, the itch, 
 
 " Nay, that wad kill the deevil 
 
 " If here to-day." 
 
 Sec hurdum-durdum, dust, an' din, 
 
 Wi' showman an' physician, 
 Yen'd think that they meeght Babel fin', 
 
 Class'd for a new edition. 
 The noise o' boxers an' o' bulls, 
 
 0' drums an' dibblers jinglin', 
 0' cauves an' carles wi' clatter'd skulls. 
 
 Are leyke confusion minglin' 
 
 Reeght loud this day. 
 
 But let us step into th' Camp House / 
 
 An' see their dancin' sprees, / 
 
 There we may cruok our hams an' bouse / 
 
 A wee bit at our ease ; 
 There we our various cracks may ha'd 
 
 On ilka thing 'at passes, 
 An' watch the water castin' lad, ■ 
 
 0' some our bonny lasses, / 
 
 Unseen this day. I 
 
V 
 
 Wi' merry lilts the fiddler's chang, 
 
 The lads an' lasses bicker, 
 The drink o' acid teasts sae Strang 
 
 'Twad mek an auld naig nicker. 
 Some sit an' rub their shins reeght sad, 
 
 Full sair wi' sindry knocks, 
 Ithers wi' kevlin' hey go mad. 
 
 Sweat leyke as monny brocks, 
 
 I'th' room this day. 
 
 Here, lan'leady, some mair shwort ceaks. 
 
 An' meng us up thar glasses ; 
 Fiddlers screw up your strings, for, faiks ! 
 
 We'll lilt up " Sowerby Lasses." 
 An hey for our town lads ! stan' back. 
 
 An' let's have room to rally, 
 We'll thump away till a' be black, — 
 
 Weel fidg'd my sonsy Sally, r 
 
 Thou's meyne this day. 
 
 Here a' seems happiness throughout, 
 
 Lang be your plizzers lastin' ; 
 The punch and cider laves about. 
 
 An' few are here black fastin'. 
 Ilk lad now hugs the lass he leykes, 
 
 Wheyle some hev hauf-a-dizzen, 
 Unless some wreen ill-natur'd teykes, 
 
 'At car'n't if th' lasses wizzen 
 
 At th' fair this day. 
 
189 
 
 But we'll agean our matty shift 
 
 An' stroll about together, 
 We'll not give ya pleace a' our gift 
 
 An' hain nought for anither ; 
 A thousand farlies yet unseen 
 
 We'll fin' at difF'rent pleaces, 
 r scwores o' tents we hevn't been, 
 
 Nor seen hauf th' bonny feaces 
 
 'At's here this day. 
 
 Let's tek a scwover thro' th' horse fair. 
 
 An' hear some coupar jargon. 
 We'll see them cheat an' lythe them lee 
 
 Owr monny a gallows bargain ; 
 For Bewcastle aye bears the bell 
 
 For jobbers, scamps, and dealers. 
 And, low be't spoken, some fwoaks tell 
 
 They erst hev been horse stealers 
 
 In there away. 
 
 Luok, leyke mad bulls they bang about, 
 
 Wi' shouts their thropples rivan, 
 Wheyle whup for smack the rabble rout 
 
 Are yen owr t'other drivan ; 
 Perdition seems to mark their gaite 
 
 Wi' rage and wilfu' murder. 
 Some seafer bit we'll try to laite, 
 
 An' pauk on rather further 
 
 Frae skaith this day. 
 
190 
 
 Wheyte roun' the hill we'll tak' a range 
 
 An' view whatever passes, 
 The varying objects as they change, 
 
 Feyne wares and bonny lasses. 
 If e'er variety can please 
 
 What pleace is there in nature, 
 Where't can be fund wi' greater ease, 
 
 Or where it can be greater, 
 
 Than here to-day. 
 
 Wi' monny mair see Meggy Houpe 
 
 Wi' her bit sarkin' linen, 
 'At keep'd her feckly thro' th' how doup 
 
 Wate weel reeght constant spinnin' ; 
 Thro' monny a lang cauld winter neeght 
 
 I'th' nuok has she sat drillin' 
 Her pund leyne gairn, an' now she's reeght 
 
 If it bring forty shillin' 
 
 This Rosley day. 
 
 Here's baby-laikins, rowth o' speyce, 
 
 On sta's an' ra's extended, 
 Wi' nibelties as guode as neyce 
 
 In strange confusion blended ; 
 Wi' bozlam wares, shoon scwores o' pairs, 
 
 An' whillimere's rare cheeses, 
 Clogs splinter new, bass-bottom'd chairs, 
 
 An' lea stanes for new leases, 
 
 I' heaps this day. 
 
191 
 
 See swingin' owr the foggy swaird, 
 
 Begrac'd wi' angel features, 
 Wi' bra's weel buskit, rigg'd, an' squar'd, 
 
 A wheen deleytefu' creatures : 
 But beware o' the fause-feac'd fair, 
 
 That seek but your undoin', 
 Thar blythsome blenks are but t' ensnare 
 
 An' tempt to certain ruin 
 
 Puor gowks this day. 
 
 Ye heedless hauflins that mayhap 
 
 To fa' into their clutches, 
 Tent ye, or you may nurse a clap 
 
 For a' their gaudy mutches ; 
 An' sud ye, aeblins, be sae daft, 
 
 Ye'd luok but silly slouches, 
 Wi' not a plack o' kilter left 
 
 But heame wi' empty pouches 
 
 To slounge this day. 
 
 Hark ! where th' inveytin' drum o' Mars 
 
 Athwart the fair loud rattles, 
 It 'minds me aye o' wounds an' scars, 
 
 0' bruolliments an' battles ; 
 But Sarjin Keyte wad fain persuade 
 
 It's but the call of honour, 
 Where certain fortune shall be made 
 
 By those who wait upon her 
 
 OfF-han' this day. 
 
 r2 
 
192 
 
 I leyke the king, I leyke the state, 
 
 The kurk, and constitution, 
 An' on their foes, baith soon and late, 
 
 Wish downfa' an' confusion ; 
 But may nae frien*' o' mine, by cheats, 
 
 Turn out that maizlin ninny. 
 To barter a' a Briton's reeghts, 
 
 For nonsense an' a guinea, 
 
 Wi' Keyte this day. 
 
 But here's a row worth a' the rest, 
 
 Come, we'll attend this tuoly; 
 Ifaith ! we've fund a famous nest 
 
 'At mek a battlin' bruoly ; 
 Here crazy, lazy, blin', an' leame. 
 
 Engage for general trial, 
 An' heevy-skeevy, fire an' flame, 
 
 They yoke in battle royal 
 
 Pell-mell this day. 
 
 A sodger, wid a wooden leg, 
 
 A keynd o' snafflin' noddy, 
 Had begg'd a bure, her neame was Meg, 
 
 A winsome weel-far'd body ; 
 A darky glaum'd her by the hips, 
 
 The sodger band leyke thunder. 
 But still the blin' man held his grip 
 
 As tho' he ne'er wad sunder 
 
 Frae her that day. 
 
193 
 
 Then up ruose Caesar in a wrath, 
 
 An', sweyan owr his crutches, 
 Swear he wad lib the fiddler's graith 
 
 If he com' in his clutches ; 
 But his inconstant marrow Meg, 
 
 As for a bang he bummel'd, 
 Lows'd in a treyce his tiramer leg, 
 
 An' down the warrior tumel'd 
 
 Lang streek'd that day. 
 
 Now sprawlin' on the brade o's back, 
 
 Wi' rage the vet'ran ranted, 
 An' roun' laid monny a loundrin' whack, 
 
 But aye effect they wanted, 
 For as they keepd ayond his reach 
 
 His bats fell fause not fairly, 
 Wheylst they kept batt'ring him en hreach, 
 
 Which vext the wight reeght sairly, 
 
 Wate weel that day. 
 
 Roun' on his bum, his central bit, 
 
 As on a pivot wheelin'. 
 The hero whurl'd him wi' his fit. 
 
 Fast roun' his duibs aye dealin' ; 
 At length o wr whelm' d wi' filth an' sods 
 
 Frae thar ferocious tartars, 
 He sank beneath superior odds, 
 
 An' grean'd aloud for quarters 
 
 An' leyfe this day. 
 
 R 3 
 
194 
 
 Now a' seems outrage owr the hill, 
 
 Dread conflict an' confusion, 
 The watchword's blown, — be kill'd or kill; 
 
 The day's wark's near conclusion ; 
 We'd best be fettlin' off wi' speed 
 
 Wheyle we've hale beanes for carrying, 
 For fear some hawbuck tek't i' his heade 
 
 To brake us weel for tarrying 
 
 Sae lang ihis day. 
 
 END or JOHN STAGG S POEMS, 
 
POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 MARK LONSDALE. 
 
 TH' UPSHOT.* 
 
 TT'S hey for th' lads of our town eyne ! 
 
 I trow they're like nea ither, — 
 Theer' Wulliam Brough, an' Jwoney Heyne, 
 
 An' Kursty' Kit for anither ; 
 Theer' Geordy Waugh, a teeran haund 
 
 At berry'an bigg or shearan ; 
 But Ritson' Joe can cap them aw 
 
 For jinkan an' careeran. 
 
 * The following piece, taken from Jollie's " Sketch of Cum- 
 berland Manners and Customs," 8vo., Carlisle, 1811, was written 
 by Mr. Mark Lonsdale, and intended by him to have been 
 published in Hutchinson's " History of Cumberland," but it 
 arrived too late for insertion. It gives a true and natural 
 description of the manners of the district of which it treats ; 
 it is a plain "unvarnished story," but on that account prefer- 
 able, as affording a specimen of the humour and customs of the 
 Cumberland peasantry which, in this " age of refinement," are 
 fast going to decay, though the same general characteristics 
 are yet extant. Information is the first object of the poem, 
 and next to that, entertainment, but without attempting to 
 gratify either the antiquarian or the satirist ; for the virtues, 
 foibles, merits, and eccentricities of men and things are as 
 
196 
 
 Thur Worton lads an' twea' three mair — 
 
 Theer might be six or seeven — 
 Tawk't of an Upshot lang an' sair 
 
 To keep up Fassen's-even. 
 Yea Sunday mworn, i' Bell' backseyde, 
 
 They geddert up a gay few, 
 But fand it cauld to stawn i'th' fauld, 
 
 Sea tawk't things owr i'th' hay-mew. 
 
 "That barn," says Heyne, " i' Palmer' toft 
 
 " 'LI dea reet weel to keave in." 
 " Od dal !" says Joe, " theer' Wulson' loft, 
 
 " An' that's the thing till a sheavin'." 
 " Aw's speak to th' fiddler than," says Kit, 
 
 " 0' Brammery we may leyte, mun." 
 " Wa' shittle cum shaugh !" quo' Gwordy Waugh, 
 
 " A Stegg to fiddle as teyte, mun." 
 
 freely and, it is hoped, as harmlessly introduced as if the re- 
 lator were sitting by a Cumberland fireside, where every 
 neighbour has his story and his laugh in turn. Jollie, the 
 editor, accuses Anderson, the Cumbrian Bard, of borrowing 
 in a clandestine manner many of his best characters and ideas 
 from this piece. 
 
 This free sketch, ad vivium, of a Cumberland Upshot, taken 
 about the year 1780, and descriptive of the manners and dia- 
 lect of Great Orton, a village four miles west of Carlisle, is 
 intended to form the ground of the picture; hence the images 
 and phraseology made use of are not to be considered as general 
 throughout the country, for a number of local variations may 
 be met with in different neighbourhoods, which the curious 
 observer will scarcely be able to reconcile with each other, and 
 some of which are exemplified in the course of the Poem. 
 
197 
 
 " Your deame," says Joe, "mun beake uz breed."— 
 
 Says Jwoney Heyne, " Aw telt 'er ; 
 " Theer' a whillimer-cheese abune' bed-heed, 
 
 " An' dall ! but it's a pelter." 
 "But than," says Brough, "theer' yell to get." — 
 
 Says Gwordy, " Aw was thinkan 
 " An' Marget Peet sud brew to-neet, 
 
 " It'll sune be fit for drinkan." 
 
 " Wa than," says Job, " aw's warn us reet, 
 
 " Theer' nought 'at's ought to settle ; 
 " Sea whoop ! lads, hey for Fuursday neeght ! 
 
 " An' git yer pumps i' fettle." 
 They went to kurk ofF-hawn, ye see. 
 
 To Iwose nea teyme about it, 
 An' theer Wull Brough stude on a throughh, 
 
 An' 'midst o'th' kurk fwoke shoutit. 
 
 Now as 'twas frost and fair throw' leet, 
 
 As' lads agreet it sud be, 
 Frae far an' neer a' Fuursday neeght 
 
 Fwoke com' as fast as cud be. 
 Theer was Brough-side lads, an' Theursby chaps. 
 
 An' Bowness fishers vaiperan. — 
 Huh ! seerly thar 'at go sea far 
 
 Was gayly keen o' caiperan. — 
 
 Theer was Tom Kurkbride an' Clogger Kit, 
 
 An' Boucher Wulson' Jwoney, 
 An' Walker' fwoke o'th' lonnin fitt, 
 
 An' leytle Markey Lonney ; 
 
198 
 
 Young Nixon com' wa' Sarah Gate, 
 
 But leyle content he'd wud her, 
 For Elsey Graham ran gowlan heame, 
 
 An' swure she wad tell his muther. 
 
 An' theer was Jwonn, at Laird a' Peel's, 
 
 Wa' Laird Knokuppert' Mary, 
 Her deaths aw trailt amang her heels, — 
 
 A perfe't flig-me-gairy. 
 Dan Ceape o' Caudbeck pult her tails, — 
 
 " R-r-r-r ! bow wow ! cwoaly, byte 'em !" 
 Then criet, for sham ! to mack ther gamm, 
 
 For he duddn't lyk't. — 'Od white him ! 
 
 Theer was Lundin Grace, — old Cowthart' heir, 
 
 'At dee't theer at Kurk ander, — 
 She tawk't a'varst, but knapp't sea sair 
 
 'At ninn cud understand her. 
 Brough got his airms about her neck ; 
 
 She cried, " Excuthe me, mithther." 
 '' Whoo-hoo !" quo' Wull, " th' lass is a fuul !" 
 
 Aw nobbit aim't t'll a kist her. 
 
 Theer was tarrier Gash, an' tyelleyer How, 
 
 An' Seymy Hunt the sinker — 
 For dancin' he was nought at dow. 
 
 But a prime ban' for a drinker ; 
 An' gunner Bell caw't in by chance. 
 
 The cock o' Scealby lowpers ; 
 Wi' brandy Matt an' gallopan Watt, 
 
 Twea rattlan bworder cowpers. 
 
199 
 
 Sea monny fwoke this Upshot brang, 
 
 An' crewd at last sea greet was, 
 'At Carill Fair was ne'er sea thrang 
 
 As Worton murry-neet was, 
 By neens at yence they fell to wark, 
 
 Wa Jenny dang the weaver, 
 Wheyle Worton lads waz lowpan mad. 
 
 An' shoutit " Yoicks to cleaver !" 
 
 Tom Leytle, wud a fearfu' bree, 
 
 Gat hoald o' Dinah Glaister — 
 She danc't a famish jig, an' he 
 
 Was Thursby dancin' maister ; 
 But just as Leytle gev a spang 
 
 Leyke a feyne squoaveran callan. 
 Loft beurds they brack, an' theer ha stack 
 
 A striddlin' cock'd o' th' hallan. 
 
 Lang Cowper Watt sea whang't about 
 
 He made Nan Boustead dizzy, 
 An' than set up a roughsome shout, 
 
 " Seye ! seye ! to the drokk'n hizzy !" 
 Says gunner Bell to brandy Matt, 
 
 " Dammey ! but hey's in oarder ! 
 " Play up, auld chiell, a rantin' reel. — 
 
 " Whoop ! haiy for Watt o' the bworder !" 
 
 Leyle tyelleyer How was shwort o' th' hough, 
 
 An' danc't wa Sarah Bewley ; 
 He straive to buss her tvvice. — " Wa shaugh !' 
 
 Quo' she, an' clufF'd him, truly. 
 
200 
 
 Than tyelleyer he began to chow, 
 
 And hurs'lt up his shou'der. 
 Wid a hullabaloo they cry't " Shoou ! shoou 
 
 And heame set he in a powder. 
 
 Wa jaws o' yell some durty beutts 
 
 Pat loft sune in a slatter ; 
 Wheyle ithers wi' ther clumsy clouts 
 
 Meade aw the glass windows clatter : 
 An wheyle they skew't and tew't, and swat, 
 
 Wa monny a weeary seydle, 
 Down stairs was met a roysteran set 
 
 'At com' nit ta be eydle. 
 
 Theer was glee'an' Jenn an' Jenny Reed, 
 
 Aw' knag, an' clash, an' saunter ; 
 An' Calep Hodge, o' Mworton-heed, 
 
 A famish hand at lanter ; 
 Theer was Jacob Hill, o' Worton-green, 
 
 Anuther gay good laiker. 
 But he'd ga to France as teyte as dance, 
 
 Acause of his being a Whaiker. 
 
 Laird Sheppart co' frae Thrustenfeel, 
 
 An' need wad faw to cairdin'. 
 Says Blaylick' son, o' Hosskat-hill, 
 
 " Wucks ! let us teck this laird in." 
 Furst deal about he gat speadd yass, 
 
 An' crew an' yammer' t sair than ; 
 But picks was trump an' he tuke grump. 
 
 An' sed he wad laik nea mair than. 
 
201 
 
 But' weddit fwoke rare laughin' hedd 
 
 I'th' bow'r wi' yan anither, 
 For five or six gat into the bed 
 
 An' sat hamm-samm togither ; 
 They mixt their legs a'nonder't deaths 
 
 As weel as they war yeahle, 
 An' at popps an' pairs laikt long an' sair, 
 
 Wi' th' ass-buurd for a teable. 
 
 Jenn Stalker shar't whate'er she gat 
 
 Wa Jack o' Gwordy Skinners, 
 'Twas as gud to him as a nuikkelt cat, 
 
 For Jenn was always winners ; 
 Leyll Arthey Todd crap till her back, 
 
 An' she brast out a squeelin', 
 " Be whiett fule — ar dea what ta' wull ! — 
 
 " Thou kittles ma when aw's deelan." 
 
 Oal Peat' wife laikt wa Nan-Rob-Jack, 
 
 Because she was his goddy, 
 She bummelt on, an' iv a crack 
 
 Lost nineteen-penze at noddy ; 
 Gudman steud wrauwlan at her lug, 
 
 An' coa't her many a garrick. 
 Says she " They cheat." '"Ods luid !" quo' Peat, 
 
 "Thou's meade a bonny darrak !" 
 
 I'th' chimlay-nuik some gay gud hawns, 
 
 An' gayley ill to slokk'n, 
 Fell tea wa poddingers an' cans, 
 
 An' few't weel to git drunkk'n. 
 
 .SI 
 
202 
 
 Bowtheieker' weyfe began to glunch : 
 
 Says Theeker, " Aw defy tha ; 
 " Oal clish-ma-clash, thou's nought but fash I 
 
 " Ga heame an' ta bed,— 'od dye tha !" 
 
 They crack' d away leyke boutrey guns 
 
 0' thing they teuk delyte in, 
 An' fell to tawk about ther sons. 
 
 An' whilk was' best at feyghtin'. 
 " Our Wulliam, faith," quo' dogger Kitt, 
 
 " Sail bang aw The\irsby quarter, 
 " For at yea batt he fellt ma flat. — 
 
 " 'Ods daggs ! he'll be a darter." 
 
 By ten o'clock, ye'r seen o'that, 
 
 Aw th' house was in a pudder, 
 An' nit a body theer but swat 
 
 Wi' yea thing or anuther. 
 Bunce went a pistol ofi" i'th' foald, 
 
 An' in co' Bessy, bumman ; — 
 " Hey for us yet !" quo' Kursty Kitt, 
 
 " Whorray! here' th' maskers cumman." 
 
 Oal Bessey swurlt an' skew't about, 
 
 Whell fwoke to th' skemmels brattl't, 
 An' lasses whilly-liltit out 
 
 As they bed been betrattl't ; 
 But th' maister in amang them lap 
 
 Just leyke a deevel ranty, 
 An' brought man Jack, wi' Busy Gapp, 
 
 An' Neddy Tarn an' Lanty. 
 
203 
 
 Reeght unkat figures did they cut, 
 
 And ay they skipp'd an' chantit, 
 Their spangs an' vapours pass'd for wut, 
 
 An' that was aw they wantit. 
 Jack out wa monny a menseless word, 
 
 But lasses bude his mockin', 
 An' whate'er he spak' criet " Never ak, 
 
 " Sea lang as he is but jwoakin'." 
 
 To ken the maskers monny a yenn 
 
 Triet ivver langer th' harder, 
 Fwoke harkt an' guesst an' guess t agean, 
 
 But nin was nivver th' narder. 
 Whell the maister' maskin'-feace fell off; 
 
 Than, skewin' up their beavers, 
 Wull Brough an' Joe cry't, " Keek ! holloa ! 
 
 " Wuns ! hey for Banton weavers !" 
 
 Quo' Gwordy Robson, " Shee ! shee ! shee ! 
 
 " Hizz Langbrough lads can bang them." 
 " Wa nay," quo' Strang' weyfe, " that's a lee, 
 
 " For theer' our Wull amang them." 
 What matter, — when sword dance com' on 
 
 They lockt an' meade a bummel, 
 For Wulliam Strang — girt gammerstang ! — 
 
 Ran foul o' Jacob Trummel. 
 
 But when they cott off Hector' heed 
 
 Miss Greace began a fantin ; 
 La'ye ! quo' th' leave, as seer as deed, 
 
 She ne'er was bworn a' Banton ! 
 
 s2 
 
204 
 
 The leevin' surs ! she towpt her owr 
 
 'Or yen cud say, 'od bless her ! 
 And Hector sware as he laid o'th' fluur, 
 
 Dall him, but he wad kiss her ! 
 
 Sword dancers had nea suner dune 
 
 Nor yen criet out, " 'Ods wonters! 
 " Wad tay wad give us s'unkets sune, 
 
 " We're aw as haw as hunters." 
 Quo' Ritson, " Weel sed, greedy gut ! 
 
 " But nin o' this mifF-maff mun, 
 " For aw's weel seer, Hob Thross'll ne'er 
 
 " Ha' thee to chowk wa kafF, mun." 
 
 But the cheese an' breed at last com' in 
 
 Aw reddy shiv't an' cutt'n, 
 Theer was whangs an' shives, thick an' thin, 
 
 I' weights an' riddles putt'n : 
 Ther cheese was teugh as kezzlup-skin. 
 
 An' wuntry wairch it teastet ; 
 But rivin' deed was meade o'th' breed, 
 
 For that was through ither yeastet. 
 
 At' teyme when nought but teeth was gawn. 
 
 An' aw by th' chafts was tether't, 
 WuU Brough an' Ritson tuke in hawn 
 
 To see 'at shot was gether't : 
 Upstairs an' down fwoke thrimmelt out 
 
 Ther sixpenzes to th' dibbler ; 
 An' dancers pat i' Brammery's hat 
 
 Pennies a-piece for th' fiddler. 
 
205 
 
 Now aw this fish-fash held t'em leate, 
 
 An' leyle hours was advancin', 
 Sea sum o'th' oal fwoke set to geate, 
 
 An' the youngans fell to dancin' ; 
 Oal Brammery sune began to fag, 
 
 At tymes his memory Iwoasin, 
 Yet ne'er a tune was owr an' dune 
 
 But Jonathan caw't for 'hwoazin ! 
 
 Oal docker Jwonn wad dance a gig, 
 
 Oal Simpson' lass was handy, 
 He arguet sair for " Shilly-my-gig," 
 
 An' she for " Dribbles o' Brandy." 
 Says Mantin' Eob o' Brough town eyne, 
 
 " Auld faughlin' deed ye keep now ! 
 " What gars ye ba-awk gude teyme wi' ta-auk; 
 
 " Wa th' fiddler's fa-awn asleep, you." 
 
 Now as that, for seer, was Brammery' kease, 
 
 Nea better gam' desiran, 
 They brunt his wig an' greym't his feace. 
 
 An' waiken't him wa flyeran. 
 He'd dreamt 'at he was " Hun tin' Fox," 
 
 An' sea wi' snuffs an' sneevels 
 Rair't out, " See howw ! yeow ! yeow ! yeow !- 
 
 " Na — a dall ya ! lads, ye'r deevels. 
 
 Than furth to th' deer oal Brammery went, 
 
 Right goddartly an' ginger. 
 Sea Ritson play't t'em lang unkent, 
 
 An' Heyne sang " Cwoally Winjer;" 
 
 s 3 
 
206 
 
 Brougli lass laikt at neevy-nack, 
 
 Bow lads gat aw to wustlan, 
 An' Ritchey danc'd " Jack o' th' Green/' 
 
 Whell Whaiker Hill was whustlan. 
 
 But Banton lads grew parfe't guffs, 
 
 An' Theursby lasses mazelins, 
 An' Peat' lass, wud her yellow muffs, 
 
 Stude kaaikin' like a gezzlin'. 
 Some silly fule blew th' cawn'lls out, 
 
 Wheyle fwoke for day-breck waitit, 
 An' lads i'th dark meade rampin' wark 
 
 'Or clwoaks an' clogs was laitit. 
 
 Young Martha Todd was haister't sair 
 
 By rammish Wully Barr'as, 
 They lost thersell an' hour an' mair 
 
 An' than kest up i'th' carr's ; 
 Leyle Arthey went to lait them out — 
 
 Nin thought 'at he'd a heart for't — 
 He prick'lt his shins i' Wulson' whins, 
 
 An' swuur 'at some sud smart for't. 
 
 Now this ye'll say, was rackle deed. 
 
 They'd been as weel without it ; — 
 But Mary Meer an' Jwosep Reed 
 
 Can tell ye mair about it. 
 T' ane was a bonny modest lass, 
 
 A canny lad was t'other. 
 An' nea mair mischief com' to pass 
 
 Nor wed din' yen anither. 
 
207 
 
 I'tli' turf-whole nuik, as drunk as muck, 
 
 Peer Brammery was liggan, 
 An' docker blebb'd for life an' pluck 
 
 Coald water in a piggin ; 
 Oal Wulson dwoaz't as nought had been, 
 
 An' clwose by th' hudd sat gruntan ; 
 Wheyle Mary Cairn, to Wulson' bairn. 
 
 Was singan " Bee-bo-buntin'." 
 
 When' lyave had aw teann off to bed, 
 
 Some twea' three clearan drinkers 
 Drew in a fworm, an' swure an' sed, 
 
 " Dall thame 'at steek't their winkers !" 
 They drank aw th' yell up every sup, 
 
 Wi' nowther haike nor quarrel, 
 An' at fair feer days they went ter ways, 
 
 Wi' th' spiddick pult out o' th' barrel. 
 
 Jwonn Heyne set off to Worton Bigg, 
 
 A randy'd cowey seekin' ; 
 Job Bitson fell to deeghtan bigg. 
 
 An' G wordy Waugh to theekin ; 
 But Wulson' lad an' Kursty Kitt 
 
 Went efter th' hounds togither : — 
 Sea this was Worton murry-neet 
 
 An' hey for seek anither ! 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES TO THE UPSHOT. 
 
 Hey for the Lads of our Town, &c. A common phrase 
 of exultation or superiority amongst young men who pretend to 
 more spirit than the fellows of our town. 
 
 WuLLiAM Broxjgh. All the proper names made use of are 
 or were to be found among the villages near to where the scene 
 is laid ; yet no direct personal application is meant, as they are 
 adapted and applied at random, a very few instances excepted 
 where the license is warranted by common custom. 
 
 KuRSTY KiTT. Christopher's son Kitt, or Christopher. 
 Various modes of distinction are used by the country people in 
 speaking of one another. In several towns there are found so 
 many of the same surname, that they are obliged either to use 
 combinations of the family christian names, or to adopt some 
 bye-title appropriate to the person spoken of, in order to prevent 
 mistakes ; these are rung into a variety of changes according 
 to the humours or contingencies of the place ; and Orton, 
 Burgh-on-Sands, Beaumont, and their several neighbourhoods, 
 furnish a very curious collection of them. A few instances will 
 more clearly illustrate this system of nicknames: — 
 
 Nan-Rob-Jack (John Hodgson), viz. Ann's son Robert's 
 son John ; otherwise, John the son of Robert the son of Ann. 
 
 Nan-Rob-Robin (Robert Hodgson), brother to Nan-Rob- 
 Jack. 
 
 Nan-Rob-Robin-Robin (Robert Hodgson), son to the last 
 mentioned. 
 
 Laird o'Foald (Laird Hodgson), a person of landed pro- 
 perty whose house stood within a foald or farm yard. 
 
 Bill o'Foald (William Hodgson), son to the preceding. 
 
 Paddigal Wulliam (William Hodgson), from the family 
 having formerly lived at a place called Parkgill, corrupted in 
 the pronunciation to Parrickgill or Paddigal. Some deriva- 
 
209 
 
 tions make it Paddock-hole, a swampy hole or ditch overrun 
 with frogs. 
 
 Dub Wui.ly, or Buikk Wully (William Hodgson). Dub, 
 from a piece of standing water near his premises ; and Buikk 
 Wully (Book "William), from his commencing bookseller in 
 Carlisle. 
 
 Crossey ( Hodgson), whose house stood across the 
 
 town-gate or roadway in a particular manner. 
 
 Crossey Dick (Richard Hodgson), his son. 
 
 These bye-titles are so far from giving offence that the parties 
 themselves admit them on all occasions, and sometimes even use 
 them in writing. There are other nicknames, however, which 
 either imply some harmless hobby-horsical propensity, or serve 
 to stigmatize dangerous or culpable characters ; these being 
 given and circulated as whim or provocation may happen to 
 point out, are of course seldom cordially acknowledged by those 
 to whom they are applied : for instance, — 
 
 Brock Gwordy was a famous badger-hunter. 
 
 Our Wulliam. A young man who conceited himself won- 
 derfully clever in all manly exercises, and whose father was 
 incessantly boasting of him with the egotism of Our Wulliam, 
 
 'BuNNANCE o'LuiVE. A horse-dealer much addicted to that 
 phrase, it being usual with him to take money with 'bunnance 
 o'luive ; recommend a bargain with 'bunnance o'luive ; or 
 defend a lawsuit with 'bunnance o'luive ; that is with abundance 
 of love. Of a hearty goodwill. 
 
 DuRTY Gully. A butcher, a very honest fellow, but apt 
 to be slovenly on market-days. 
 
 Tipp Wully. A reputed sheep-stealer who had been tried 
 at the assizes for stealing a ram. 
 
 Jack-a-leggs. One who had in a quarrel stabbed another 
 with a clasp knife called a. jack-a-leggs. 
 
 A TEERAN HAUND. One who carries all before him, as it 
 were ; a strong hardy fellow. 
 Wulson' Loft. That is, up-stairs at farmer Wilson's. 
 
210 
 
 Any person in the neighbourhood who can supply a dancing 
 room with a boarded floor, readily lends it for the occasion free 
 of expense, together with every corner above and below for the 
 accommodation of the drinkers and card-players. The loft, a 
 first-floor of a Cumberland farm-house, is likewise the attic 
 with only the bare rafters and thatch for a ceiling, and divided 
 from the kitchen below simply by the joists covered with oak 
 boards, not so nicely fitted together as to obstruct either the sight 
 or hearing, and oftentimes so thin that a night's dancing effects 
 a free and complete intercourse in many places with those below 
 The loft mostly includes the whole length of the house from one 
 gable to the other, whereas, the down stairs is divided into 
 kitchen and bower or bedchamber. 
 
 Brammery. Jonathan Brammery was long noted as an 
 itinerant fiddler about that " country side," not so much for his 
 skill in tormenting catgut (for he was a sad scraper) as for a 
 peculiar knack he had of making himself the butt of the com- 
 pany wherever he came, and furnishing a continual subject for 
 fun and waggery in his person and manners, both of which were 
 awkward in the extreme. He considered himself very dexterous 
 in a kind of duetto between his voice and his instrument, which 
 be called " Hunting the Fox," and in which he ran over the 
 various incidents of the chace virith a natural snufile and an 
 affectation of mimicry, vocal and instrumental, that made his 
 performance irresistibly laughable. Jonathan was an inoffensive 
 fellow in the main, but it was almost impossible to be in his com- 
 pany for an hour without being induced to play off some trick 
 or other at his expense. 
 
211 
 LOVE IN CUMBEELAND. 
 
 Ttme, — " Cuddle me, Cuddy." 
 
 X^T'A, Jwohn, what'n mannishment's 'tis 
 'At tou's gawn to dee for a hizzy ! 
 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 an' whingin sea mickle ; 
 
 Cockswunters ! min beyde about heame, 
 An' let her e'en ga to auld Nickle. 
 
 Thy plew-geer's aw liggin how-strow, 
 An' somebody's stown thee thy couter ; 
 
 Oh faiks ! thou's duin little 'at dow 
 To fash theesel ivver about her. 
 
 Your Seymey has broken car stang, 
 An' mendit it wid a clog-coaker ; 
 
 Pump-tree's geane aw wheyt wrang, 
 
 An' they've sent for auld Tom Stawker. 
 
 Young filly's dung oure the lang stee, 
 An' leam'd peer Andrew the theeker ; 
 
 Thee mudder wad suffer't for tee, 
 An haw hadn't happ'n't to cleek her. 
 
212 
 
 Thou's spoilt for aw manner o' wark : 
 Thou nobbet sits peghan an' pleenan. 
 
 Odswucke, man ! doff that durty sark, 
 An' pretha gi'e way git a clean an ! 
 
 An' then gow to Carel wi' me, — 
 
 Let her gang to Knock-cross wid her scwornin',- 
 Sec clanken at market we'll see, 
 
 A' 11 up'od ta' forgit her 'or mwornin' ! 
 
 END OF MARK LONSDALE S POEMS. 
 
A L L A D S, &c, 
 
 ROBERT ANDERSON, 
 
 Robert Anderson was bora in the Parish of St. Mary, 
 Carlisle, February 1st, 1770 : he was the youngest of nine 
 children, and, at an early age, was placed in a charity school 
 supported by the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle. After re- 
 ceiving the first rudiments of learning from the Mistress, he 
 was transferred to the care of a " long, lean pretender to know- 
 ledge," whose figure, he remarks, reminded him of the Mad 
 Knight of La Mancha ; and who, from an ardent devotion to 
 the rod — not the scholastic but the piscatory — spent so much of 
 his time in angling, to which he was perhaps impelled also by 
 necessity, that his pupils were most shamefully neglected. 
 Anderson was his chosen companion in these expeditions, in 
 which he served a twofold purpose; — first, to carry the "speckled 
 trout or small flounder;" and secondly, if dissapointed in the 
 produce of the rod, to gather "coltsfoot, bittany, ground-ivy, 
 and various herbs," which his master was forced by poverty to 
 use as substitutes for tea. It was these summer excursions, 
 Anderson says, that first gave to his youthful mind an attach- 
 ment to raral scenery, and which grew with him to manhood, 
 ■*' the dearest wish of his heart having ever been to creep into re- 
 tirement, where, in peace, he might strike the weak strings of 
 his harp, a few years before life's closing scene." He further 
 remarks that he first imbibed his love of song from a cheerful 
 industrious old woman, born in the Highlands of Scotland, fof 
 
214 
 
 whom he used to run errands, and at whose fireside he spent 
 many a winter evening, "delighted beyond measure with the 
 wild Scottish ballads which she taught him while labouring at 
 her wheel." 
 
 His parents finding that he made but little progress in his 
 learning, next sent him to the Quaker's school under Mr. Isaac 
 Ritson, of whom Anderson speaks with unqualified admiration, 
 but who, in a few weeks left the city, when he was placed under 
 his "last and best tutor" Mr. Walter Scott, a man esteemed 
 by all ranks in the town and neighbourhood. Under him, An- 
 derson, at the particular request of his parents, made a consider- 
 able progress in arithmetic, though his own choice would have 
 led him to the study of grammar, of which he professes never 
 to have attained any exact knowledge. About the expiration 
 of his tenth year he quitted school, that he might, by his labour, 
 assist in supporting his aged and infirm father : his mother had 
 died a short time previous. His first employment was under a 
 brother, a calico printer, and having been from his infancy fond 
 of drawing, he was afterwards apprenticed to a pattern-drawer. 
 The last five years of his apprenticeship he had engaged to serve 
 in London, the thought of which was pleasing as it promised fair 
 to lead to improvement ; but while there, he discovered that he 
 had " pledged his word to serve a deceitful wretch, whom ne- 
 cessity compelled another, as well as himself, to arrest for wages, 
 earned by long study and close application. The distress 
 occasioned by the villainy of his employer beggared all descrip- 
 tion. He was for some months confined to a wretched garret, 
 from which he seldom durst venture ; and, but for the kindness 
 shown by a sister, his life must have been forfeited to want and 
 misery." He was afterwards so fortunate as to obtain employ- 
 ment under a master who proved as kind as his former one was 
 the reverse. 
 
 In 1794 he visited Vauxhall Gardens for the first time, and 
 feelino- disgusted with many of the songs he there heard, he, on 
 the next morning, wrote the following; — "Lucy Gray of 
 
215 
 
 Allendale," "I sigh for the Girl I adore," "The lovely brown 
 Maid," and " Ellen and I." " Lucy Gray" was his first attempt 
 at poetical composition, and was suggested by hearing a Nor- 
 thumbrian rustic relate the story of the " Unfortunate Lovers." 
 These songs, with several others, he afterwards offered to his 
 friend Mr. Hook, a composer of celebrity; they were set to 
 music by him, and his first poetic effusion was sung by Master 
 Phelps at Vauxhall, in 1794, with great applause. The others 
 also obtained the approbation of the public to the great joy of 
 the author. 
 
 Anderson employed many of his leisure hours in the cultiva- 
 tion of music, frequently composing the airs for his own songs : 
 he was an excellent player on the German flute. He may be 
 said also to have excelled in minute writing: — in his Memoir 
 he says " By candle light, and without the aid of glasses, I 
 wrote the Lord's Prayer, Creed, Ten Commandments, a short 
 psalm, and my name, on the size of a sixpence, which was 
 given to a worthy friend, Mr. Palmer, of Drury Lane Theatre. 
 I also wrote the Lord's Prayer twelve times, on the same size, 
 now in the possession of a lady whose kindness was beyond all 
 expectation, Mrs. Howard, of Corby Castle. It was then my 
 intention to write the whole of the N ew Testament, which, with 
 ease, I could have produced on a sheet of paper, twenty-two 
 inches square; but finding this would engross the hours of 
 leisure for some years, I declined the undertaking." 
 
 His father, whom he regularly supported, about this time paid 
 him an unexpected visit, having walked, though in his 7Gth 
 year, from Carlisle to London, a distance of 301 miles, in six 
 days. Although tears of joy streamed down the face of each on 
 meeting, yet it was with great difficulty he was prevailed on to 
 remain in London a fortnight, for he could not bear the noise 
 and bustle. " I feel it impossible," says Anderson, " to write of 
 him without shedding a tear; for the greatest happiness I enjoy 
 now, in life's decline, is the reflection of having fulfilled my 
 duty to him, whom I saw laid in his grave in autumn, 1807. 
 
 t2 
 
216 
 
 Would to God all who have it in their power would act in a 
 similar manner to a helpless parent." 
 
 In October, 1796, at the request of his father, who stated 
 himself to be unhappily situated, he left the Metropolis, and 
 accepted an offer of employment from the firm of Lamb, Scott, 
 and Co., of Carlisle. In 1798, he published a volume of Poems, 
 dedicating it to J. C. Curwen, Esq., M. P., for which, however, 
 he received little more than dear-bought praise, in consequence 
 of the non-payment of several subscriptions. In Dec. 1801, 
 he published a baUad in the Cumbrian dialect, "Betty Brown," 
 and the commendation with which it was received, particularly 
 from a learned friend, Mr. Thomas Sanderson, encouraged him 
 to further attempts in the same species of poetry; till at length 
 a sufficient number was produced to form a volume, which, at 
 the request of Mr. Sanderson who furnished the notes to it, 
 he published under the title of "Cumberland Ballads," but 
 this volume, like its predecessor, barely defrayed the expenses 
 attendant upon the publication, owing to much of the sub- 
 scription-money being lost. The work, however, becoming 
 popular, the edition was soon exhausted, and subsequent ones 
 were issued by Mr. Hetherton, of Wigton, who had purchased 
 the copyright. 
 
 Prior to the second edition, Anderson departed from Carlisle 
 at the earnest intreaty of a friend, having the promise of a more 
 lucrative situation in the neighbourhood of Belfast On reaching 
 Dumfries, he states that his wish was so great to pay the tribu- 
 tary tear at the tomb of Robert Burns, that this alone induced 
 him to prefer a pedestrian journey through Scotland to a short 
 sail from Maryport. He paid a visit also to Mrs. Burns, and 
 wrote a few lines on the occasion, but " finding it impossible to 
 do justice to his feelings the effusion was never shown." During 
 his journey the "Mountain Boy" and "The Vale of Elva" 
 were written, the first of which he published on his arrival in 
 Belfast. Owing to the pressure of the times and the want of 
 spirit in the proprietors, the print-works were closed in less 
 
217 
 
 than two years. In that period he had published much in the 
 Belfast Newspaper, which led him into the society of many 
 literary characters. He wrote, and was about to publish, an 
 "Adieu to Erin," when he met with an unexpected engagement 
 at Carnmoney, six miles from Belfast ; and, during his residence 
 at this place, his truly christian hospitality shone forth in a 
 most exemplary manner, in relieving, from his own scanty 
 purse, the distresses of the many wretched and helpless beings, 
 by whom he found himself surrounded. In aid of the same 
 object, charity balls were also frequently held and subscrip- 
 tions liberally entered into ; on[which occasions he was uniformly 
 appointed collector, but notwithstanding his continual anxiety 
 to serve his brethren in a strange country, he frequently expe- 
 rienced the basest acts of ingratitude, and his life, indeed, was 
 frequently placed in jeopardy by those whom he had never 
 offended. 
 
 Calico-printing in Ireland having now been for some time 
 on the decline, he found it necessary to leave Belfast, and 
 returning to his native city, Carlisle, had every reason to 
 be gratified with the reception he experienced from all his 
 friends and acquaintances, who shortly afterwards advised him 
 to publish his works in order to make some provision for his 
 latter days. "Diffidence," he says, "would have prevented me 
 from making such an attempt had not necessity forced me to it. 
 A committee was appointed, who have used every exertion to 
 ensure my happiness in the winter of life ; and the same anxiety 
 has been shown by many in various parts of the kingdom." 
 Two volumes were accordingly published at Carlisle, in 1820 ; 
 prefaced by an " Essay on the Character and Manners of the 
 Peasantry of Cumberland," from the pen of his friend Mr. 
 Thomas Sanderson, and a Memoir written by himself, from 
 which this sketch is principally obtained. For the last twelve 
 months of his life he was supported from a monthly subscrip- 
 tion entered into by many of his friends and admirers, chiefly 
 inhabitants of Carlisle, at which place he died on the 27th 
 
 t3 
 
218 
 
 of September, 1833, in the 63rd year of his age, and was 
 
 interred in the burial ground of the Cathedral Church. A 
 
 monument of statuary marble, in the basso-relievo style, has 
 
 since been erected to his memory in the Cathedral, having the 
 
 following inscription under a medallion likeness of the bard. 
 
 Erected, 
 
 By public subscription, 
 
 To the memory of 
 
 ROBERT ANDERSON, 
 
 The Cumberland Bard, 
 
 Died in Carlisle, 26th Sept. 1833, 
 
 Aged 63 years. 
 
 The surplus of the subscription fund was expended on a stone 
 
 memorial over the spot where he was interred. 
 
 Numerous of his Ballads and Songs are scattered abroad 
 in MS. among his friends. His nephew possesses an Opera 
 entitled "The Chief of Skye," containing many passages of 
 great beauty : it was shown by the author to the late Mr. Kean, 
 who expressed a very high opinion of it. Of Anderson's style 
 of writing, his friend Sanderson remarks " His Cumberland 
 Ballads display uncommon merit, and may be considered as 
 the most perfect specimens of pastoral writing that have yet 
 appeared. The author has taken a wider view of rural life than 
 any of his predecessors, and has been more happy in describing 
 the peculiar cast of thought and expression by which individual 
 manners are distinguished. In delineating the characters of 
 his peasants he has closely adhered to nature and truth, never 
 raising them above their condition in life by too much refine- 
 ment, and never depressing them below it by too much vulgarity. 
 He holds them up often to laughter, but never to contempt. He 
 has the happy talent of catching the ludicrous in every thing 
 that comes before him, and of expressing it in that felicity which 
 gives it in its full force to the reader." 
 
219 
 NICHOL THE NEWSMONGER. 
 
 Tune, — " The night before Larry was stretch'd." 
 
 /^OME, Nichol, and gi'e us thy cracks, 
 I seed te gang down to the smiddy, 
 I've fodder'd the naigs and the nowt, 
 
 And wanted to see thee, 'at did e. 
 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 sworrowfu' teymes, 
 
 For Bonnyprat's nit as he sud be ; 
 America's nobbet sae sae ; 
 
 And England nit quite as she mud be ; 
 Sad wark there's amang blacks and wheytes,* 
 
 Sec tellin' plain teales to their feaces, 
 Wi' murders, and wars, and aw that, — 
 
 But, ho'd ! I forget where the pleace is. 
 
 Our parson he gat drunk as muck, 
 Then ledder'd aw t' lads roun' about him, 
 
 They said he was nobbet hawf reet, 
 
 And fwok mud as weel be widout him ; 
 
 * Alluding to the insurrection of the Blacks, 
 
220 
 
 The yell's to be fourpence a whart — 
 
 Odswinge ! lad, there will be rare drinkin ; 
 
 Billy Pitt's mad as onie March hare, 
 And niver was reet fwok are thinkin'. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 Dawston 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 ;* 
 
 And fact'ries, leyke mushrooms, they spring up, 
 If they sud keep their feet for awheyle, 
 
 And gover'ment nobbet pruive civil. 
 They'll build up as hee as the muin, 
 
 For Card's a match for the deevil. 
 
 The king's meade a bit of a speech, 
 
 And gentlefwok say it's a topper ; 
 An alderman deet tudder neet 
 
 Efter eatin' a turkey to supper ; 
 Our squire's to be parli'ment-man — 
 
 Mess, lad, but he'll keep them aw busy ! 
 Whea thinks te's come heame i' the cwoach 
 
 Frae Lunnon, but grater-feac'd Lizzy. 
 * Cowpox. 
 
221 
 
 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 toggle's been seen wi' twee heeds — 
 
 Lord help us ! — ayont Wully' carras, 
 Wi' girt saucer een and a tail — 
 
 They dui say 'twas auld Jobby Barras. 
 
 The muin was at full this neet weet ; 
 
 The weather is turn'd monstrous daggy; 
 r th' loft, just at seeben last neet, 
 
 Lai Stephen sweethearted lang Aggy — 
 There'll be bonny wark bye and bye, 
 
 The truth'll be out there's nae fear on't. 
 But I niver says nought, nay nit I, 
 
 For fear hawf the parish sud hear on't. 
 
 Our Tib at the cwose-house hes been. 
 
 She tells us they're aw monstrous murry ; 
 At Carel the brig's tummel'd down, 
 
 And they tek the fwok owre in a whurry ; 
 I carried our whye to the bull ; 
 
 They've ta'en seeben spies up at Dover ; 
 My fadder compleens of his hip ; 
 
 And the Gran' 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 wurriet the wedder ; 
 
222 
 
 My mudder has got frostet heels ; 
 
 And peace is the talk o' the nation, 
 For paper 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 fratchin : 
 When neist we've a few hours to spare 
 
 We'll fin' out what mischief's a hatchin' 
 
 THE IMPATIENT LASSIE. 
 
 Tune, — " Low down in the broom." 
 
 ^EUCE tek the clock ! click-clackin' sae 
 Ay in a body's ear ; 
 It tells and tells the teyme is past 
 When Jwohnny sud been here. 
 Deuce tek the wheel ! 'twill nit rin roun, 
 
 Nae mair to-neet I'll spin. 
 But count each minute wid a seegh 
 Till Jwohnny he steals in. 
 
 * Illumination. 
 
223 
 
 How neyce the spunky fire it burns 
 
 For twee to sit beseyde, 
 And theer's the seat where Jwohnny sits- 
 
 And I forget to cheyde ; 
 My fadder, tui, how sweet he snwores, 
 
 My naudder's fast asleep — 
 He promis'd oft, but, oh ! I fear 
 
 His word he wunnet keep. 
 
 What can it be keeps him frae me ? 
 
 The ways are nit sae lang, 
 And sleet and snow are nought at aw 
 
 If yen were fain to gang : 
 Some udder lass, wi' bonnier feace, 
 
 Has catch' d his wicked ee. 
 And I'll be pointed at at kurk — 
 
 Nay, suiner let me dee ! 
 
 durst we lasses nobbet gang 
 And sweetheart them we leyke, 
 
 I'd run to thee, my Jwohnny, lad. 
 
 Nor stop at bog or deyke : 
 But custom's sec a silly thing — 
 
 Thur men mun hae their way. 
 And monie a bonny lassie sit 
 
 And wish frae day to day. 
 
 1 yence hed sweethearts monie a yen 
 They'd weade thro' muck and mire, 
 
 And when our fwok wer deed asle ep 
 Com' tremlin' up to t' fire. 
 
224 
 
 At Carel market lads wad stare, 
 
 And talk, and follow me ; 
 Wi' feyne shwort keakes, ay frae the fair, 
 
 Baith pockets cramm'd wad be. 
 
 dear ! what changes women pruive 
 In less than seeben year, 
 
 1 walk the lonnins, owre the muir. 
 But de'il a chap comes near ! 
 
 And Jwohnny I nee mair can trust, 
 
 He's just like aw the lave ; 
 I fin' this sairy heart '11 brust ! 
 
 I'll suin lig i' my grave ! 
 
 But, whisht ! — I hear my Jwohnny's fit — 
 
 Aye, that's his varra clog ! 
 He steeks the faul yeat softly tui — 
 
 Oh, hang that cwoley dog ! 
 Now hey for seeghs and suggar words, 
 
 Wi' kisses nit a few — 
 This warl's a parfe't paradeyse 
 
 When lovers they pruive true ! 
 
225 
 WATTY. 
 
 Tune, — " The lads o' Dunce." 
 
 TF you ax where I come frae, I say the fell seyde, 
 Where fadder and mudder and honest fwok 
 heyde ; 
 And my sweetheart — bliss her ! — she thought nin 
 
 ■ leyke me, 
 For when we shuik han's the tears gush'd frae her ee. 
 Says I, I mun e'en get a spot if I can, 
 But whativer heteyde me, I'll think o' thee. Nan. 
 
 Spoken.'\ Nan was a parfe't beauty, wi' twee cheeks leyke 
 codlin' blossoms : the varra seet on her meade my mouth aw 
 watter. " Fares-te-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, er lang I's he maister mysel. 
 Sae we buss'd, and I tuik a last luik at the fell. 
 
 On I whussel'd and wonder'd, my bundle I flung 
 
 Owre my shou'der, when cwoley he efter me sprung, 
 
 And howl'd — silly fellow ! — 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. 
 
 Spoken.] The weyv-es com' roun' me in clusters. " What 
 weage dus te ax, canny lad ?" says yen. " Wey, three pun and 
 a crown ; — wunnet beate a hair o' my beard." " What can te 
 dui ?" says anudder. " Dui, wey I can pleugh, sow, mow, sheer, 
 thresh, deyke, milk, kurn, muck a byre, sing a psolm, mejx' caj- 
 
 V 
 
226 
 
 gear, dance a whornpeype, nick a naig's tail, hunt a brock or 
 feght iver a yen o' my weight in aw Croglin parish." 
 Auld Margery Jackson suin caw't me her man ; 
 But that day, I may say't, aw my sorrows began. 
 
 Furst, cwoley — peer fellow! — they hang'd i' the 
 
 street, 
 And skinn'd — God forgi'e them !— for shun to their 
 
 feet! 
 I cried, and they caw'd me a peer hawfwitted clown, 
 And banter'd and follow'd me aw up and down. 
 Neist, my deame she e'en starv'd me, that niver liv'd 
 
 weel ; 
 Her hard words and luiks wou'd ha'e freeten'd the 
 
 de'il; — 
 Spoken.'l She hed a lang beard for aw t' warl leyke a billy- 
 goat, wi' a kil-dried frosty feace ; and then the smawest leg o' 
 mutton in aw Carel market sarrad the cat, me, and hur for a 
 week. The bairns meade sec gam' on us, and thunder'd at 
 the rapper as if to waken a corp : when I open'd the duir they 
 threw stour i' my een, and caw'd me daft Watty. 
 
 Sae I pack'd up my duds when my quarter was out. 
 And, wi' weage i' my pocket, I saunter'd about. 
 
 Suin my reet-han' breek pocket they pick' d in a fray. 
 And wi' fifteen wheyte shillin's they slipp'd clean 
 
 away, 
 Forby my twee letters frae mudder and Nan, 
 Where they said Carel lasses wad Watty trapan. 
 But 'twou'd tek a lang day just to tell what I saw, 
 How I sceap'd frae the gallows, the sowdgers and aw. 
 
227 
 
 Spoken.] Aa, there was some fworgery chaps bad me just 
 sign my neame. "Nay," says I, "you've gotten a wrang pig 
 by t' lug, for I canna write." Then a fellow leyke 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' a cwoat o' madder's spinnin'." 
 
 Now, wi' twee groats and tuppence, I'll e'en toddle 
 
 heame ; 
 But ne'er be a sowdger wheyle Watty's my neame. 
 
 How my mudder '11 gowl, and my fadder '11 stare, 
 When I tell them peer cwoley 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. 
 The barn, and the byre, and the auld hollow tree, 
 Will just seem leyke cronies yen's fidgin to see. 
 
 Spoken.] The sheep '11 nit ken Watty's voice now ! The 
 peat-stack we us'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 neybours sec wonders I'll tell, 
 But niver mair leave my auld frien's or the fell. 
 
 v2 
 
228 
 
 THE ILL-GIEN WEYFE; AN OWRE TRUE 
 PICTURE 0' MONIE. 
 
 Tune, — " My wife has ta'en the gee." 
 
 A TOILSOME leyfe for thurty years 
 I patiently hev spent, 
 As onie yen o' onie rank 
 
 I' this weyde warl e'er kent, 
 For when at heame or when away 
 
 Nae peace ther' is for me, 
 I's pestert wid an ill-gien weyfe 
 
 That niver lets me he ; 
 Ay teazin', ne'er ceasin', 
 
 Leyke an angry sea ; 
 Nae kurk-hell e'er hed sec a tongue, 
 
 And oft it deefens me. 
 
 When furst I saw her mealy feace 
 
 'Twas painted up sae feyne, 
 I thowt her e'en fit for a queen — 
 
 She wan this heart o' meyne ; 
 But sin that hour — that sworry hour ! — 
 
 We ne'er cud yence agree. 
 And oft I curse the luckless day 
 
 I pawn'd my liberty ; 
 Care and sorrow then to-morrow 
 
 Ay the seame mun be. — 
 had I coffin'd been that day 
 
 I lost my liberty ! 
 
229 
 
 When young I wish'd for weyfe and weeans, 
 
 But now the thowt I scworn : 
 Thank heav'n, a bairn o' owther sex 
 
 To me she ne'er has bworn ! 
 Leyke fuils we wish o\ir youth away. 
 
 When happy we mud be. 
 Aw ye whee're pleagued wi' scauldin' weyves 
 
 I wish ye suin set free : 
 Grin, grinnin' ! — din, dinnin' ! — 
 
 Toil and misery ! — 
 Better feed the kurk-yard wurms 
 
 Than leeve sec slaves as we. 
 
 I's past aw wark, it's hard to want, 
 
 And auld and peer am I : 
 But happiness, i' this veyle warl, ., 
 
 Nae gear cud iver buy. f 
 
 wer' I on some owre sea land, 
 
 Nae woman nar to see, 
 At preyde and grande'r I wad smeyle, 
 
 And thanks to heav'n wad gi'e. 
 woman ! — foe to man — 
 
 A blessin' thou sud be, 
 But wae to him that wears thy chain. 
 
 Peer wretch unblest, leyke me. 
 
 When wintry blasts blow loud and keen 
 
 I's fain to slink frae heame, 
 And rader feace the angry storm 
 
 Than hur I hate to neame : 
 
 v3 
 
230 
 
 Wheyle she wi' sland'rous cronies met 
 
 Sits hatchin' monie a lee : — 
 The seet wad flay auld Nick away, 
 
 Or vex a saint to see. 
 PufF, puffin/ — snuff", snuffin,' — 
 
 Ne'er frae mischief free : 
 How waak is Iwordly boastin' man 
 
 On sec to cast an ee ! 
 
 If to a neybor's house I steal 
 
 To crack awheyle at neet, 
 She hurries ti me leyke a de'il, 
 
 And flays the fwok to see't. 
 Whate'er I dui, whate'er I say, 
 
 Wi' hur a fau't mun be ! 
 I freet and freet baith neet and day, 
 
 But seldom clwose an ee : 
 Wake, wakin' ! — shak', shakin' ! — 
 
 Then she teks the gee ; 
 He's happy that leevs aw his leane 
 
 Compar'd wi' chaps leyke me. 
 
 To stop the niver-ceasin' storm 
 
 I brong her cousin here, 
 She aw but brak' the wee thing's heart, 
 
 And cost her monie a tear. 
 If chance a frien' pops in his heed, 
 
 Off" to the duir she'll flee. 
 She snarls leyke onie angry cat, 
 
 And sair I's vex'd to see. 
 
231 
 
 Now fratchin', neist scratchin', 
 
 Oft wi' bleaken'd ee : 
 I pray auld Nick bed sec a deame, 
 
 I trow he vex'd wad be. 
 
 How blithe man meets the keenest ills 
 
 r this shwort voyage o' leyfe, 
 And thinks nae palace leyke his heame 
 
 Blest wid a keyndly weyfe : 
 But sure the greatest curse hard fate 
 
 To onie man can gi'e, 
 Is sec a filthy slut as meyne 
 
 That ne'er yence comforts me. 
 Lads jeerin', lasses sneerin', 
 
 Cuckold some caw me ; 
 I scrat an auld grey achin' pow, 
 
 But darn't say they lee. 
 
 They're happy that hev teydey weyves 
 
 To keep peer bodies clean, 
 But meyne's a freetfu' lump o' filth, 
 
 Her marra ne'er was seen : 
 Ilk dud she wears upon her back 
 
 Is poison to the ee ; 
 Her smock's leyke auld Nick's nuttin baj 
 
 The de'il a word I lee. 
 Dour and durty ! — house aw clarty ! — 
 
 See her set at tea ; 
 Her feace defies baith seape and san' 
 
 To mek't just fit to see. 
 
232 
 
 A beyte o' meat I niunnet eat 
 
 Seave what I cuik mysel' ; 
 Ae patch or clout she'll nit stick on, 
 
 Sae heame's just leyke a hell. 
 By day or neet, if out o' seet 
 
 Seafe frae this canker'd she, 
 I pray and pray, wi' aw my heart, 
 
 Deeth suin tek hur or me. 
 Fleyte, fleytin' ! — feght, feghtin ! — 
 
 How hur luik I dree : 
 Come, tyrant, rid me o' this curse, 
 
 Dui tek hur— I'll thank thee ! 
 
 TOM LINTON. 
 
 Tune — "Come under my plaidie." 
 
 ^T^OM LINTON was bworn till a brave canny 
 fortune. 
 His auld fadder screap'd aw the gear up he cud, 
 But Tom— country booby — luik'd owre hee abuin 
 him, 
 And mix'd wi' the bad nor e'er heeded the gud ; 
 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, setters, 
 
 and hunter ; 
 And King o' the Cockers they aw cursen'd Tom. 
 
233 
 
 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 list o' the horses, 
 
 And pou out a guinea and ofTer to lay, 
 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 o' 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 wantin' an ee ; 
 His fields they were mor'gag'd ; about it was whis- 
 per'd, 
 
 A farmer was robb'd nit owre far frae his house ; 
 At last aw was selt his auld fadder had toil'd for, 
 
 And silly Tom Linton left nit worth a sous. 
 
 His fortune aw spent — what, he'd hae the laird's 
 dowter ! 
 
 But she pack'd him ojff wid a flea in his ear ; 
 Neist thing, an auld comrade — for money Tom bor- 
 row'd — 
 
 E'en pat him in prison and bad him lig theer ; 
 At last he gat out, efter lang he had suffer'd 
 
 And sair had repented the sad life he'd led, 
 Widout shun till his feet, in a sowdger's auld jacket, 
 
 He works on the turnpeyke reet hard for his bread. 
 
234 
 
 Now folly seen intui, ragg'd, peer, and down-hearted, 
 
 He toils and he freets, and keen wants daily press ; 
 If cronies reyde by, wey, alas ! they've forgot him : — 
 
 For whee can remember auld friends in distress ? 
 pity ! what pity ! that in ev'ry county 
 
 Sae mony Tom Lintons may always be found : 
 Deuce tek aw girt nwotions and whurligig fashions, 
 
 Contentment's a kingdom, aye, aw the warl round. 
 
 ROB LOWRIE. 
 
 Tune, — " Auld Rob Morris." 
 
 ' VE seen thirty summers strow flowers i' the glen. 
 But anudder blithe summer I'll ne'er see again : 
 I've hed monie wooers, frae clown to the beau. 
 But I've lost Rob Lowrie the flower o' them aw. 
 
 The furst was Joe Coupland, when I was fifteen ; 
 The neist was Wull Wawby, and then com' Gib 
 
 Green, 
 And Jwohn o' Kurkan'rews, and sly Dicky Slee, 
 But bonny Rob Lowrie was dearest to me. 
 
 'Twas last Durdar reaces he rid the black cowt, 
 And, widout onie whuppin', he bang't t'em leyke 
 
 owt ; 
 And then when they russel'd, the lads how he felt: 
 And off heame we canter't wi' breydle and belt. 
 
235 
 
 At neets when we daunder't alang Cauda seyde 
 He'd promise and promise, to mek me his breyde ; 
 And then our twee neames he wad carve on the 
 
 steyle — 
 Lord help the peer lasses men seek to beguile ! 
 
 I luik owre the pasture — nae Rob's to be seen, 
 Then sit down, heart-broken, and tears blin' my een ; 
 My mudder she fratches frae mwornin' till neet, 
 And lasses keep flyrin' wheniver we meet. 
 
 When singin', Rob Lowrie was ay i' my sang. 
 Now thoughts o' Rob Lowrie ha'e turn'd me quite 
 
 wrang ; 
 He's weel-shep'd and lusty, he stan's six feet twee, 
 Theer's health in his fair feace and luive in his ee. 
 
 But whee's this comes whustlin' sae sweet owre the 
 
 hill? 
 He brings me a pwosey — it's e'en Gwordie Gill ! 
 He's lish and he's canny, wi' reed curly hair — 
 The de'il tek Rob Lowrie ! I'll heed him nae mair. 
 
 THE BLECKELL MURRY-NEET. 
 
 A A, lad, sec a murry-neet we've bed at Bleckell, 
 ■^^ The sound o' the fiddle yet rings i' my ear ; 
 Aw reet dipt and heel'd were the lads and the lasses, 
 And monie a clever lish huzzy was theer. 
 
236 
 
 The bettermer swort sat snug i' the parlour ; 
 
 r th' pantry the sweethearters cutter'd sae soft ; 
 The dancers they kick'd up a stour i' the kitchen ; 
 
 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 roy- 
 ster'd, 
 Till the sweet it ran off at his varra chin en' ; 
 Then he held up ae ban' leyke the spout of a tea-pot, 
 And danc'd " Cross the Buckle," and " Leather- 
 te-patch ;" 
 When they cried " Bonny Bell," he lap up to the 
 ceilin'. 
 And ay crack'd his thoums for a bit of a fratch. 
 
 The Hivverby lads at fair drinkin' are seypers ; 
 
 At cockin' the Dawstoners niver wer' bet ; 
 The Buckabank chaps are reet famish sweethearters. 
 
 Their kisses just soun' leyke the sneck of a yeat; 
 The lasses o' Bleckell are sae monie angels ; 
 
 The Cummersdale beauties ay glory in fun — 
 God help the peer fellow that glymes at them dancin', 
 
 He'll steal away heartless as sure as a gun. 
 
 The 'bacco was Strang, and the yell it was lythey, 
 And monie a yen bottom'd a whart leyke a kurn ; 
 
 Daft Fred, i' the nuik, leyke a hawf-rwoasted deevil, 
 Telt sly smutty stwories and meade them aw 
 ffurn ; 
 
237 
 
 Then yen sung " Tom Linton," anudder " Dick 
 Walters," 
 
 The auld farmers bragg'd o' their fillies and fwoals, 
 Wi' jeybin' and jwokin', and hotchin' and laughin', 
 
 Till some thought it teyme to set off to the cwoals. 
 
 But, ho'd ! I forgat — when the clock strack eleebem, 
 The dubbler was brong in wi' wheyte breed and 
 brown ; 
 The gully was sharp, the girt cheese was a topper, 
 
 And lumps big as lapstons our lads gobbl'd down. 
 "Ay," the douse dapper lan'leady cried, "eat and 
 welcome, 
 " I' God's neame step forret — nay, dunnet be 
 bleate." 
 Our guts aw weel pang'd, we buck'd up for blin' 
 Jenny, 
 And neist paid the shot on a girt pewder plate. 
 
 Now full to the thropple, wi' heed-warks and heart- 
 aches, 
 Some crap to the clock-kease instead o' the duir ; 
 Then sleepin' and snworin' tuik pleace o' their 
 rwoarin', 
 And teane abuin tudder e'en laid on the fluir. 
 The last o' December lang, lang, we'll remember. 
 
 At five i' the mworn, eighteen hundred and twee : 
 Here's health and success to the brave Jwohnny 
 
 Dawston, 
 And monie sec meetin's may we live to see ! 
 
 w 
 
238 
 THE VILLAGE GANG. 
 
 Tune, — "Jenny dang the Weaver." 
 
 nnHERE'S sec a gang in our town, 
 The deevil cannot wrang them. 
 And cud yen gat t'em put i' prent, 
 
 Aw England cuddent bang them. 
 Our dogs e'en beyte 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 leyke 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 Jwohnny Gowdey. 
 
 But as for Jwohnny, silly man, 
 
 He threeps about the nation, 
 And talks o' stocks and Charley Fox, 
 
 And meks a blusteration ; 
 He reads the paper yence a week — 
 
 The auld fwok geape and wonder — 
 Were Jwohnny king we'd aw be rich, 
 
 And France mud e'en knock under. 
 
239 
 
 Lang Peel, the laird, 's a dispert chap, 
 
 His weyfe's a famish 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-breker Jwohn we weel may neame, — 
 
 He's tir'd o' wark, confound him ! — 
 By manglin' limbs and streenin' joints 
 
 He's meade aw cripples roun' him ; 
 Mair hurt he's duin than onie yen 
 
 That iver sceap'd a belter. 
 When sec leyke guffs leame decent fwok 
 
 It's teyme some laws sud alter. 
 
 The schuilmaster'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 glow'r at maps and spell hard Avords 
 
 For hours and hours together, 
 And in the muin he kens what's duin — 
 
 Nay, he can coin the weather ! 
 
 Then theer's the blacksmith wi' ae ee, 
 
 And his hawf-witted mudder, 
 'Twad mek a deed man laugh to see 
 
 Them glyme at yen anudder ; 
 
 w2 
 
240 
 
 A three-quart piggen full o' keale 
 
 He'll sup — the greedy sinner — 
 Then eat a cow'd-lword leyke his head, 
 
 Aye, onie day at dinner. 
 
 Jack Marr, the hirplin piper's son, 
 
 Can bang them aw at leein', 
 He'll brek a lock, or steal a cock, 
 
 Wi' onie yen in bein' ; 
 He eats guid meat, and drinks Strang drink, 
 
 And gangs weel graith'd o' Sunday, 
 And weel he may, a bonny fray 
 
 Com' out last Whissen-Monday. 
 
 The doctor he's a parfe't 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 has ruiu'd scwores and scwores 
 
 O' canny country lasses. 
 
 Theer's twenty mair, coarse as neck beef. 
 
 If yen hed teyme to neame them ; — 
 Left-handed Sim, slape-finger'd Sam, 
 
 Nae law cud iver teame them ; 
 Theer's blue-nebb'd Watt and ewe-chin'd Dick, 
 
 Weel wordy o' the gallows : — 
 O happy is the country seyde 
 
 That's free frae sec leyke fellows. 
 
241 
 GRIZZY. 
 
 Tune, — "My auld guidman." 
 
 npHE witch weyfe begg'd in our backseyde, 
 
 But went unsarra'd away i' th' pet : — 
 Our Ester kurn'd at e'er she kurn'd, 
 
 But butler the deuce a crum' cou'd get; 
 The pez-stack fell and crush'd my fadder; 
 
 My mudder cowp'd owre and learn' d hersel' ; 
 Neist — war and war — what did 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 ee ; 
 When cross' d by lasses they pruive wi' bairn, 
 
 And if she grummel they're seafe o' twee. 
 
 I yence sweethearted Madge o' th' mill — 
 
 And whea sae thick as she and I — 
 Auld Whang he promis'd twee-score pun, 
 
 A vveel 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. 
 
 w 3 
 
242 
 
 When, deef Dick Maudlin last his weyfe, 
 
 And said 'twas weel it was nae war ; 
 When Jerry' black filly pick'd the fwoal ; 
 
 And hawf-blin' Calep fell owre the scar ; 
 When manten Margeet brunt her rock ; 
 
 When smuggler Mat was lost i' the snaw ; 
 When wheezlin Wully was set in the stocks — 
 
 Anld Grizzy aye gat the weyte of aw. 
 
 Her feace is like the stump of a yek, 
 
 She stoops and stowters, sheks and walks, 
 Blear-e'ed and tuithless, wi' a beard, 
 
 She coughs and granes, and mumps and talks ; 
 She lives in a shill-house, burns dried sticks, 
 
 And there hes dealin's wi' the de'il : — 
 war she whietly in her grave, 
 
 For where she bides few can dui weel. 
 
 THE TWEE AULD MEN. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 XIIT'HAT, Gabriel, come swat thy ways down on 
 the sattle ; 
 
 I lang for a bit of a crack ; — 
 Thy gran'son I sent owre the geate for some 'bacco, 
 
 The varment '11 never come back. 
 
243 
 
 Nay, keep on thy hat, we heed nought about man- 
 ners ; 
 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 todlin callans were we. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 0, Matthew, they've cutten the yeks and the eshes 
 
 That grew owre anent the kurk waw : 
 How oft dud we lake just like wild things amang 
 them, 
 
 But suin we, like them, mun lig law. 
 The schuil-house is fawn where we heath larn'd our 
 letters, 
 
 For thee ton cud figure and write ; 
 I mind what a monstrous hard task and a lickin' 
 
 Ton gat when tou fit wi' Tom Wheyte : 
 Wherever yen ranges, the chops and the changes 
 
 Oft mek a tear gush frae my ee. 
 
 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. 
 
244 
 
 What, yonder's Rob Donaldson got a lang letter, 
 
 And some say it talks of a peace ; 
 But that '11 nit happen i' thy time or my time, 
 
 Widout we can git a new lease. 
 Here, lass, bring some yell in — drinkin's naefailin', 
 
 Let's moisten our clay ere we dee. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 Ay, Matt ! what they buried auld Glaister last 
 Monday — 
 
 Peer Jwosep, we went to ae schuil — 
 He married deef Marget, the Gammelsby beauty, 
 
 A silly proud cat-witted fuih 
 Ae son pruiv'd a taistrel, and brak up at Lunnon, 
 
 But Jwosep he gat aw to pay ; 
 Anudder, they said, turn'd out nit quite owre honest, 
 
 Sae gat off to Botany Bay. 
 0, man! this frost pinches, and kills fwok by inches, 
 
 It's e'en meade a cripple o' me. 
 
 MATTHEW, 
 
 Ay, Gabey, it's lang sin thou married Ann Lawson ; 
 
 Tou minds when we off like the win' 
 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' thar days. 
 
 But drank tweyce-brew'd yell till hawf mad ; 
 
245 
 
 There was Kitt and Ned Neilson, and Dan and Wat 
 Wilson, 
 They've aw geane and left thee and me. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 There's ae thing, guid Matthew, I've lang thought 
 of axin', 
 And that tou mun grant if ton can, — 
 When Fs stiff and cauld see me decently coffin'd, 
 
 And laid down aseyde my weyfe Ann ; 
 My peer gran'son 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 wunnut distress thee, 
 And happy auld Gabriel can dee. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 Keep up thy heart, Gabey, nae guid comes of grievin'. 
 
 Aye laugh at the warl if thou'd thrive. 
 I've buried three wey ves, and mun e'en hev anudder, 
 
 I's quite young and rash — eighty -Jive : 
 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 gowlin', or pinin' — 
 
 We're wise when we cheerfu' can be. 
 
246 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 Nay but, neybor Matthew, when ninety lang winters 
 
 Ha'e bent yen and powdered the pow, 
 We grane i' thenuik wi' few frien's or acquaintance, 
 
 And just fin' we cannot tell how. 
 For me, I's sair fash'd wi' a cough and the gravel, 
 
 And ae single tuith i' my head ; 
 Then sin' my peer bairn they tuik off for a sowdger, 
 
 I've wish'd I were nobbet weel deed ; 
 The house uncle ga'e me the squire's e'en ta'en frae 
 me : — 
 
 There's nought but the warkhouse for me ! 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 My fadder — God rust him ! — wi' pinchin' and plee- 
 nin', 
 
 Screap'd up aw the gear he cud get; 
 I've been a sad deevil, and spent gowd i' gowpens, 
 
 But still ha'e a hantel left yet : 
 Come gi'e's thy hand, Gabey, tou's welcome as may 
 be 
 
 My purse and my ambrie to share, 
 We'll talk of auld times, eat, drink, and be merry, 
 
 Thy gran'son sail get what we spare. 
 Then leet thy pipe, Gabey, tou's welcome as may be, 
 
 They's ne'er mek a beggar o' thee. 
 
247 
 CANNY CUMMERLAN'. 
 
 Tune, — " The humours of Glen." 
 
 'n|"^WAS ae neet last week, wid our wark efter 
 supper, 
 
 We went owre the geate cousin Isbel to see, 
 Theer were Sibby frae Curthet, and lal Betty Byers, 
 
 Deef Debby, forby Bella Bunton and me ; 
 We'd scarce begun spinnin' when Sib a sang lilted, 
 
 She'd brong her frae Carel by their sarvant 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 coun- 
 tries, 
 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. 
 It's true we've nae palaces sheynin' amang us, 
 
 Nor marble tall towers to catch the weak eye, 
 But we've monie feyne cassels, where fit our brave 
 fadders 
 When Cummerlan' cud onie county defy. 
 
 Furst Gray stock we'll n wotish, the seat o' girt Norfolk, 
 A neame still to freemen and Englishmen dear : 
 
 Ye Cummerlan' fwok may your sons and your gran'- 
 sons 
 Sec rare honest statesmen for iver revere ! 
 
248 
 
 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 
 prospec', 
 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; 
 Theer's Ullswater, Bassenthwaite, Wastwater, Der- 
 went, 
 That thousands on thousands ha'e travell'd to 
 view : 
 The langer they gaze still the mair they may wonder. 
 And ay as they wonder may fin' summet new. 
 
 We've Corby for rocks, caves, and walks sae de- 
 lightfu'. 
 
 That Eden a paradeyse loudly proclaims ; — 
 that sec leyke pleaces hed ay sec leyke awners. 
 
 Then mud monie girt fwok be proud o' their 
 
 neames 
 
 t 
 
 We've Netherby tui, the grand pride o' the border, 
 And haws out o' number, nae county can bang ; 
 
 Wi' rivers romantic as Tay, Tweed, or Yarrow ; 
 And green woodbine bowers weel wordy a sang. 
 
249 
 
 We help yen anudder ; we welcome the stranger ; 
 
 Oursel's and our country we'll iver defend ; 
 We pay bits o' taxes as weel as we're yable; 
 
 And pray, leyke true Britons, the war hed an end. 
 Then Cummerlan' lads and ye lish rwosy lasses, 
 
 If some caw ye clownish ye needn't think sheame ; 
 Be merry and wise, enjoy innocent pleasures, 
 
 And ay seek for health and contentment at heame. 
 
 THE CLAY-DAUBIN'. 
 
 Tune, — " Andrew Carr," 
 
 TTTE went owre to Deavie' clay-daubin',* 
 
 And faith a rare caper we had, 
 Wi' eatin', and drinkin,' and dancin'. 
 And rwoarin' and singin' like mad. 
 
 * In the eastern and northern parts of Cumberland, the walls 
 of houses are in general composed of clay, and their erection 
 seldom occupies more than a day. When a young rustic marries, 
 he selects a spot on which to build his cottage, generally bor- 
 dering on some moor which supplies turf and peat for fuel; he 
 then makes known his intentions to his neighbours, who, on an 
 appointed day, punctually muster on the spot, each individual 
 bringing a spade and a day's provisions along with him. To 
 prevent confusion each person is assigned a particular piece 
 of work ; some dig the clay, some fetch it in wheelbarrows, some 
 water it and mix it with straw, and some place it to form the 
 walls ; the girls, a great many of whom attend on the occasion, 
 
 X 
 
250 
 
 We'd crackin', and jwokin', and braggin', 
 And fratchin', and feightin', and aw; 
 
 Sec glorious fun and divarsion 
 Was ne'er seen in castle or haw. 
 
 Sing hey for a snug clay biggin, 
 
 And lasses that like a bit spwort ; 
 Wi' friends and plenty to gi'e them, 
 
 We'll laugh at King Gweorge and his court. 
 
 The waws wer' aw finish' d er dark'nin' ; 
 
 Now greypes, shouls, and barrows thrown by, 
 Auld Deavie spak up wid a hursle, 
 
 " Od rabbit it ! lads, ye'll be dry. 
 
 " See, deame, if we've got a swope whusky — 
 " I's sworry the rum-bottle's duin— 
 
 " We'll starken our keytes, I'll upho'd us ! 
 " Come, Adams, rasp up a lal tune." 
 
 When Bill kittl'd up " Chips and shavin's," 
 
 Auld Philip pou'd out Matty Meer, 
 Then nattl'd his heels like a youngen, 
 
 And caper'd about the clay fleer ; 
 
 are employed ia fetching the water with which the clay i& 
 softened, from some neighbouring ditch or pond. When the 
 walls are raised to their proper height, the company have plenty 
 to eat and drink ; after which the lads and lasses, with faces 
 incrusted with clay and dirt, finish the day's work with a dance 
 upon the clay floor of the newly-erected cottage. 
 
251 
 
 He deeted his gob and he buss'd her, 
 
 As lish as a lad o' sixteen. 
 Cries Wull, " Od, dy ! fadder's i' fettle, 
 
 " His marrow '11 niver be seen!" 
 
 Reet sair did we miss Jemmy Coupland — 
 Bad crops, silly man, meade him feale ; 
 
 Last Sunday fworenuin, efter sarvice, 
 
 I' the kurk-garth the clerk caw'd his seale. 
 
 * The kurk-garth, or church-yard, on a Sunday morning, is to 
 the country people of Cumberland what the Exchange is to the 
 merchants of London. In the church-yard all general informa- 
 tion is made known to the inhabitants of the parish : the kurk- 
 fwoke, or congregation, therefore, usually stop about the church- 
 door, after the service is over, to hear these notices, which are 
 mostly given by the parish clerk, elevated upon 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 anybody 
 wants to ken aught mair about it, they mun apply to— (Wheay ?) 
 
 Man. Thomas Dobson. 
 
 x2 
 
252 
 
 Peer Jemmy ! — of aw his bit oddments 
 
 A shottle the healies 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 buncing — 
 
 Widout t'em there's niver nee fun ; 
 Wi' whusky aw weeted their wizzens. 
 
 But suin a sad hay-bay begun : 
 
 For Jock, the young laird, was new wedded ; 
 
 His auld sweetheart Jenny luik'd wae ; 
 While some were aw titterin' and flyrin', 
 
 The lads rubb'd her down wi' pez-strae.* 
 
 Clerk. Thomas Dobson, clerk of Stanwix ; that is mister. — 
 (Anything mair ?) 
 
 Man. Nay, that's aw. 
 
 Clerk. Wa then, God save the king ! How fend ye, Mister 
 Ritson ? how fend ye ? 
 
 * A Cumbrian girl, when her lover proves unfaithful to her. 
 
253 
 
 Eob Lowson tuik part wi' peer Jenny, 
 And brong snift'ring Gwordie a clufF; 
 
 I' th' scuffle they learn' 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, " Sheake ban's, and nae mair on't — 
 
 " I's sing ye a bit of a sang." 
 
 He lilted " The King and the Tinker," 
 And Wully strack up " Robin Hood;" 
 
 Dick Mingins tried " Hooly and Fairly," 
 And Martha the " Bab's o' the Wood." 
 
 They push'd round a glass like a noggin, 
 And bottom'd the greybeard complete ; 
 
 Then crack'd till the muin glowr'd amang them, 
 And wish'd yen anudder guid neet. 
 
 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 com- 
 fort is administered to him by the lasses of the village. 
 
 x3 
 
254 
 KITT CRAFFET. 
 
 Tune, — " Come under my plaidie." 
 
 TSAAC CROSSET, o' Shawk, a feyne heed-sten 
 hes cutten, 
 
 And just setten't up owr anent the kurk en', 
 A chubby-feac'd angel o' top on't they've putten, 
 
 And varses as gud as e'er com' frae a pen : 
 It's for auld Kitt Craffet, our wordy wise neybor, — 
 
 God rest him ! — a better man ne'er wore a head, 
 He's nit left his fellow thro' aw the heale county, 
 
 And monie peer fvvok are in want now he's dead. 
 
 I meynd when at schuil a reet top scholar was he ; 
 
 Of lakin' or rampin' nae nwotion had he, 
 But nar the auld thworn he wad set and keepmwosin', 
 
 And cawd it a sin just to kill a peer flea ; 
 A penny he never let rest in his pocket. 
 
 But gev't to the furst beggar-body he met; 
 Then at kurk he cud follow the priest thro' the 
 sarvice, 
 
 And as for a tribble he niver was bet. 
 
 Tho' he wan seebem belts lang afwore he wastwenty. 
 And in Scealeby meedow oft tuik off the baw, 
 
 Yet he kent aw the Beyble, algebra, Josephus, 
 And capp'd the priest, maister, exciseman, and 
 aw : 
 
255 
 
 He cud talk about battles, balloons, burnin' moun- 
 tains, 
 
 And wars, till baith young and auld trimmel'd 
 for fear ! 
 Then he'd tell how they us'd the peer West Indie 
 negers. 
 And stamp wid his fit, aye, and drop monie a tear. 
 
 When he read about parli'ments, pleaces, and 
 changes, 
 
 He flang by the paper, and cried, " Silly stuff! 
 "The Outs wad be in, and the Ins rob their country, 
 
 " They're nit aw together worth ae pinch o' snuff! " 
 His creed was, " Be statesmen but just, Britons 
 loyal, 
 
 " And lang as our shippen reyde maisters at sea, 
 " We'll laugh at the puffin' o* vain Bonnyparty, 
 
 " As suin may he conquer the deevil as we." 
 
 Then when onie neybor was fash'd by the 'turnies. 
 
 Oh, it meade him happy if he cud be bail ! 
 Twea-thurds of his income he gev away yearly. 
 
 And actually tuik peer Tom Linton frae jail. 
 He was yence cross' d in luive by a guid-for-nought 
 hussey. 
 
 But if onie lass by her sweetheart was wrang'd, 
 He wad give her guid counsel and lecture the fellow ; 
 
 And oft did he wish aw sec skeybels were hang'd. 
 
256 
 
 He cud mek pills and plasters as weel as our doctor, 
 
 And cure cholic, aga, and jaun'ice, forby; 
 As for grease, or the glanders, red watter, or fellen, 
 
 Nin o' them was leyke him amang naigs or kye ; 
 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 pressgangs, 
 
 " Od dy them L" he said, "that can never be reet." 
 
 He ne'er was a drinker, a swearer, a feghter, 
 
 A cocker, a gam'ler, a fop, or a full, 
 But left this sad warl just at threescore and seebem, 
 
 I' the clay-house his gran'fadder built wi' the 
 schuil. 
 monie a saut tear will be shed ev'ry Sunday, 
 
 In readin' the varses they've stuck on his steane. 
 Till watters run up bank, and trees they grow down 
 bank. 
 
 We never can luik on his marrow agean I 
 
 BORROWDALE JWOHNNY. 
 
 Tune, — " I am a young fellow." 
 
 T'S Borrowdale Jwohnny, just cumt up to Lunnon, 
 Nay, gum nit at me for fear I laugh at you ; 
 
 I've seen kneaves donn'd i' silks, and gud men gang 
 in tatters ; 
 
 The truth we sud tell, and gi'e auld Nick his due. 
 
257 
 
 Nan Watt pruiv'd wi' bairn — what! they caw'dme 
 the fadder ; 
 
 Thinks I, shekum-filihy ! be off in a treyce ! 
 Nine Carel bank nwotes mudder slipt i' my pocket, 
 
 And fadder neist ga'e me reet holesome adveyce. 
 
 Says he, "Keep frae t' lasses, and ne'er luik ahint 
 
 thee." 
 
 "We're deep as the best o' them, fadder," says 1. 
 
 They pack'd up ae sark, Sunday weascwoat, twee 
 
 neckcloths, 
 
 Wot bannock, cauld dumplin', and top stannin' 
 
 pye; 
 
 I mounted black filly, bad God bliss the auld fwok ; 
 
 Cries fadder, " Ton's larn'd, Jwohn, and hes 
 
 nought to fear ; 
 
 " Caw,and see cousin Jacep, he's got aw the money ; 
 
 " He'll git thee some guver'ment pleace, to be 
 
 seer." 
 
 I stopp'd on a fell, tuik a lang luik 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 widin me cried " Pou up thy spirits ! 
 
 " Theer's luck, says auld Lizzy, in feacin' the 
 sun; 
 ""Ton's young, lish, and cliver, may wed a feyne 
 leady, 
 
 " And cum heame a nabob — aye, as sure as a 
 
 gun 
 
 f" 
 
258 
 
 Knowin' manners — what, I doff'd my hat to aw 
 strangers ; 
 Wid a spur on ae heel, a yek siplin' in han' , 
 It tuik me nine days and six hours comin' up-bank ; 
 At the Whorns — aye 'twas Highget — a chap bad 
 me Stan'. 
 Says he, " How's all frien's i' the North, honest 
 
 Jwohnny ?" 
 " Odswunters !" I says, " what ye divent ken me !" 
 I paid twee wheyte shillin's, and fain was to see 
 
 him. 
 Nit thinkin' on't rwoad onie 'quaintance to see. 
 
 Neist thing, what big kurks, gilded cwoaches, hee 
 houses, 
 And fwok runnin' thro' other leyke Carel Fair ; 
 I ax'd a smart chap where to fin' cousin Jacep, 
 Says he, " Clown, go look !" " Friend," says I, 
 " tell me where?" 
 Fadder' letter to Jacep had got nae subscription, 
 
 Sae when I was glowrin and siz'lin about, 
 A wheyte-feac'd young lass, aw dess'd out leyke a 
 leady, 
 Cried, " Pray, sir, step in !" — but I wish I'd 
 kept out. 
 
 She pou'd at a bell — leyke our kurk-bell it soundet. 
 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 T sud stop and deyne. 
 
259 
 
 Shemeade varra free — 'twas a shem and a byzen!— 
 I thought her in luive wi' my parson, for siire, 
 
 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 gean ; 
 It was neet, and I luik'd lang and sair for kent 
 feaces, 
 But Borrowdale fwok I cud niver see neane ; 
 I sleept on the flags just ahint the kurk corner, 
 A chap wid a girt stick and lantern com' by, 
 He caw'd me Peace-breaker: says I, " Thou's a 
 lear." — 
 In a pleace leyke a sailer they fworc'd me to lie. 
 
 Nae caff bed or blankets for silly pilgarlic ; 
 
 De'il 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 ; 
 
 Then ane ax'd my neame, and he pat on his speckets, 
 
 Says I, " Jwohnny Cruckdeyke — I's Borrowdale 
 
 bworn." 
 
 Whea think ye it pruiv'd, but my awn cousin Jacep ! 
 
 He seav'd me frae t' gallows, aye, that varra 
 
 mworn. 
 
260 
 
 He spak to my Iword some hard words quite out- 
 landish, 
 Then caw'd for his cwoach and away we ruid 
 heame ; 
 He ax'd varra kind efter fadder and mudder, 
 
 I said they were hravely; and neist saw his 
 deame — 
 She's aw pufF and pouder ; as for cousin Jaeep, 
 
 He's got owre much gear to tek 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. 
 
 THE DAYS THAT ARE GEANE. 
 
 Tune, — "The muckin' o' Geordie's byre." 
 
 IVrOW, weyfe, sin the day-leet hes left us, 
 
 And drizzly sleet's 'ginnin' to fa', 
 Let's creep owre the heartsome turf ingle. 
 
 And laugh the weyld winter awa' ; 
 Contented, thou spins the lang e'enin', 
 
 And I, wi' my peype, envy neane : 
 Then why shou'd we peyne about riches — 
 
 Let's think o' the days that are geane. 
 
 This crazy auld chair — when I think on't, 
 
 Nae wonder a tear blin's my e'e — 
 'Twas e'en my puir fadders — God rest him ! — 
 
 He valued this warl nit a flea ; 
 
261 
 
 His maxim was, '' Be guid and dui guid ;" 
 To mortal he wadna gi'e pain : — 
 
 My chair's mair than gilded throne to me, 
 It prop'd the leel fellow that's gane. 
 
 Thy wheel that's gi'en cleedin' to monie, 
 
 0' mortals ay puts me i' meynd, 
 The spoke now at top is suin lowest, 
 
 And thus it oft fares wi' mankeynd. 
 The clock, clickin', tells how teyme passes, 
 
 A moment he'll tarry for neane : 
 Contented we'll welcome to-morrow, 
 
 Ay thankfu' for days that are geane. 
 
 Now fifty shwort years ha'e flown owre us 
 
 Sin furst we fell in at the fair, 
 I've monie a teyme thowt, wi' new pleasure, 
 
 Nae weyfe cud wi' Jenny compare ; 
 Tho' thy rwose has gi'en way to the wrinkle, 
 
 At changes we munna complain : 
 They're rich whea in age are leet-hearted. 
 
 And mourn nit for days that are geane. 
 
 Our bairns are heale, hearty, and honest. 
 
 And willin'ly toil thro' the year ; 
 Our duty we ay ha'e duin ti them, 
 
 And poverty e'en let them bear : 
 Theer's Jenny hes learning and manners, 
 
 And Wully can match onie yen ; 
 We tought te'm my guid fadder's maxim, 
 
 And they'll bliss the auld fwok when geane. 
 
 Y 
 
262 
 
 Theer's ae thing I lang, lang ha'e pray'd for, 
 
 Sud tyrant deeth teer thee away, 
 And rob me o' life's dearest treasure, 
 
 May he gi'e me a caw the seame day : 
 If fworc'd to resign my auld lassie, 
 
 I cuddent lang linger my leane ; 
 I'd creep to thy greave, broken-hearted, 
 
 Wi' thowts o' the days that are geane. 
 
 THE CODBECK WEDDIN'. 
 
 Tune, — " Andrew Carr." 
 
 TRUE IS MY SONG THO' LOWLY BE THE STRAIN. 
 
 ^TlHEY 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. 
 The breydegruim was weaver Joe Bewley, 
 
 He com' frae about Lowthet Green ; 
 The breyde Jwohnny Dalton' lish dowter. 
 
 And Betty was weel to be seen. 
 
 Sec patchin', and weshin', and bleachin', 
 And starchin', and darnin' auld duds ; 
 
 Some lasses thought lang to the weddin' ; 
 Unax'd, others sat i' the suds. 
 
263 
 
 Theer were tweescwore and seebem inveyted, 
 God speed t'em 'gean Cursenmas-day ; 
 
 " Dobson' lads, tui, what they mun cum bidder, 
 I think they were better away. 
 
 Furst thing, Oggle "Willy, the fiddler, 
 
 Caw'd in wi' auld Jonathan Strang ; 
 Neist, stiff and stout, lang, leame, and lazy, 
 
 Frae aw parts com' in wi' a bang ; 
 Frae Brocklebank, Fuilduirs, and Newlands, 
 
 Frae Hesket, Burk-heads, and the Height, 
 Frae Warnell, Starnmire, Nether Welton, 
 
 And aw t' way frae Eytonfield-street. 
 
 Furst auld Jwohnny DaVton we'll nwotish, 
 
 And Mary, his canny douse deame ; 
 Son Wully, and Mally, his sister ; 
 
 Goffet' weyfe, Muckle Nanny by neame ; 
 Wully Sinclair, Smith Leytle, Jwohn Aitchin, 
 
 Tom Ridley, Joe Sim, Peter Weir, 
 Gworge Goffet, Jwohn Bell, Miller Dyer, 
 
 Joe Head, and Ned Bulman, were theer. 
 
 We'd hay-cruiks, and hen-tails, and hanniels, 
 
 And nattlers that fuddle for nought, 
 Wi' sceape-greaces, skeybels, and scruffins, 
 
 And maffs better fed far than taught ; 
 We'd lads that wad eat for a weager, 
 
 Or feght, aye till bluid to the knees ; 
 Fell-seyders and Sowerby riff-raff, 
 
 That de'il a bum-bealie dar seize. 
 
 y2 
 
264 
 
 The breyde hung her head and luik'd sheepish, 
 
 The breydegruim as wheyte as a clout, 
 The bairns aw gley'md thro' the kurk windows. 
 
 The parson was varra devout ; 
 The ring was lost out of her pocket, 
 
 The breyde meade a bonny te-dee. 
 Cries Goffet' weyfe, " Meyne's meade o' pinchback, 
 
 And, la ye ! it fits till a tee. 
 
 Now buck'ld, wi' fiddlers afwore them, 
 
 They gev Michael Crosby a caw. 
 Up spak canny Bewley, the breydegruim, 
 
 " Get slocken'd, lads, fadder pays aw." 
 We drank till aw seem'd blue about us — 
 
 We're ay murry deevils tho' peer — 
 Michael' weyfe says, " Widout onie leein', 
 
 " A duck mud ha'e swam on the fleer." 
 
 Now, aw 'bacco'd owre and hawf-drucken. 
 
 The men fwok wad needs kiss the breyde ; 
 Joe Head, that's ay reckon'd best spwokesman, 
 
 Whop'd " Guid wad the couple beteyde." 
 Says Michael, " I's reet glad to see you, 
 
 " Suppwosin' I gat ne'er a plack." 
 Cries t' weyfe, " That'll nowther pay brewer, 
 
 " Nor git bits o' sarks to yen's back." 
 
 The breyde wad dance " Coddle me. Cuddy;" 
 A threesome then caper'd Scotch reels ; 
 
 Peter Weir cleek'd up auld Mary Dalton, 
 Leyke a cock roun' a hen neist he steals ; 
 
265 
 
 Jwohn Bell yelp'd out " Sowerby Lasses ;" 
 Young Jwosep a lang country dance, 
 
 He'd got his new pumps Smithson meade him, 
 And fain wad show how he cud prance. 
 
 To march roun' the town and keep swober, 
 
 The women fwok thought was but reet ; 
 " Be wise, dui for yence," says Jwohn Dyer ; 
 
 The breydegruim mud reyde shouder heet ; 
 The youngermak lurried ahint them, 
 
 Till efter them Bell meade a brek ; 
 Tom Eidley was aw baiz'd wi' drinkin', 
 
 And plung'd off the steps i' the beck. 
 
 To Hudless's now off they sizell'd, 
 
 And theer gat far mair than eneugh ; 
 Miller Hodgson suin brunt the punch ladle, 
 
 And full'd ev'ry glass wid his leuf. 
 He thought he was tekin his mouter, 
 
 And de'il a bit conscience hes he ; 
 They preym'd him wi' stiff punch and jollup 
 
 Till Sally Scott thought he wad dee. 
 
 Joe Sim rwoar'd out, " Bin, we've duin wonders ! 
 
 " Our Mally's turn'd howe i' the weame !" 
 Wi' three strings atween them, the fiddlers 
 
 Strack up, and they reel'd towerts heame ; 
 Meyner Leytle wad now hoist a standert, — 
 
 Peer man ! he cud nit daddle far, 
 But stuck in a pant buin the middle. 
 
 And yen tuik him heame in a car. 
 
 y3 
 
266 
 
 For dinner, we'd stew'd geuse and haggish, 
 
 Cow'd-leady, and het bacon pye, 
 Boil'd fluiks, tatey-hash, beastin' puddin', 
 
 Saut salmon, and cabbish ; forby 
 Pork, pancakes, black puddin's, sheep trotters, 
 
 And custert, and mustert, and veal, 
 Grey-pez keale, and lang apple dumplin's : — 
 
 I wish ev'ry yen far'd as weel. 
 
 The breyde, geavin' aw roun' about her, 
 
 Cries, " Wuns ! we forgat butter sops !" 
 The breydegruim fan nae teyme for talkin', ■ 
 
 But wi' stannin pye greas'd his chops. 
 We'd loppar'd milk, skim'd milk, and kurn'd milk, 
 
 Well-watter, smaw beer, aw at yence ; 
 " Shaff ! bring yell in piggens," rwoars Dalton, 
 
 " De'il tek them e'er cares for expense !" 
 
 Now aw cut and cleek'd frae their neybors, 
 
 'Twas even down thump, pull and haul ; 
 Joe Head gat a geuse aw together, 
 
 And off he crap into the faul ; 
 Muckle Nanny cried, " Shem o' sec weastry !" 
 
 The ladle she brak owre ill Bell ; 
 Tom Dalton sat thrang in a corner, 
 
 And eat nar the weight of his sel'. 
 
 A hillibuloo was now started, 
 
 'Twas " Rannigal ! whee cares for fee!" — 
 " Stop, Tommy, whee's weyfe was i' tli' carras! 
 
 " Tou'd ne'er been a man but for me !" — 
 
267 
 
 " Od dang thee !"— " To jail I cud sen' thee, 
 " Peer scraffles !" — "Thy Ian' grows nae gurse !"■ — 
 
 " Ne'er ak, it's my awn, and it's paid for ! 
 
 " But whee was't stuil auld Tim Jwohn' purse ?" 
 
 Ned Bulman wad feght wi' Gworge Goffet, 
 
 Peer G wordy he nobbet stripp'd thin, 
 And luik'd leyke a cock out o' fedder, 
 
 But suin gat a weel-bleaken'd skin ; 
 Neist, Sanderson fratch'd wid a hay-stack ; 
 
 And Deavison 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 ; 
 Same mair fwok that neet were a-missin' 
 
 Than Wully and Jonathan Strang, 
 But decency whispers " What matter, 
 
 T'ou munnet put iJiem in the sang." 
 
 Auld Dalton thought 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 !" 
 He cowp'd off his stuil leyke a san'-bag; 
 
 Tom Eidley beel'd out, " De'il may care !" 
 For a whart o' het yell and a stick in't, 
 
 Dick Simson '11 tell ye far mair. 
 
268 
 
 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 ! 
 May our murry-ueets, clay-daubin's, races, 
 
 And weddin's, ay finish wi' glee : 
 And when ought's amang us worth nwotish, 
 
 Lang may I be present to see. 
 
 THE LASSES OF CAREL. 
 
 nnHE lasses o' Care! are weel-shep'd and bonny. 
 
 But he that wad win yen mun brag of his gear, 
 
 You may follow, and follow, till heart-sick and 
 
 weary, — 
 
 To get them needs siller and feyne claes to wear : 
 
 They'll catch at a reed-cwoat leykeas monie mack'rel, 
 
 And jump at a fop, or e'en lissen a full : 
 Just brag of an uncle that's got heaps of money, 
 And de'il a bit odds if you've ne'er been at schuil. 
 
 I yence follow'd Marget, the toast amang aw maks, — 
 And Peg hed a red cheek and bonny dark e'e, — 
 
 But suin as she fan I depended on labour. 
 
 She snurl'd up her neb and nae mair luik'd at 
 me. 
 
269 
 
 This meks my words gud; nobbet brag o' yer uncle, 
 And get a peer hawf-wit to trumpet yer praise, 
 
 You may catch whee you will, they'll caress ye and 
 bless ye — 
 It's money, nit merit, they seek now-a-days. 
 
 I neist folio w'd Nelly, and thowt her an angel, 
 
 And she thowt me aw that a mortal sud be, 
 A rich whupper-snapper just stept in atween us — 
 
 Nae words efter that pass'd atween Nell and me. 
 This meks my words gud; nobbet brag o' yer uncle, 
 
 They'll feght, ay leyke mad cats, to win yer sly 
 smeyle, 
 And watch ye to catch ye, now gazin' and praisin': — 
 
 They're angels to luik at wi' hearts full o' geyle. 
 
 LANG SEYNE. 
 
 Tune, — " Jockey's grey breeks." 
 
 ^llHE last new shun our Betty gat 
 
 They pinch her feet — the de'il may care ! 
 What she mud ha'e them leady-like 
 
 Tho' she hes cworns for evermair ; 
 Nae black gairn stockin's will she wear. 
 
 They mun be wheyte and cotton feyne ! — 
 This meks me think of other teymes, 
 
 The happy days o' auld lang seyne. 
 
270 
 
 Our dowter, tui, a palace* bought, 
 
 A guid reed clwoak she cannot wear ; 
 And stays, she says, spoil leady's sheps — 
 
 Oh, it wad mek a parson swear ! 
 Nit ae ban's turn o' wark she'll dui. 
 
 She'll nowtber milk or sarrat sweyne : 
 The country's puzzen'd roun' wi' preyde. 
 
 For lasses work'd reet bard lang seyne. 
 
 We've three guid rooms in our clay-house, 
 
 Just big eneugh for sec as we, 
 They'd bev a parlour built wi' bricks — 
 
 I mud submit : — what cud I dee ? 
 The sattle neist was thrown aside. 
 
 It meeght ba'e sarra'd me and meyne ; 
 My mudder thought it mens'd a bouse, 
 
 But we think shem o' auld lang seyne. 
 
 We us'd to ga to bed at dark. 
 
 And ruse agean at four or five — 
 The mworn's the only teyme for wark 
 
 If fwok are bilthy and wou'd thrive ; 
 Now we git up — nay, God kens when ! 
 
 And nuin's owre suin for us to deyne, 
 I's hungry 'or the pot's hawf-boiled. 
 
 And wish for teymes leyke auld lang seyne. 
 
 Deuce tek the fuil -invented tea ; 
 
 For tweyce a day we that mun bev ; 
 Then taxes git sae monstrous hee, 
 
 The de'il a plack yen now can seave. 
 
 * Pelisse. 
 
271 
 
 There's been nae luck throughout the Ian' 
 Sin' fwok mud leyke their betters sheyne 
 
 French fashions mek us parfe't fuils ; 
 We're c'afF and san' to auld lang seyne. 
 
 CAREL FAIR. 
 
 Tune, — " Woo'd an' married an' a'." 
 
 "|\/r Y neame's Jurry Jurden, frae Threlket ; 
 
 Just swat down and lissen my sang, 
 I'll mappen affword some divarsion, 
 
 An' tell ye how monie things gang. 
 
 {Spolcen.'\ Crops ofawmaks are gud; tateys lang as lap- 
 stens an' dry as meal. Teymes are sae-sae, for the thin-chopp'd, 
 hawf-neak'd, trimlin' beggars, flock to our house leyke bees to t' 
 hive, an' our Cwoley bit sae monie, I just tuck'd him up i' th' 
 worchet. Mudder boils t'em a tnop o' Lunnun Duns ivery day, 
 an' fadder gi'es t'em t' barn to lig in ; if onie be yable to work 
 wey he pays t'em reet weel. Fwok sud aw dui as they'd be 
 duin tui : an' it's naturable to beg rader nor starve or steal ; — 
 efter aw the rattle. 
 
 Some threep et the teymes '11 git better, 
 
 An' laugh to see onie repeyne : 
 I's nae pollytishin, that's sarten, 
 
 But Englan' seems in a decleyne. 
 
 I ruse afwore three tudder mwornin', 
 
 An' went owre to see Carel Fair ; 
 I'd heard monie teales o' thur dandies — 
 
 Odswinge ! how they mek the fwok stare ! 
 
272 
 
 \Spoken.] Thur flay-crows wear lasses' stays, an' buy my 
 Iword Wellinten's buits; cokert but nit snout-bandet. Mey 
 sarty ! sec a laugh I gat, to see a tarrier meakin' watter on yen 
 o' ther legs- They're seerly mungrels, hawf monkey breed, 
 shept for aw t' warl leyke wasps, smaw i't' middle. To see 
 them paut pauten about, puts me i' meyn o' our aul gander ; an' 
 if they meet a canny lass they dar'n't turn roun' to luik at her. 
 The " Turk's Heed," an' " Tir'd Spwortsman," are bonny 
 seynes, but a dandy wad be fair mair comical ; — after aw the 
 rattle. 
 
 But shaf o' sec odd trinkum-trankums ! 
 
 Thur hawf-witted varmen bang aw, 
 They'd freeten aul Nick sud t'ey meet him — 
 
 A dandy's just fit for a show. 
 
 I neist tuik a glow'r 'mang the boutchers, 
 
 An' gleymt at their lumps o' fat meat, 
 They've aw maks the gully can dive at — 
 It meks peer fwok hungry to see't. 
 [Spoken] "What d'ye buy? what d'ye buy?" "Weya, 
 boutcher, wul fee be out at our en' o't' country suin? we've a 
 famish bull, nobbet eleebem year aul, twee braid-backt tips, an' 
 a bonny sew." " Nea bull, tips, or sweyne for me." " Hes fee 
 got onie coves heeds to sell, boutcher ?" " Wa, nay. Tommy ; 
 but f ou hes yen atop o' thy shou'ders ! What d'ye buy? what 
 d'ye buy? here's beef fit for a bishop, mutton for a markiss, 
 lam' for a Iword, aw sworts for aw maks, hee an' low, yen an' 
 aw, nobbet seebem pence a pun; — efter aw the rattle." 
 
 Wheyle peer fwok wer' starin' about t'em, 
 Up hobbles an' aul chap an' begs : — 
 
 Oh ! wad our girt heeds o' the nayshen 
 Just set the peer fwok on their legs ! 
 
273 
 
 An odd seet I saw, 'twas t' naig market, 
 
 Whoar aw wer' as busy as bees, 
 Sec lurry an, an' trotten, an' scamprin', — 
 
 Lord help t'em, — they're meade up o' lees ! 
 
 [Spoken.] " Try a canter, Deavie." " Whoar gat fee t' 
 powny, Tim?" "Weyat Stegshe." "That's a bluid meer," 
 says aul Breakshe, " she was gittenby Shrimp, an' out o' Madam 
 Wagtail; she wan t' King's Plate at Dongkister, tudderyear." 
 " Wan the deevil !" says yen tuU him, "t'ou means t' breydle 
 at Kingmuir, min." " Here's a naig ! nobbet just nwotish his 
 een ! he can see thro' a nine-inch waw ! Fuils tell o' fortifica- 
 tions — what! he hes a breest leyke a fiftification ! Dud ye iver 
 see yen cock sec a tail widout a peppercworn?" " What dus te 
 ax for em, canny man ?" Wey, he's weel worth twonty pun, 
 but I'll teake hawf." " Twonty deevils I I'll gi'e thee twonty 
 shillin' ; efter aw the rattle." 
 
 What ! aw trades are bad as horse-cowpers, 
 They mek the best bargain they can ; 
 
 Fwok say it's the seame in aw countries — 
 Man leykes to draw kelter frae man. 
 
 Neist, daunderen down to the cow fair, 
 
 A famish rough rumpes I saw ; 
 For Rickergeate Iwoses her charter 
 
 Sud theer be nae feghtin' at aw, 
 
 [Spoken.] Aa, what a hay-bay ! it was just leyke the battle 
 o' Watterlew. Men an' women, young an' aul, ran frev aw 
 quarters ; theer was sec shoutin,' thrustin', pushin', an' 
 squeezin' ; what ! they knock'd down staws, an' brak shop 
 windows aw to flinders ; thur leed-heedet whups dui muckle 
 mischief; a sairy beggar gat a bluidy nwose an' broken teeth i' 
 the fray ; Hill-top Tom an' Low-gill Dick, the twea feghtin' 
 
 Z 
 
274 
 
 rapscallions, wer' luggt off by the bealies to my Iword mayof's 
 offish, aa' thrussen into the black whol; I whop they'll lig 
 theer, for it's weel nae leyves wer' lost ; — efter aw the rattle. 
 Shem o' them ! thur peer country hanniels 
 
 That slink into Carol to feght ; 
 De'il bin them ! when free frae hard labour, 
 
 True plishure sud be their deleyte. 
 
 Ther' was geapin' an' starin' 'mang aw maks. — 
 " Aa, gi'e 's t'y fist, Ellik : how's t'ou ?" 
 
 " Wey, aw bais'd, an' bluitert, an' queerish; 
 " We'll tek a drop gud mountain dew." 
 
 {Spoken.'\ " Sees fee, EUik, theer' st puir-luikin' chap et 
 meks aw t' bits o' Cummerlan' ballets." "The deevil! fye, 
 Jobby, let's off frev him, for fear." " Here's yer whillymer, 
 lank an' lean, but cheap an' clean !" says yen. " Buy a pair o' 
 elegant shun, young gentleman," cries a dandy snob, " they 
 wer' meade for Mr. Justice Grunt ; weages are hee and ledder's 
 dear, but they're nobbet twelve shillin'." Then a fat chap wid 
 a hammer, selt clocks, cubberts, teables, chairs, pots and pans, 
 for nought at aw. What! I seed fadder talkin' to t' lawyer, an' 
 gowl'd tull my een wer' sair, but nae mischief was duin ; — efter 
 aw the rattle. 
 Then peer bits o' hawf-broken farmers. 
 
 In leggins, were struttin' about ; 
 Were teymes gud they'd aw become dandies : — 
 
 We'll ne'er leeve to see that, I doubt. 
 
 Sec screapin' an' squeekin' 'mang t' fiddlers, 
 
 I crap up the stairs, to be seer, 
 But suin trottet down by the waiter. 
 
 For de'il a bit caprin' was theer. 
 
275 
 
 [Spoken.] What ! lads an' lasses are far owre proud to dance 
 now-a-days. I stowtert ahint yen, d'esst out leyke a ginger- 
 breed queen, an' when I gat a gliff at her, whee sud it be but 
 Jenny Murthet, my aul sweetheart. I tried to give her a buss 
 but cuddent touch her muzzle, for she wore yen o' thur meal- 
 scowp bonnets. She ax'd me to buy her a parryswol, sae we 
 off to the dandy-shop an' 1 gat her yen, forbye a ridiculous. 
 Jenny '11 hev a mountain o' money; an' mey stars, she's a 
 walloper! aa, just leyke a house en'. As for me, I's nobbet 
 a peer lillyprushen ; but she'll be meyne, — efter aw the rattle. 
 
 Sae we link'd, an' we laugh'd, an' we chatter'd; 
 
 Few hussies, leyke Jenny, ye' 11 see : — 
 hed we but ta'en off to Gratena, 
 
 Nin wad been sae happy as we. 
 
 We went thro' the kurk and the cassel, 
 An' neist tuik a rammel thro' t' streets ; 
 
 What ! Carel's the pleace for feyne houses, 
 But monie a peer body yen meets. 
 
 [Spoken.] Aye, yen in tatters, wi' ae e'e, shoutet, " Here's t' 
 last speech, confession, an' deein' words o' Martha Mumps ; 
 she was hangt for committin' a reape on——" Hut shap ! I 
 forgit his neame. Anudder tatterdemallion says, " Come buy a 
 full chinse Indy muslin, nobbet sixpence hawpenny a yard." 
 Jenny bought yen, an' it was rotten as muck. Then theer was 
 bits o' things, wi' their neddys, rwoarin' up t' lanes, " Bleng-ki- 
 ship cwoals !" an' chaps cawin " Wat-ter, wat-ter !" it mun be 
 that meks t' yell sae smaw. Then they sell puzzin fer gin; 
 what ! it hes sec a grip o' the gob it's leyke to meake fwok shek 
 ther heeds off. They hannel brass an' nwotes, but ther's nae 
 siller i' Carel. Sec cheatin', stealin',wheedlin',leein', rwoarin,' 
 swearin', drinkin', feghtin', meks fairs nowt et dow ; — efter aw 
 the rattle. 
 
 z2 
 
276 
 
 Thro' leyfe we hev aw maks amang us, 
 Sad changes ilk body mun share : 
 
 To-day we're just puzzin'd wi' plishure ; 
 To-mworn we're bent double wi' care. 
 
 THE WIDOW'S WAIL. 
 
 The tune by the Author. 
 
 "VTOW clwos'd for ay thy cwoal black een, 
 
 That lang, lang gaz'd on me, oh Wully ! 
 An' leyfeless lies that manly form 
 
 I ay was fain to see, my Wully ! 
 Ah, luckless hour, thou struive for heame 
 
 Last neet, 'cross Eden weyde, dear Wully ! 
 This mworn a stiff en'd corpse brong in : — 
 
 It's worse than deeth to beyde, oh Wully ! 
 
 The owlet hootet sair yestreen, 
 
 An' threyce the suit it fell, oh Wully ! 
 The teyke com' leate an' bark'd aloud. 
 
 It seem'd the deein' kneel o' Wully. 
 Deep wer' the snows, keen, keen my woes ; 
 
 The bairns oft cried for thee, their Wully ; 
 I trimlin' said, he'll suin be here : 
 
 They ne'er yence clwos'd an e'e, oh Wully ! 
 
277 
 
 An' when I saw the thick sleet faw, 
 
 A bleezin' fire I meade for Wully, 
 An' watch'd, an' watch' d, as it grew dark, 
 
 An' I grew mair afraid for Wully ; 
 I thowt I h'ard the powny's feet, 
 
 An' ran, the voice to hear o' Wully, 
 The win' blew hollow, hut nae sound 
 
 My sinkin' heart did cheer, oh Wully ! 
 
 The clock struck yen, the clock struck twee, 
 
 The clock struck three, at four nae Wully ; 
 I h'ard, wi' joy, the powny's feet, 
 
 An' thowt my cares were owre for Wully ; 
 The powny neigh'd, but thou was lost, 
 
 I sank upon the ground for Wully, 
 Suin, where I lay, appear'd thy ghost, 
 
 An' whisper'd, thou wert drown' d, oh Wully ! 
 
 The muin was up, in vain I sowt 
 
 The stiffen'd corpse o' theyne, lost Wully ; 
 'Twill suin, suin mingle wi' the dust, 
 
 An' n'ar it sae wull meyne, oh Wully ! 
 Gang, dry your tears, my bairns five, 
 
 Gang, dry your tears o' sorrow, dearies, 
 Your fadder's cares are at an en', 
 
 An' sae may ours to-morrow, dearies. 
 
 z3 
 
278 
 THE PARTIN' LOVERS.* 
 
 The tune by the Author. 
 
 |EAIl Nancy, thou's a bonny gud young woman, 
 Still showin', what frae gud fwok mun ha'e 
 praise ; 
 Ne'er duin what heaps o' numbers pruive owre 
 common. 
 But sec as mud lead aw to joyfu' days. 
 For years we twee hev hed true luive, 
 An' for just duty beath ay struive, 
 When far far distant, sec let's pruive : — 
 Thro' leyfe I ay mun wish fer thee, sweet Nancy, 
 An' think what we hev duin was ay true fancy. 
 
 Dear Nancy, hed I wid thee but been marriet, 
 The wish ov beath wad daily be shown still ; 
 What ne'er yence to distress cud owther carriet ; 
 Let's ay be bowin' to God's holy will ! 
 Yet, tho' we partet be lang wheyle, 
 We'll nowther dui what may begueyle, 
 But studdy sec what gi'es true smeyle. 
 I joy can git frae nin leyke thee, sweet Nancy ; 
 'Twas weel we fain did what was ay true fancy. 
 
 * For the following Songs, which have never before been 
 printed, the Publisher is indebted to a Nephew of Mr. Robert 
 Anderson, 
 
279 
 
 Dear Nancy, iv I leev6 in Lunnon ever, 
 
 Mey thowt is, nin can frae me gain sec luive ; 
 To onie here, yoursel' mek luiver, never, 
 
 Leyke me, think fainly, whops fer heath above. 
 Iv in mey pow'r I'll suin come down, 
 Then, husban', weyfe, let's show fwok roun' ; 
 An' iv in country, or girt town, 
 Leyfe's joyfu' days I'll wish fer thee, sweet Nancy. 
 Fareweel ! — God bliss thee ! — Let's dui what's true 
 fancy. 
 
 THE KURN-WINNIN ; OR, SHADEY AN' 
 JOSSY. 
 
 let's study nature mortals to amuse. 
 
 \ FAMISH kurn-winnin at Mowdy-warp farm 
 ■^-^ They've hed, wi' sad breks, tudder neet, min ; 
 Come, Shadey, sit down, preyme the cutty black 
 peype, 
 
 Thou's hear aw, thof I duddent see 't min. 
 The squire an' his leady, the priest an' his deame, 
 
 Wi' dandy-donn'd cronies wer' theer, min ; 
 An' monie peer sarvents, sec fwok needent neame, 
 
 Neist mworn wer' fun bleedin' on t' fleer, min. 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, weddin's, they tell, 
 
 BrufF reaces, the fratch, Cursmess eve, min, 
 Leyke the sun till a rushleet the kurn-winnin pruiv'd. 
 
 May ther' be nee sec wark wheyle we leeve, min. 
 
280 
 
 On Mowdy's proud rib the girt squire kest his e'e — 
 
 T'ou kens weel eneugh what I mean, min — 
 He buys young an' aul — wey, atween thee an' me, 
 
 Sec a rif-raf scarce iver was seen, min : 
 Fwok whisper — an' whispers owre ofFen pruive true — 
 
 By 'squire the gran' supper was bowt, min ; 
 'Twas fit fer crownashin — what feyne siller spuins! — 
 
 Codbeck dinner, compar'd tui 't, was nowt, min. 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, ike. 
 
 The teable- death Ellik ov Hivverby meade; 
 The parson stuid up an' sed greace, min, 
 He prayt fer the king, but ne'er neamt the peer queen; 
 
 He pat on a monstrous lang feace, min. 
 Now supper thrust down, Mowdy' weyfe scampert 
 roun' 
 Wid apricocks, churrys, an' nuts, min ; 
 Neist girt yens tuik weyne ; the peer deevils drank 
 rum 
 Strang eneugh just to puzzin their guts, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Aa, Paddy Mc Gra — the peer chap, I forgat — 
 
 But tateys an' buttermilk tuik, min, 
 He peel'd for his sel' a full heup an' a hawf. 
 
 An' drank what wad mek us heath peuk, min. 
 Thur Irish heed nowt about surloins o' beef, 
 
 Gud tateys are aw their deleyte, min ; 
 They're merry, luive whisky, an' ay show their preyd^ 
 
 To gi'e strangers a gud sup an' beyte, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
281 
 
 Aul Adams was neist frae the kitchen cawt in, 
 
 He rozzelt the strings, weel he play'd min ; 
 The squire, Mistress Mowdy cleekt up by the fist, 
 
 An' a new-fangl'd jig furst they hed, min : 
 Now leadyship, parson' weyfe, lasses sprang up, 
 
 An' wi' dandies they stuid in a row, min, 
 They capert an' coddelt — it's cawt a whadril — 
 
 Till weary they grew yen and aw, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &,c. 
 
 Peer sarvents an' shearers danct reels till they swet, 
 
 An' busst yen anudder when duin, min ; 
 The parson an' Mowdy-warp smuikt seyde by seyde, 
 
 Hawf crazy to see sec rare fun, min ; 
 They brang in the punch-bowl — it held hawf-a-peck, 
 
 The priest now ruse up, gev a twoast, min, 
 " Ov peace, health, an' plenty, wheyle Englan' 
 exists, 
 
 " May canny aul Cummerlan' bwoast !" min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 The squire tuik a squint at his famish gowd watch — 
 
 " What, parson, it's twelve, we must home, man ! 
 " Friend Isaac, let Jane thy sweet wife, and the rest, 
 
 " Be merry till daylight shall come, man. 
 " Ne'er let the glass stand ! Here, Adams, a note !"— 
 
 Frae dandies Bill nobbet gat brass, min. 
 Now wi' curtcheys an' bows, an' good-nights an' 
 gud-neets, 
 
 A glorious confusion theer was, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
282 
 
 A scawdin o' pez they set up in a swill, 
 
 An' bad t'em aw eat till they brust min, 
 Now coulert wi' pepper, an' han'fels o' sawt, 
 
 In basons ov butter they thrust, min. 
 Sweethearters are ser'ous, an' wheyles they leyke 
 fun, 
 
 They peltet ilk udder wi' swads, min, — 
 Sec feghtin' girt Bonnyprat niver yence seed — 
 
 Stane-blin', in a crack, wer' the lads, min ! 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Theer was, " Elsy, war we at Gratena Green !" 
 
 " Wey, Peter, we'll off, when t'ou leykes, min !" 
 " Aa, Jen, thou's a rwose !" " Nay, Tim, divvent 
 lee!" 
 " Hut, Jesper, thou fidges an' feykes, min !" 
 '^ What, Bella, I's aw sair wi' shearin' them 
 wots !" 
 " Far sairer, dear Meyles, is my heart, min !" 
 " Ere ae month slips owre angel Matty's be meyne !" 
 " Aye, Dick, nobbet deeth sal us part, min !" 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 They'd aw maks o' songs, aye, " Geyles Scroggins's 
 Ghwost," 
 "The Battle o' Boyne," " Donkin Gray," min ; 
 An' " Deeth an' the Leady," " Me Pharson's Fare- 
 weel," 
 " Daft Watty," " The Vicar o' Bray," min; 
 
283 
 
 "They'd " Habbermenab," an' "The Chapter o' 
 Kings," 
 " Wully Westle," an' Dumbarton Drums," min ; 
 They'd " Aul Meg o' Wappin," an' " Madgery 
 
 Toppin," 
 "The Bedful o' Fleas," an' "Sour Plums," min. 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Stop, Shadey, the bowl four teymes efter was preymt; 
 
 Young fwok grew some jilous, some fain, min ; 
 Some spak ov our queen, an', wi' seeghs, neamt her 
 deeth, — 
 Aul fwok aw dropt tears just leyke rain, min ; 
 Ther' was "Lang leyfe to Bruim !" wi' cheers, till 
 queyte hearse, 
 An' Denman, an' Alderman Wood, min. — 
 Kings an' queens — ^just leyke beggars — sup sorrow 
 owre oft, 
 Pruivin' heedless to dui what they sud, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Leyle Abram, the teaylear, crap on to the stuil. 
 
 An' spoutet them part ov a play, min ; 
 The Clogger o' Dawston was nobbet a fuil, 
 
 Compar'd tull him, larnt fwok aw say, min; 
 About rents an' taxes some growlt lang an' sair, 
 
 An' news ov aw maks, gud an' ill, min ; 
 Wi' huggin', an' screamin,'an' cutt'rin', leyke mad — • 
 
 What ! they ne'er let the glasses stan' still, min. 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
284 
 
 Aul frosty-feac'd Jonathan cowp'd off his furm, — 
 He'd drunk, hotcht, an' laught, winkt, an' smuikt, 
 min; 
 The cat ran away wid his wig to the byre, 
 
 Peer Mowdy-warp hiccupt an' puket, min. 
 He stuttert out " Squire," an' fell back into t' fire; 
 His weyfe rwoart, " was t'ee but deed, min ! — 
 " T'ou '11 dui nowt but drink ! — I ne'er sleep a 
 wink! — 
 " Sec a peer useless guff nin e'er seed min !" 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Fat Seymie the swearer, that studies nowt else, 
 
 Gev Cummerlan' woaths in a string, min ; 
 A 'turney's lang letter hed meade him hawf daft : — 
 
 Thur law fwok mun ha'e their full swing, min. 
 Cries Meabin, " Woaths nobbet in law sud be heerd ; 
 
 " Clwose thy gob, think, but swear nin at aw, min ; 
 " It pruives to ilk mortal a ser'ous disgrace : — 
 
 " It's a d — d bad habit, we tnow, min !" 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Some gev smutty sangs ; others telt funny teales ; 
 
 Their feaces some hid ; monie laught, min, — 
 Sec nonsense may charm, but it always dis harm ; — 
 
 Jack Meabin obsarvt, aw wer' daft, min. 
 For a purse threyce the weyte ov a teaylear's geuse, 
 
 Jack niver frae reet cud be won, min ; 
 They tnockt out his hip, cut his lug, an' his lip : — 
 
 Suin beane-setter Wharton was fun, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
285 
 
 Jack says, "Feghtin', fratchin', aw fwok sud despise, 
 
 " E'en russlin's aul Englan's disgreace, min ; 
 " To bruise yen anudder, tho' monie 'twill please, 
 
 " It pruives t'em an unfeelin' reace min." 
 What ! aw maks are russlers, frae court to the cot, 
 
 An' girt fwok owre oft fling the peer min: — 
 Sec savage divarshins wad men throw aseyde, 
 
 They'd luik at grim deeth wi' less fear, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Now the fratch went about, — when drink's in sense 
 is out, — 
 
 Dan Dottrel gev weyfe twee black een, min, 
 Wi' methody Jacep he swore she'd been off: — 
 
 Peer Rachel wi' nin out bed been, min. 
 But Jacep' deame ruse, throppelt Dan in a treyce, 
 
 She strack him wi' tengs, doun he flew, min ; 
 Dan' weyfe lap about, an' brak Etty's reed snout : — 
 
 Sec seeghts wad mek decent fwok spew, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &,c. 
 
 Lang Peg an' Daft Dinah gat intel a feght, — 
 
 Moulsey Hurst niver gev sec a treat, min, — 
 In luive wi' the skeybel, an' glasses cowpt off", 
 
 They kickt, an' they battert, to beat, min ; 
 Wi' bluidy neb, Peg brak peer Dinah' buck teeth, 
 
 The skeybel rwoart, " Dropt silly tuils !" min. 
 Leyke kurn-winners, statesmen in feghtin deleyte, 
 
 It pruives them aw — what ? — wicked fuils, min, 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 2a 
 
286 
 
 Peer Mungy, the blackymuir, sat i' the nuik, 
 
 But nowther yence spak' or did wrang, min, 
 Lang Belzybub Bill hrong the bluid freb his nob: — 
 
 Sec chaps to the gallows sud gang, min ! 
 Suin rat-catcher Hugh at ill Belzy quick flew, — 
 
 The rat a Mandoza cud lick, min, — 
 He clwos'd up his een — sec a rowe ne'er was seen — 
 
 Ilk bat wad ha'e brokken a brick, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Leyle Whap clam the furm to give Becka a buss, 
 
 Ned Ogglethrap seed him an' strack, min, 
 Sam Cleekaw kickt Ned, sec a lurry they hed, 
 
 The big bowl an' glasses they brak, min. 
 On the fleer bluid an' punch now husht leyke a 
 stream ; 
 
 The cannel was duin, aw was dark, min ; 
 They crap in an' greant till dayleet i' the barn : — 
 
 Wheeiver h'ard tell o' sec wark, min ? 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
 Tane liggin buin tudder — what! some cuddent speak, 
 
 Beanes brokken, an' bluidy ilk feace, min ; 
 Aul Nichol the Newsmonger says as aw sud, 
 
 It's to Cummerlan' queyte a disgreace, min. 
 Wey, Shadey thou laughs ! as fer me I cud cry 
 
 Just to hear aw the ins an' the outs min ; 
 Here, smuik thy black cutty, an' I'll stowter 
 heame : — 
 
 What honest fwok says some ay doubts, min. 
 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, &c. 
 
287 
 
 Hut, Jossy ! just tell us the sea's runnin' dry ! 
 
 Owre monie sec durdums fwok sees, min ; 
 I've h'ard o' thy wauthor — it's pleasin' to me — 
 
 Aud Nichol's the deevil for lees, min. 
 In towns, aye in villages, stwories grow big, 
 
 Leyke snowbaws roll'd up in a street, min ! 
 But may aw to peace an' to merriment bow, 
 
 Whene'er at kurn-winnins they meet, min. 
 Ov murry-neets, clay-daubin's, weddin's, they tell, 
 
 BrufF reaces, the fratch, cursmess eve, min ; 
 In" mischief an' leein' owre monie deleyte, 
 
 An' Nichol ay talks to deceive, min. 
 
 THE TRUE-PEAIS'D VIRTUOUS COUPLE. 
 The tune by the Author. 
 
 A HAPPY couple heaps may truly neame, 
 An' justly think nin better can be seen, 
 They ay show daily what mun lead to fame ; 
 
 It's pleasin' when to sec true praise is gi'en ! 
 Nowt on this yerth can ever better be, 
 
 To man or woman, iv they duty show 
 To our Almighty, an' to mortals gi'e 
 
 What mun pruive interesting ay to aw. 
 A just tnown pair, that fwok can ken sae reet. 
 May they hilth, wealth, an' happiness lang meet ! 
 Gud fwok, beath authors, aw maks, ay sud praise ; 
 Yet far owre few ther' is whea show just ways. 
 
 2a2 
 
288 
 
 Now, them we sing on, are the weel-leykt set, 
 
 What aw that tnow, or hear o' them, can say ; 
 Sae, fwok mun wish, they'll joyfu' teyme lang get,. 
 
 When durin' leyfe, they've duty shown ilk day ! 
 Theer's thousan's carry on, what sadness is ; 
 
 In town an' country, it's owre common now ! 
 pity, onie mortal sec yence dis ! 
 
 Heaps leyke the couple we'd be glad to view. 
 
 A just tnown pair, &c. 
 
 Yet, iv thro' Cummerlan' we just could walk. 
 
 We'd hev nae whops to meet an' hear sec pair ! 
 When fain they plishure show to God, an' fwok, 
 
 Ther's nin owre aw the warl that can dui mair ! 
 Let's nae yen flatter ov aw maks we ken. 
 
 But talk, sing, truly, what's our duty still ! 
 We've ne'er h'ard sec praise gi'en to pair, or yen ; 
 
 Sae, till deeth caws, ne'er may they yence be ill ! 
 A just tnown pair, &c. 
 
 Neame o' this varteous twee we now may give. 
 What mun be pleasin' to gud fwok to hear ; 
 When tnown by thousan's roun' whoar just they 
 leeve, 
 Ilk yen, leyke me, sud ay say what pruives clear: — 
 It's Mr., Mrs. Howard, husban', weyfe, 
 
 At Corby Cassel ; let fwok talk or sing. 
 Plain truth o' that gran' couple ; durin' leyfe, 
 They've always duin what whops o' heav'n can 
 bring. 
 
 A just tnown pair, &c. 
 
289 
 
 FAV'RITE JEAN. 
 
 TTT'HEN war's loud trumpet cawt to arms, 
 An' Britain bad fair Freedom wield, 
 Young Jemmy won by fause alarms, 
 Went far to seek the feghtin' fieP ; 
 I ne'er cud speak, scarce him cud view, 
 For oft the tears fell frae my een, 
 Three times he sed, " Dear lass, pruive true !' 
 Shuik ban's — seeght — left his fav'rite Jean. 
 
 Tho' burds sing blythe on hill an' grove, 
 An' flow'rs sae bonny sheyne aw day, 
 I cannot toil, tho' lang I've struive, 
 But think ov Jemmy far away. 
 Ay nature's smeyles cud plishure gi'e, 
 When walkin' wi' him on the green ; 
 Aw seasons then ga'e joy to me : 
 But plishure's left his fav'rite Jean. 
 
 Nae mair the blithesome sangs I hear 
 Frae young lads toilin' at the plew ; 
 Nae keyn acquaintance I gang near, 
 For that cud gi'e nae plishure now ; 
 Whene'er I stray alang the burn, 
 Whoar oft wi' him we've murry been, 
 The blackburd seems wi' me to mourn ; 
 An' monie pity fav'rite Jean. 
 
 2.A3 
 
290 
 
 How lang mun sufF'rin' sowdger man 
 His brother kill wi' gun or sword, 
 To please the weyld sad tyrant clan, 
 The hireling kneave, or pampert Iword? 
 meek-ey'd Peace thy olive wave, — 
 Lang teyme a wand'rer thou hes been, — 
 Thy smeyles, frae deeth, may thousan's seave, 
 An' bring the luive to fav'rite Jean. 
 
 THE PREYDE 0' MY LUIVE. 
 
 C WEET Nelly ! dear Nelly ! O was thou incleyn'd 
 Thro' leyfe mey companion, mey breyde, for 
 to be. 
 The cares o' this warl cud ne'er harass the meynd. 
 An' aw in my pow'r I'd share daily wi' thee. 
 For fashion or folly I never yence struive, 
 Still mey wish is for Ellen, the preyde o' mey luive. 
 
 When spring yearly brings us a change an' sweet 
 
 flowers, 
 Leyke burds, we'd ay welcome her heart-cheerin' 
 
 smeyle. 
 And I'arn frae their songs daily h'ard in the bow'rs, 
 The partner to please, but ne'er wish to begueyle ; 
 Deame Nature's gran' warks to beath joyfu' wad 
 
 pruive, 
 When gazin' wi' Ellen, the preyde o' mey luive. 
 
291 
 
 When summer, when autumn, gev plenty aw roun' — ■ 
 True blessin's to aw maks — how dear the deleyte ; 
 An' when the deed leaves, quiv'rin', daily fell down, 
 They just seem to say, " Aw mun be the seame." 
 Thro' leyfe's toilin' years fain we'd try to im- 
 
 pruive. 
 An' true joys share, Ellen, sweet preyde o' mey 
 luive. 
 
 Where winter wad daily blow weyl owre the hill, 
 An' peer houseless bodies mud shrink at his reage. 
 The stormy blasts ne'er sud us flay ; we'd sit still 
 In peace, whopin' ay for leyfe's winter ov yeage. 
 Nae rich man on earth e'er mair happy cud pruive, 
 If mey breyde was but Ellen, the preyde o' mey 
 luive. 
 
 LEEIN' AN' SWEERIN' 
 
 T UCK to ev'ry bodie 
 
 That ne'er lee or sweer ! 
 Monie mek't their study, — 
 
 Sec owre oft we hear. 
 Leein' leads to sorrow, 
 
 Swearin' just the seame ; 
 Fwok that whops wad borrow, 
 
 Let them cry, sheame ! 
 
292 
 
 Frae the king to cobbler, 
 
 Aw ranks sweer an' lee, 
 Fain to leeve a troubler : — 
 
 Truth the war! sud gi'e, 
 
 Leein' leads, &c. 
 
 Fops an' fuils, O never 
 
 Let thur be your preyde ; 
 Praise true virtue ever : — 
 
 Sec be ilk yen's gueyde. 
 
 Leein' leads, &c. 
 
 If oppress' d we aw be, 
 
 Sunk in puirtith low, 
 Gud adveyce let's aw gi'e, 
 
 Till deeth gi' es a caw. 
 
 Leein' leads, &c. 
 
 FEIEN" JACEP. 
 
 In weyldness aw roun' us are risin' ; 
 It's just turnt a shem an' a byzen. 
 
 TT'S fifty years, Jacep, sin' we went to schuil, 
 -*- Lads an' lasses, aw roun', then wad modesty 
 
 show ; 
 At that teyme we nowther cud neame a weyl fail, 
 But now there's sae monie we cannot neame aw ; 
 
293 
 
 Whoare'er yen may gang the sad changes he'll see, 
 Sweet meyldness o' manners they've aw flang aseyde, 
 For fwok glory in sweerin', an' ay leykes to lee : — 
 Bad luck to the tuils that mek owther their preyde ! 
 
 Let's just neame mad Matthew, that daily wad feght 
 That canny aul woman, that's hoblins his deame ; 
 To streyke at the peer decen' weyfe's his deleyte, 
 An' years hev pass'd owre sin' he meade her queyte 
 
 leame. 
 His son — leyke the fadder — ay shows his disgreace. 
 An' laughs at his niudder, that truth ay wad tell, 
 If here we cud stare at "his queer bleakent feace, — 
 But to give him adveyce he wad beath ov us fell. 
 
 An' yonder' s proud Philip, that struts up an' down. 
 Oft donnt as if worth full five hundred a year. 
 He's ta'en for a gentleman, ay, i' the town, 
 But neist week, nae doubt, i' the jail he'll appear ; 
 That day he gat weddit, we beath may meynd well. 
 Then fwok aw roun' cawt him the decent young 
 
 man. 
 But now he seems fain for to meet wi' the de'il. 
 An' owt that may cause see's for ever his plan. 
 
 Aa, Gwordie, the gam'ler, just comes down the 
 
 hill. 
 He's won scwores o' puns, but far mair now he's lost, 
 Just lissen ! he talks to the weyfe, but sweers still, 
 He hed heaps o' gear but frae aw he's now tost ; 
 
294 
 
 At russlin' or reacin', for bettin' he's seen ; 
 Caird-laikin', i* th' yell-house, ay, neet efter neet. 
 If gudness he'd studiet how happy he'd been ; 
 Now peer, he leykes stealin', but niver dis reet. 
 
 Now, Jacep, reed robin farewell gie's the sun, 
 Step into my house an' we'll luik owre the news, 
 In that, leyke aw papers, we mischief read duin. 
 Yet fuils an' gud bodies may dui what they chuse. 
 Cud thee an' me wander owre Englan' to-mworn. 
 In wickedness oft we'd see owre monie sheyne; 
 But wheyle we're beath leevin' sec wark let's ay 
 
 scworn, 
 An' think ov the decency ay shown lang seyne. 
 
 BAD NEWS. 
 
 TTTEYFE, steek the duir an' men' the fire, 
 
 Then heaste to cuik me owt to eat, 
 I's caul, an' leame, an' wet to th' skin. 
 This armin chair I'll meake my seet ; 
 Put bairns i' bed if supper's owre. 
 An' then bad news to thee I'll tell, — 
 What monie a yen to weyves ha'e neam'd : 
 Nay, dunnet seegh or plague thysel'. 
 
295 
 
 How blithe we partit suin this mworn ; 
 Our naig I tuik owre to the fair, 
 An' whopt he'd bring me just ten pun, 
 Yet pleast I gat n'ar twee pun mair ; 
 Thy gown I bowt, an' heame wad come, 
 But on the rwoad twee villains met, 
 They tuik mey money, gown, an' watch. 
 Then tnockt me down. — Nay, deevent fret. 
 
 I tried to rise, an' fwok com' by, 
 
 I telt them truly what was duin, 
 
 Then owre the common off they ruid, 
 
 An' catcht the twee weyl robbers suin, 
 
 I met them n'ar the turnpike yeat, 
 
 An' into Carel suin we went ; 
 
 The justice flang them heath in jail. — 
 
 Mey faith ! what's duin they'll sair repent. 
 
 Han' me that peype, I'll smuik an' think ;- 
 Nay, dunnet cry, we ne'er did wrang ! 
 The truth I'll state, whate'er teks pleace, 
 To Carel 'sizes when I gang. 
 We plenty hev, we'll dui what's reeght, 
 An' whop heath lang may happy be ; 
 Now supper's ruddy, weep nae mair, 
 Ay fain I'd see a smeyle frae thee. 
 
296 
 THE STORM. 
 
 npHE storm's blown hard frae mworn to neegbt, 
 
 It's kept peer beggar-fwok at heame, 
 Some think it's wrang, but monie reeght : 
 Owre aw this warl they see the seame. 
 Whatever stormy days we see, 
 Let's think God's will it ay mun be. 
 
 The muin's nit seen, the rain pours down, 
 
 An' monie a trav'ler's suff'rin' now, 
 
 The rivers deep may be aw roun ; 
 
 Sin warl's beginnin' aw mud view. 
 Tho' in this house confin'd are we, 
 Let's think God's will it ay mun be. 
 
 In summer oft loud thunder's h'ard. 
 
 An' leetnin' monie throws to pain; 
 
 Then bits o' things how oft we've view'd, 
 
 Ay shudd'rin' as nae whops they'd gain. 
 We thunder, leetnin', hear an' see, 
 Let's think God's will it ay mun be. 
 
 We've aw felt monie stormy days, 
 
 An' changes that will ay appear ; 
 
 Tho' weather's seen in dangerous ways. 
 
 Sec ne'er sud bring a meynd to fear. 
 The weydest storm thro' leyfe we see, 
 Let's think God's will it ay mun be. 
 
297 
 THE BONNY BAD HUZZY. 
 
 rpHAT huzzy, young Nan, 's a tall feyne luikin' 
 
 lass, 
 Her cheeks are queyte rwosy as onie can see, 
 A farm she can brag on, an' plenty ov brass, 
 An' sweethearts to saunter wid ay fain is she ; 
 Yet nae gud she'll dui — the truth yen sud tell — 
 Hawf crazy, ay wicked, pruives daily her preyde; 
 I'd raider some beggar-lass follow, mey sel' : 
 If Nan were worth millions she'd ne'er be mey 
 breyde. 
 
 Just think wbat a huzzy, when talkin' she'll sweer, 
 Ay glory in nonsense, an' laugh leyke a fuil — 
 For I've known the bonny yen monie a year — 
 What sweerin' an' leein' she'd neame i' the schuil. 
 If owre this weyl county we daily cud gang, 
 Yen seldom cud lass meet whea dis what Nan wad. 
 She glories in weyldness what ay may show wrang ; 
 If some mud just hear they'd think she was mad. 
 
 There's Job i' the lonnin, an' Tom i' the hill. 
 An' Dick i' the corner, and Sam i* the green, 
 An' Raff i' the yell-house, an' Jack i' the mill. 
 An' Wull i'the wood, that's now lost beath his een. 
 They're kissin' an' codlin' an' laughin' wi' Nan, 
 Then russlin' an' fratchin' an' feghtin', sec wark — 
 She'd raider be wi' them than a decen' young man — 
 When it's stormy they'll saunter for hours after dark. 
 
 2b 
 
298 
 
 The best man amang us oft gives her adveyce — 
 ShafF ! he mud as weel talk for hours to the muin, 
 Or gi'e a reeght lesson to the weyl rats an' meyce ; 
 Tho' rich, young, an' bonny, nae gud she's yet duin. 
 Now daily oft drinkin', the thurd teyme wi' bairn, 
 Sae what mun her thowts be when deeth gi'es a caw. 
 When young lads an' lasses true gudness wad larn, 
 The joys o' leyfe they'll share what fuils never know. 
 
 GUD-NATURET WILL. 
 
 O HAFF, Nell, thou ne'er nwotishes nin but girt 
 
 Jwohnny, 
 His money, an' houses, riches, yacres, or Ian' ; 
 I've yen that's as peer but as guid, aye, as onie, 
 Nae udder wi' thousands sal e'er buy my han'. 
 The lad I leyke best, nobbet last month he sowt me ; 
 He leeves owre the watter atop o' yen hill ; 
 His gudness, his sense, an' his modesty bowt me : — 
 For ever I'll leyke him, peer gud-naturet Will. 
 
 He's silent when monie are bwoastin' ov greatness ; 
 He meyns nowt ov riches, but leykes a just preyde ; 
 In aw that he dis, what ! he shows nowt but neatness, 
 An' wishes ilk neet to swat down by my seyde ; 
 He'll sing a luive sang, tell how lasses are cheatet ; 
 He hates aw young chaps that fain wad dui ill : — 
 I'll ho'd thee a weager if here he was seatet. 
 Thy heart wad be gi'en to peer gud-naturet Will. 
 
299 
 
 Girt Jwohnny, that courts thee, 's led monie to 
 
 ruin, — 
 tek may adveyce ! luive a chap that dis gud, — 
 He follows the lasses, still weyldness pursuin' : 
 that he was punisht as aw sec leyke sud ! 
 If seen in a cwoach an ov millions ay braggin', 
 Sud he follow me, faith, I'd laugh at him still ; 
 Ther's yen I'd far rader see reyde in a waggin : — 
 This han' sal be gi'en to peer gud-naturet Will. 
 
 When reavin 'bout Jwohnny oft magpies '11 cross 
 
 thee, 
 As if to say, Nell, hear a lesson frae me. 
 Just scworn the rich chap that to ruin wad toss thee, 
 An' try for a lad that ay fain gud to be. 
 Bad luck to aw chaps that sec weyldness delight in, 
 As leads monie lasses to sad mis'ry still ; 
 But gud luck to the lad that sec fellows keep 
 
 slightin' : — 
 Teane's theyne, tudder's meyne— the peer gud-na- 
 turet Will. 
 
 ABSENT FANNY. 
 
 "OAIR Fanny's feace when I cud view, 
 
 Where aw mey happiness I gat, 
 My cares seemt gean, my wants seemt few. 
 An' preyde I ay laugh t at ; 
 
 2b2 
 
300 
 
 Wi' her the hours past sweet away, 
 
 We crackt wi' merry glee ; 
 Nae lark, that welcom'd onie day, 
 
 Was hawf sae blithe an' free. 
 
 E'en now her smeyle ov luive I see, 
 
 When she furst wan my heart ; 
 Her rwosy cheek an' breet blue e'e 
 
 Meade me in luive furst start : 
 Now seeghin' thro' our fav'rite grove, 
 
 Mey bwosom's wrapt in care : 
 I think o' nowt but her I luive, 
 
 Far frae mey Fanny fair. 
 
 A wretch enslav'd on some rough coast. 
 
 Than one mair plishure tnows; 
 That joys ov luive by me are lost. 
 
 Ilk day, ilk hour, ay shows. 
 that fair whop cud ease mey grief. 
 
 An' bring her I luive best, 
 rd ne'er forgit that sweet relief, — 
 
 It meakes true lovers blest. 
 
 TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 rilRUE friendship leyfe's deleyte still pruives, 
 
 Nor ever flings mankeyn' to woe ; 
 The gud, whea still their brethren luives, 
 What leads to virtue ay will show ; 
 
301 
 
 If wealth we share, or low in care, 
 Let thowts ay lead to what pruives fair ; 
 Howe'er to want we're fworc'd to bend, 
 Let's wish for joy to each true friend. 
 
 True friendship, glory, fame, oft gi'es, 
 When restless mortals fwok relieve ; 
 Eause friendship, that sae oft yen sees, 
 Owre earth will daily millions grieve. 
 
 True friendship number's ne'er can meet, 
 Whea duty dui to aw maks roun' ; 
 What's shown for ever to the great. 
 To wordy peer fwok's seldom shown. 
 
 True friendship, when fwok throw aseyde, 
 What then are riches, preyde, or power ? — 
 Vain gewgaws ! Mekin sec their gueyde, 
 May sair repent lang ere deeth's hour. 
 
 True friendship that can ne'er cause streyfe, 
 But e'en keep frae distress and pain, 
 An' show what bliss it gie's thro' leyfe, 
 In every bwosom still sud reign. 
 
 2b3 
 
302 
 WIFE. 
 
 (from the musical cyclopedia.) 
 
 /^ WIFE ! I wad fain see our Sukey dui reet, 
 
 But she's out wi' the fallows, aye, neet after 
 neet : 
 Them that's fash'd wi' nae bairns iver happy mun be, 
 For we've yen, and she's maister o' baith thee and 
 me. 
 
 I can't for the life o' me get her to work ; 
 Nor aw the lang Sunday to go near a kurk ; 
 Nor frae week en' to week en' a chapter to read, 
 For the Bible ligs stoury abuin the duir-head. 
 
 She yence cud ha'e crammel'd and writ her awn 
 
 neame, 
 And, Sunday and warday, was teydey at heame ; 
 Now, to see her whol'd stockin's, her brat, and her 
 
 gown, — 
 She's a shem and a byzen to all the heale town. 
 
 wad she be guided and stick to her wheel ; 
 There's nane kens how fain I wad see her dui weel, 
 For she's thy varra picture, and aw that we have. 
 But thur neet's warks '11 bring my grey hairs to the 
 grave. 
 
303 
 
 'Twas nobbet last week in a passion I flew, 
 And gev her a trouncin' — but sair did I rue ; 
 Then I bad her e'en pack up her duds and we'd part, 
 For to streyke my awn bairn it just breks my auld 
 heart. 
 
 There's that ill Calep Crosby, he's niver away, 
 He's gleymin and watching her heath 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 pressgang 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' baith thee and me ! 
 
 THE AUTHOR ON HIMSELF. * 
 
 f\ EDEN ! whenever I range thy green banks, 
 ^'^ And view the sweet scenes of my infantine 
 
 pranks, 
 Where with pleasure I sported ere sorrow began, 
 I sigh to trace onwards from boy to the man. 
 
 * Considerably altered from any previous printed copy. 
 
304 
 
 To memory, dear are the days of our youth, 
 When enraptur'd we gaz'd at each object with truth, 
 And, like fairies, a thousand light frolics we play'd ; 
 But manhood has chang'd what youth fondly por- 
 tray'di 
 
 I think of my playmates — the few I lov'd best, 
 Now divided, like larks after leaving the nest ; 
 How we trembled to school, and with copy and book, 
 Oft read our hard fate in the master's stern look ; 
 In summer, let loose, how we brush' d thro' the 
 
 wood. 
 Or made rushy caps on the banks of the flood, 
 Or watch'd the soap bubbles, or wound up the kite, 
 Or launch'd paper navies — how dear the delight. 
 
 Then Jock Smith, the boggle remember'd now well ; 
 We two in Blain's hayloft at eve oft would dwell, 
 And of giants, ghosts, witches, and fairies oft read, 
 Till, frighten'd, we scarcely could creep off to bed ; 
 Then in winter we'd call out the lasses to play, 
 And sing how the moon shone as bright as the day ; 
 Or scamper, like wild things, at hunting the hare. 
 Tig-touch-wood, four corners, or baiting the bear. 
 
 When I went to Scott's school, my dear mother I 
 
 lost — 
 What! all this wide world is by tyrant death cross'd — 
 A better ne'er once took a child on her knee : 
 To look on her grave many a tear draws from me. 
 
305 
 
 Then when thh-teen, my father — God bless him! — 
 
 oft said, 
 " My lad, I must get thee a bit of a trade ; 
 " could I afford it more learning thou'd get." 
 But poor was my father, and I'm unlearn'd yet. 
 
 And then my first sweetheart, an angel was she. 
 But I made love to one I too seldom could see ; 
 I mind when I met her I panted to speak, 
 But stood silent, for blushes were spread o'er my 
 
 cheek ; 
 When holydays came, fond to see her I went, 
 But dreamt not such scenes in a song I'd e'er paint ; 
 Like a rose-bud, she fell to the earth ere her prime, 
 And left this wild world for a better in time. 
 
 At last all the playthings of youth laid aside, 
 Now love, hope, and fear, did my moments divide. 
 And with restless ambition life's troubles began : — 
 But I sigh to trace onward from boy to the man. 
 It's sweet to reflect on the days of one's youth. 
 If rear'd to religion, industry, and truth ; 
 We sports could enjoy, but ne'er harm did to one : 
 Such innocent pleasures, alas ! are all gone. 
 
 END OF ROBERT ANDERSON S POEMS. 
 
SONGS. 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS BLAMIRE* AND MISS GILPIN. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 BY MISS B LAM I RE. 
 
 TTTHAT ails this heart o' mine ? 
 What means this wat'ry e'e? 
 What gars me ay turn pale as death 
 
 When I tak' leave o' thee ? 
 
 When thou art far awa', 
 
 Thou'll dearer be to me ; 
 But change o' place, and change o' folk, 
 
 May gar thy fancy jee. 
 
 * Miss Blamire, who wrote several songs besides the two 
 here given in the Cumberland dialect, was born at Thack- 
 wood-Nook, in the parish of Sowerby, a few miles from Carlisle, 
 and resided many years in that ancient city with her learned 
 and intimate friend. Miss Gilpin, who was also the author of 
 several songs. Robert Anderson, who states that he spent 
 several years in the company of the latter lady, writes in the 
 highest terms of commendation of both, and considers the songs 
 written by Miss Blamire, "among the most interesting in the 
 English language." Miss Blamire died at Carlisle, in April, 
 1795, aged 49 years, and was interred at Raughton-head, near 
 Rose Castle, the ancient seat of the Bishop of Carlisle. 
 
307 
 
 When I sit down at e'en, 
 
 Or walk in morning air, 
 Ilk rustling bough will seem to say, 
 
 I us'd to meet thee there ; 
 
 Then I'll sit down and wail. 
 
 And greet aneath a tree. 
 And gin a leaf fa' i' my lap, 
 
 I's ca't a word frae thee. 
 
 I'll hie me to the bow'r 
 Where yews wi' roses tred, 
 
 And where, wi' monie a blushing bud, 
 I strove my face to hide ; 
 I'll doat on ilka spot. 
 Where I ha'e been wi' thee, 
 
 And ca' to mind some kindly look 
 'Neath ilka hollow tree. 
 
 Wi' sec thoughts i' my mind. 
 Time thro' the warl may gae, 
 
 And find me still, in twenty years. 
 The same as I'm to-day : 
 'Tis friendship bears the sway. 
 And keeps friends i' the e'e ; 
 
 And gin I think I see thee still, 
 Wha can part thee and me ? 
 
308 
 SONG. 
 
 BY MISS BLAMIRE. 
 
 "XTTA, Ned, man, thou luiks sae dovm-hearted, 
 
 Yen wad sweer aw thy kindred were dead ; 
 For sixpence, thy Jean an' thee's parted, — 
 
 Ne'er ak, never bother thy head ! 
 There's lasses enow, I'll upho'd t'ee, 
 
 And thou may be suin as weel match'd; 
 For there's as guid fish in the river 
 
 As onie that's iver been catch'd. 
 
 Ah, Joe, thou kens nought o' the matter, 
 
 Sae let's ha'e nae mair o' thy jeer ; — 
 Auld England's gown's worn till a tatter, 
 
 And they'll nit new don her, I fear. 
 For Liberty never can flourish 
 
 Till man in his rights is a king ; 
 Till we tak' a tithe pig frae the bishop, 
 
 As he's deun frae us, is the thing. 
 
 Nay, Ned, then, is that a' that ails thee ? 
 
 Wi then thou deserves maist to hang ; — 
 What ! tak' a bit land frae it's owner ! 
 
 Is this then thy fine rights o' man ? 
 Wi thou plows, and thou sows, and thou reaps, man. 
 
 Thou cums and thou gangs when thou will ; 
 Nowther king, lord, nor bishop, dare touch thee, 
 
 Sae lans: as thou dis fowk nae ill. 
 
309 
 
 How can fee say sae, Joe, thou kens now 
 
 If hares were as plenty as hops, 
 I durstn't fell yen for me life, mun, 
 
 Nor tek't out of auld cwoley's chops; 
 While great fwoks they ride down my hedges, 
 
 And spang o'er my fields o' new wheat. 
 Nought but ill words I get for me damage : — 
 
 Can ony man tell me that's reet ? 
 
 Aye, there I mun own the shoe pinches, 
 
 Just there thou has cause to complain. 
 Ne'er ak, — there's nae hard laws in England 
 
 Except this bit thing about game : 
 An we were a' equal at morning. 
 
 We cou'dn't remain sae till neet ; 
 Some arms are far stranger than others. 
 
 An' some heads will tak' in mair leet. 
 
 T'ou cou'dn't mend laws an t'ou wad, man, 
 
 'Tis for other guess noddles than thine ; 
 Lord help fee ! sud beggars yence rule us. 
 
 They'd tek' off baith thy cwoat and mine. 
 What is 't, then, but laws that stand by us, 
 
 While we stand by country and king ? 
 And as to bein' parfe't and parfe't, 
 
 I tell thee there is nae sec thing. 
 
 2c 
 
310 
 THE SAILOR LAD'S RETURN.* 
 
 BY MISS GILPIN. 
 
 Tune, — "O'er Bogie. ' 
 
 Mother. 
 A ND is it thee, my Harry, lad ? 
 And safe return' d frae war ; 
 Thou'rt dearer to thy mother's heart 
 
 Sin' thou hast been sae far. 
 But tell me aw that's happen'd thee — 
 
 The neet is wearing fast — 
 There's nought I like sae weel to hear 
 As dangers that are past. 
 
 Harry. 
 O mother! I's reet fain to see 
 
 Your guid-like feace the same ; 
 To monie a place you follow'd me 
 
 When I was far frae heame ; 
 And as I walk'd the deck at neet, 
 
 And watch' d the rippling tide, 
 My thoughts flew back to this lov'd spot, 
 
 And set me by your side. 
 
 MOTHEK. 
 
 Harry ! monie a sleepless neet 
 I pass'd, and aw for thee, 
 
 1 peyn'd, and turn'd just skin and beane, 
 
 Fwok aw thought I wad dee ; 
 
 * Now first printed. 
 
311 
 
 Then when the wicked war brok' out, 
 
 The news I durs'n't read, 
 For fear thy neame, my only lad, 
 
 Sud be amang the dead. 
 
 Harry. 
 Ay mother ! freetfu' seeghts I've seen. 
 
 When bullets round me flew ; 
 But in the feght or threetnin' storm, 
 
 Still, still I thought o' you. 
 Our neighbours aw, baith auld and young, 
 
 Please God, to-mworn I'll see ; 
 tell me is the oak uncut 
 
 That us'd to shelter me ? 
 
 Mother. 
 Aye, that it is, my bonny bairn. 
 
 And I's reet fain to tell, 
 Tho' oft the axe was busy there, 
 
 Thy tree they ne'er durst fell ; 
 Oft as I wander'd near its shade 
 
 My eye wou'd drop a tear. 
 And monie a time to heav'n I pray'd, 
 
 " that my lad were here !" 
 
 Harry. 
 Now, mother, yage has chang'd your hair, 
 
 We never mair will part, 
 To leave you, tho' for India's wealth, 
 Wad break my varra heart. 
 
 2c2 
 
312 
 
 You say my sweetheart, Sally, 's weel — 
 To leave you baith was wrang — 
 
 mother, give but your consent, 
 We'll marry 'or its lang. 
 
 Mother. 
 God speed ye weel ! a cannier pair 
 
 Neer kneel'd afwore a priest ; 
 For me, I've sufFer'd lang and sair, 
 
 The grave '11 get me neist. 
 Suin, Harry, bring her frae the town, 
 
 And happy let us be ; 
 This house, the field, the cow, the sow, 
 
 Now aw belangs to thee. 
 
 END OF MISS BLAMIRE AND MISS GILPIN S SONGS. 
 
 n 
 
SONGS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN RAYSON.* 
 WOETHLESS STRANG. 
 
 Tuney — " Borrowdale Jwohnny." 
 
 npHE upper Hill beauty is ay yet unweddet, 
 
 Sae, Lanty, buck at her, nor langer delay, 
 Fwok say a faint heart never gain'd a fair leady, 
 
 Thou's nobbet leyke monie sud she say thee nay ; 
 She's got lots o' money, she's fair as the rwoses, 
 
 To see sec a flow'r unenjoy'd is wheyte wrang, 
 Sae heaste and mek ready, 'twad shem the heale parish 
 
 To let her be teane wud a gipsy leyke Strang. 
 
 She's fuilish and thoutless to nwotish this fellow, 
 
 When scwores o' rich lairds for her seegh and 
 repeyne, 
 For he is just e'en the ofFscum o' the county, 
 
 There's nit a yen honest in aw his whole keyne ; 
 Their crymes out o' number are weel known at 
 Hesket, 
 
 Nit yen o' his kin but 's weel wordy to hang, 
 To aw our whole parish their neames are a terror, 
 
 'Twill e'en flay the bairns if ye mention but Strang. 
 
 * From his Miscellaneous Poems, 16mo, Carlisle, 1830. 
 
 2c3 
 
314 
 
 'Tis whuspert about how they've langmeade a leeving, 
 
 Last year it com' out yen had teane the highway, 
 But suin he was sent to thief's college at Carel, 
 
 And shipp'd wi' some mair o'er to Bottonay Bay. 
 I think the puir lass is just warse nor bedeaver'd, 
 
 She'll see through her folly befwore it be lang ; 
 Her friends wad far rather hear tell o' her herring, 
 
 Aye, twenty teymes owre, than her wedding wud 
 Strang. 
 
 I' fruit teymes o' summer he oft play'd the truant, 
 
 To breck fwok's worchets, when he went to skuil; 
 Sin' childhood he's ay been a thief in his nature, 
 
 And scarce knows his letters — the ignorant fuil. 
 Sae her thy hand offer and seave her frae ruin, 
 
 And if thou succeed that ill tuil, lad, to bang, 
 A stave thou wilt hear, how I'll lilt at thy wedding, 
 
 And oft drink confusion to rascals leyke Strang. 
 
 CHARLIE M'GLEN. 
 
 AL Charlie M'Glen he was brong up a pedder, 
 A wutless bit hav'ril, a conceited yape. 
 He selt beggar inkle, caps, muslins, and cottons, 
 Goons, neck'loths, and stockings, thread, needles, 
 and tape ; 
 'Tis whuspert by sleet-han' he's meade lots o' money. 
 His actions now pruive him the weale o' bad men, 
 He's guilty o' crimes that desarve him a gallows, 
 For biggest o' rascals is Charlie M'Glen. 
 
315 
 
 Puir Bella, the weyfe, she's a decent man's douter, 
 
 And prays oft that heaven wad give her relief; 
 She's e'en been bedeivel'd leyke meast o'young lasses, 
 
 And claims to our pity she's join'd till a thief. 
 A reace, fair, or market, he seldom yen misses ; 
 
 The Carel street-robbers he kens monie yen, — 
 For burds of a feather they ay flock together. 
 
 And sae mun those villains wi' Charlie M'Glen. 
 
 At Skinberness reaces he pick'd a man's pocket, — 
 
 For slape-fingert art he is equall'd by neane, — 
 But he was o'erseen, and they seiz'd the vile sharper 
 
 And fworc'd him to give back the money ageane ; 
 At Abbey last week he fell in wi' Kit Stewart, 
 
 And crowns, frae his pocket, he got nine or ten, 
 But suin for that job he was teane by the beaylies : 
 
 But money frae prison seav'd Charlie M'Glen. 
 
 He's seldom at heame, and his weyfe's kept in terror ; 
 
 At neets i' the lonning he's seen at aw teymes ; 
 A swindlin' rascal he's been frae his cradle, 
 
 It's nit in yen's power to out-number his crimes, 
 For he steals hens and ducks wi' thur Shaddongeate 
 fellows : — 
 
 happy's the county that's clear o' sec men ! 
 I whope that my Iword, at the next Carel 'sizes. 
 
 Will ship o'er the herring-dub Charlie M'Glen. 
 
316 
 DAN PATTINSON'S YELL. 
 
 Tune, — " Come under my plaidie." 
 
 T'D hev ye giv owre and drink nae mair brandy, 
 -^ Nor rum, gin, or whiskey, to puzzen the flesh, 
 Nor trash Lunnon porter that's brew'd about Kendal, 
 
 Nae mair weast yer money on ony sec wesh ; 
 But when ye are dry just gan up to Mat Wulson's, 
 
 To slocken yen's drought, min, rare stuff he does 
 sell: 
 When my heart is sinking, I rais't there wi' drinking 
 
 A full measure whart o' Dan Pattinson's yell. 
 
 When bottl'd awhile it wull grow Strang as brandy. 
 
 And blow out the corks leyke a bottle o' pop ; 
 But yel about Dalston, at Langtown, and Branton, 
 
 It smells o' the wesh leyke lal Fisher's shop. 
 For they everly full their weak stuff full o' jalop, 
 
 And drugs that wad puzzen the deavel himsel'. 
 Your senses it seizes, your head it diseases, — 
 
 'Tis nought to compare to Dan Pattinson's yell. 
 Ye rhymers, dull souls, whose poor hearts sunk in 
 sorrow. 
 
 Who study to paint each vile wretch that trepans, 
 Ye'd bid care adieu and wi' joy view to-morrow. 
 
 If ye hed yer full frae a barrel o' Dan's ; 
 Ye public-house keepers, this king of aw liquors 
 
 I'd hev ye to draw, and far mair ye wad sell, 
 Ye'd never want custom for drinkers they mustcome. 
 
 If your cellars were stor'd wi' Dan Pattinson's yell. 
 
317 
 
 JENNY CROW. 
 
 TTTE' VE lasses amang us wad bang aw the county, 
 For sense and for beauty there's few leyke 
 Nan Greame, 
 Or lish Sally Simpson, Keate Young, and Jen Bou- 
 
 And twenty as nice if I'd time them to neame ; 
 There's one abuin aw, fwok are ay fain to nwotish. 
 
 Her cheeks are sweet rwoses, she's fit for a show, 
 Shelives wid her mudder just near the tarn cottage, — 
 
 The best o' the beauties is blythe Jenny Crow. 
 
 'Twas at Croglin murry-neet when I furst saw her. 
 
 She danc'd, and ay 'stonish'd and sheam'd monie 
 yen; 
 There's was nin but mysel' she wad let sit aside her. 
 
 And fain I'd sit wi' her till life's whopes are geane. 
 If ever thro' Croglin ye happen to wander, 
 
 Tek my advice, ne'er at her cottage yence ca'. 
 For if ye he'd hearts that wad full a town yuban, 
 
 Ye'd nit hev yen left if ye saw Jenny Crow. 
 
 There's scwores of font dandies been up here to see 
 her, 
 
 Wi' gigs and post horses, and clease nit their awn ; 
 It's odd these bit rif-rafs sud study sec feynry, 
 
 And hev things of monie macks liggin o' pawn ; 
 
318 
 
 They mop'd out feyne words showing nought else 
 but flatt'ry, 
 
 But sec was just useless she suin let them know, 
 Pride ay was her scworn,and her heart was another's : 
 
 Sin' that they ha'e ne'er muckle fash'd Jenny Crow. 
 
 Last neet at our duir when Bet Brown and her 
 difFert, 
 
 Sweet Jenny, gud lass, knew but lal how to scaul. 
 But I suin tuik her part and caw'd Bet a weyld 
 strumpet, 
 
 And did, as I sud, pat her out o' the faul. 
 This neet I'll see Jenny, ere naigs we've got fodder'd, 
 
 Tho' winter, I meyn nought o' win', sleet or snow ; 
 Ere neist month I'll stick agowd ring on her finger, 
 
 Her neame sal be Bell and nae mair Jenny Crow. 
 
 JEAN. 
 
 Tune, — " Auld Langseyne." 
 
 TEAN, forty years ha'e flown away 
 
 Sin' furst I did ye see. 
 But yet, my douse and sonsy deame, 
 
 Thou's ay as dear to me ; 
 Oh, Jean, think on yon kurn-neet, 
 
 When struttin' in thy preyme ! 
 There's ne'er a lass is now sae neyce 
 
 As thou was yence lang seyne. 
 
319 
 
 I mean at Wulson's murry-neet, 
 
 When thou sat on my knee, 
 Nae doubt Dick Water's heart was had, 
 
 But we cared nit a flea ; 
 When gangan heame thy han' I gat, 
 
 A pledge to ay be meyne : — 
 There's nae sic luive, Jean, now-a-days 
 
 As we felt yence lang seyne. 
 
 Conje, Jean, yence mair let me enfald 
 
 Thee in these wark-worn arms, 
 And let me feel the dear deleyte 
 
 0' thy unfaded charms. 
 Let's never mourn our humble lot. 
 
 Nor at auld yage repeyne ; 
 Let's teaste the sweets o' luive yence mair. 
 
 As oft we've duin lang seyne. 
 
 ANN 0' HETHERSGILL. 
 
 'T^HE fairest maids o' Britain's isle 
 
 'Mang Cumbria's mountains dwell, 
 Sweet budding flow'rs unseen they bloom, 
 
 By muirland, glen, or fell ; 
 And yen, the fairest of them aw. 
 
 My heart could ne'er be still, 
 To see her at the kurk or fair, 
 
 Sweet Ann o' Hethersgill, 
 
320 
 
 Her feace was leyke the blushing rwose, 
 
 Her heart was leet and free, 
 Ere she had felt the warld's cares, 
 
 Or love blink'd in her e'e. 
 This fair bewitching fpace wi' love 
 
 The hardest heart wad fill ; 
 The flower o' aw the country seyde 
 
 Was Ann o' Hethersgill. 
 
 She cheerfu' wrought her war-day wark, 
 
 Then sat down at her wheel, 
 And sang o' luive, the winter neets. 
 
 Ere she its power did feel ; 
 And at the kurk, on Sunday mworns, 
 
 Nane sang sae sweet and shrill, 
 The charming voice abuin them aw 
 
 Was Ann o' Hethersgill. 
 
 But she saw Jock at Carel fair. 
 
 She nae mair was hersel'. 
 She cudna sing when at her wheel, 
 
 And sigh'd o'er down the dell. 
 Jock is the laird o' Souter Muir, 
 
 He's now come o'er the hill. 
 And teane away his bonny bride, 
 
 Sweet Ann o' Hethersgill. 
 
 END OF THE CUMBERLAND DIALECT. 
 
A GLOSSARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 WESTMORELAND AND CUMBERLAND 
 DIALECT. 
 
 A, or Ay, always ; ever. 
 
 Aandorn, Orndorn, or Orn-Dinner. (The word 
 is thus pronounced in most districts of Cumber- 
 land ; but in Durham, Northumberland, and 
 Yorkshire, and probably elsewhere, it is pro- 
 nounced DOUNDRINS and DOWN-DINNER.) An 
 afternoon's repast, or any occasional refection 
 after dinner; also simply the afternoon. — Vide 
 Boucher's Glossary. 
 
 "For th' las oandurth boh one, me measterhad lik t' o 
 killt meh." — Tim Bobbin. 
 
 Abatjt, about. 
 
 Aboon, or Abuin, above ; overhead. 
 
 Acker, to curl, as the curl of water from the wind ; 
 hence, ackerspire, the term for the shooting of 
 barley when in steep for malt. — M8. Glossary. 
 
 AcKERN, an acorn. 
 
 Addiwissen, had I known it. 
 
 Addle, pronounced in Cumberland ettle, to earn 
 by working. 
 
 "Oft has he dadg'd on manny a clarty gyate 
 And blowy neet, to save hur dry and warm ; 
 Oft has he wakent suin, and labour'd lyate, 
 To addle brass 'at he mud stock a farm." — 
 A Lamentation on the Death of Roger, a Pastoral in the 
 Westmoreland Dialect, by Mr. T. Wilkinson, in MS. 
 
 2d 
 
322 
 
 In some counties it is applied to the growth of 
 corn, &c., as " that crop addles,''' that is, thrives ; 
 in which sense it is used by Tusser, — 
 
 " Where ivy embraceth the tree very sore, 
 Kill ivy, else tree will addle no more." 
 
 Addlings, earnings; wages received for work. 
 
 Advisin, advising. 
 
 Ae, a, or one. 
 
 Aeuy, or Airy, a nest of an eagle or hawk. — V^ide 
 a grant, in which " harts and hinds, wild boars 
 and their kinds, and all aries of hawks," are 
 reserved. — Hutchinson's Cumberland, vol. 1, 
 p. 523. A petit serjeantry is also held in Cum- 
 berland " by keeping the king's aeries of gos- 
 hawks." — Nicolson and Burn's Cumberland, 
 vol. 1, p. 22. It means also a young brood of 
 hawks, as well as the nest in which they are pro- 
 duced. 
 
 Afit, on foot. 
 
 Afoar, or Afwore, before. 
 
 A-FOAT, a-foot ; as " a design is a-foot." 
 
 Agayn, again. Agaynth, or Agean, against. 
 
 Aggy, Agnes. 
 
 Agnayles, or Angnayles, corns on the feet. — Grose. 
 But in the north of England, the more customary 
 application of the word angnail, or, as it seems to 
 be pronounced, nangnail, is rather to designate 
 the painful growing-in of the nails of the feet, than 
 either a corn, or the small whitlow, sometimes 
 called a hack-friend. — Boucher's Glossary. 
 
 A-GY, or A-jee, awry. 
 
 Ahint, behind. 
 
 Ahorse, on horseback. 
 
 AiKTON, a village near Wigton. 
 
 Ail, to be indisposed. 
 
 AiRT, Airth, or Arcte (pronounced in Westmore- 
 
323 
 
 land, art), a point or part of the horizon or com- 
 pass; adistrict or portion of the country. "What 
 airt is the wind in ?" that is, from what point 
 does it blow. 
 AiTHER, either ; also ; each. 
 
 " Aw so three greet hee fellows cummin up t' loanin, an' 
 aither o' them had a great big stick iv 'is hand." — I saw 
 three great tall men coming up the lane, and each of them 
 had a great stick in his hand. 
 
 A-JY, or A-GEE, awry. 
 A'l, I'll, I will. 
 Alaan, alone. 
 Alang, along. 
 Aleis, alas. 
 
 Alegar (pronounced in Westmoreland, allekar). 
 Vinegar. From ale-aigre—sonv ale. 
 
 " What is it to us should there really be four millions of 
 toadpoles in a single drop of vinegar ! God has wisely hid 
 them frae our seet. I grant it that ya drop of alligar may 
 be an ocean to sic tiny inhabitants ; but when yan comes 
 ashore 'twill be time enough to study his shap'." — A Plain 
 Address, written in the provincial dialect of the harony of 
 Kendal. Printed at Kendal, 1785, p. 12. 
 Allar, or Eller, an alder tree, the Betula Alnus. 
 It was owing, no doubt, to the frequency of this 
 tree, and the favour in which it was held by our 
 ancestors, that it furnished a name to two of the 
 five wards or hundreds into which the county of 
 Cumberland is divided. Allerdale, a name of 
 great antiquity. — Boucher. 
 All-Hallows, All-Saints' day, the first of Novem- 
 ber. " It is remarkable that whilst the old popish 
 names for the other fasts and festivals, such as 
 Christmas, Candlemas, Lammas, &c., are gene- 
 rally retained throughout England, the northern 
 counties alone continue the use of the ancient 
 term for the festival of All- Saints. "—-ffoMcA^-r. 
 Vide Burns's poem of Halloween, and the curious 
 
 2d2 
 
324 
 
 notes explanatory of the charms and spells of this 
 evening, which were in a great degree common to 
 both countries, and still form a portion of the 
 popular creed in the north of England. 
 
 Ally, the aisle of a church. 
 
 Allyblaster, alabaster. A very old barbarism. 
 
 Ambrie, or Ambry, a pantry or cupboard, 
 
 Amackily, in some fashion ; partly. 
 
 Amang, among. 
 
 Ameast, or Amyast, almost. 
 
 An, if. 
 
 An', or En', and; also. 
 
 An AN, instantly ; immediately. 
 
 And aw, and all ; as well ; likewise. 
 
 Ane, own. 
 
 Anenst, over against ; opposite to. 
 
 Anters, in case. 
 
 Anth', and the. 
 
 Anudder, another. 
 
 An UNDER, beneath. 
 
 Arr, the mark or seam of a flesh wound ; a 
 cicatrice. Thus, pocTc-arrs, the marks made by 
 the small-pox. 
 
 Arrant, errand ; used also for a disorderly person. 
 
 Ard, or AiRD, high, when applied to the name of a 
 place. It is also used in Cumberland, abstract- 
 edly, to describe the quality of a place, a country, 
 a field : thus, ard-land means a dry, parched, or 
 arid soil, which no doubt is but its secondary 
 sense, such lands being dry, parched, &c., only 
 because they lie high. — Boucher. 
 
 Ariet, Harriet. 
 
 Aroun', around. 
 
 Arval, a funeral. — Grose and Brochett. Arval- 
 bread, bread so named from the practice of dis- 
 tributing the loaves in the open air at funerals, 
 
325 
 
 which the receiver is expected to carry home 
 with him. 
 
 As-BuiRD, or Ass-BUURD, ashes-board ; a box in 
 which ashes are carried. 
 
 Ashler. Grose gives this word as peculiar to 
 Cumberland, and signifying " a large freestone;" 
 but it is a term very common among builders all 
 over the kingdom, to denote freestone as it comes 
 from the quarry. 
 
 AsH-TRUG, a coal-scuttle. 
 
 Ass, to ask, 
 
 Assart, cleared ; reclaimed. Assart lands are 
 forest lands reclaimed. — Sutcliinsori s Cumber- 
 land, vol 1, p. 382. 
 
 AsT, asked. 
 
 'At, that. 
 
 At, or At th', at the; or at ; or upon. 
 
 Atomy, an anatomy ; a skeleton ; the human frame 
 divested of its integuments. 
 
 Attercoppe, or Addercop, a spider's web. 
 
 At WEEN, between. 
 
 AuGHTS, or Outs, any considerable quantity. 
 
 •'Is there outs of men, hay, apples, &c. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Adld, or AwD, old, 
 
 AuLD Nick, the Devil. 
 
 " .... how fast hesjiwWiViicA; sic folk in his clutches." — 
 Address in the Kendal Dialect. 
 
 Aunty, aunt. 
 
 AuRSELS, ourselves. 
 
 AuTER, an altar. Many of our old authors write 
 this word auter, or awter. The high altar is a 
 term retained in Cumberland, where it is pro- 
 nounced as one word, hee-autre. 
 
 Aver, a common hack or cart-horse. — Vide Nicol- 
 son and Burn's Westmoreland and Cumberland, 
 vol. 1, p. 590. 
 
 2d3 
 
326 
 
 Aw, or Awe, all. 
 
 AwND, the awn or beard growing out of barley or 
 other grain. In the south of Cumberland and 
 Westmoreland, the word awns is often pro- 
 nounced ANGS. 
 
 Awn, own. 
 
 AwNER, owner; possessor. 
 
 AwRUDDY, already, 
 
 AwT, out. 
 
 AwTER, to alter. Awteration, alteration. 
 
 AwTH,' all the. 
 
 Ax, to ask. 
 
 Ay, always ; ever ; also an expression of wonder. 
 
 Aye, yes. 
 
 Ayont, beyond. 
 
 AzzARD, a little sneaking or insignificant fellow. — 
 MS. Glossary. 
 
 B. 
 Baad, a whore. 
 Baaist, baste. 
 Baait, to bite. 
 Back-bword, a large board on which housewives 
 
 roll out the dough previous to making it into 
 
 loaves ; it is about two feet six inches in diameter. 
 Back-end, the latter part of the day, month, year, 
 
 &c. ; the autumn. 
 Backseyde, any ground at the back part of a house, 
 
 not confined to the court or area behind. 
 
 This word, when pronounced by a north countryman, 
 seldom fails to excite risibility, and certainly with some 
 reason, if we allow it the full scope of punning interpreta- 
 tion : for example — a farmer's man brings in a cart-load of 
 furze from the common, for which there proves to be no 
 room on his master's premises, and the man very naturally 
 asks, " Wharr he mun put thaim whins ?" " Gea thy 
 ways,' says his master, " and see an thou can put them up 
 Mary White's backseyde.^' 
 
327 
 
 Bad, bid ; entreated ; asked ; invited. 
 Badger, a cadger or pedlar ; but originally a person 
 who purchased grain or meal at one market, and 
 
 took it on horseback to sell at another. — Brockett. 
 Badly, ill. 
 
 Baggin, food. A coarse term used in Cumberland. 
 Bailies, bailiffs. 
 Bain, ready; near, applied to a road. Baineb-way, 
 
 a nearer way. 
 Baith, both. 
 Ballat, a ballad. 
 
 Band YL AN, a female of bad character. 
 Bane, or Bain, a bone. 
 Banepire, a bonfire ; a fire kindled on the heights 
 
 at appointed places in times of rejoicing. 
 Bang, to beat; a blow ; also an action of haste, as 
 
 "he com' in wi' a hang.''' Banged, beaten. 
 Bannocks, bread made of oatmeal, thicker than 
 
 common cakes. 
 Bargh, a hill or rising-ground. Bay says that in 
 
 Yorkshire it denotes a " horse- way up a steep 
 
 hill." 
 Barn, or Bairn, a child; also used in a familiar 
 
 way of speaking one to another. 
 Barnekins, the outermost ward of a castle, within 
 
 which ward the hams, stables, &c., were placed. — 
 
 Micolson and Burn's Cumberland, vol. 1, p. 51. 
 Barring-out. This rude custom is still kept up 
 
 in the country schools of the north, and in a note 
 
 to Jackson's Poems, written in the remoter 
 
 parts of Cumberland and Northumberland, is 
 
 thus described : — 
 
 " The boys having, either by stratagem or assault, ob- 
 tained possession of the school-room at an early hour in the 
 morning, previous to the vacation, oblige the master, upon 
 his arrival, to enter into a kind of treaty with them, the 
 terms of which are proposed by the senior boys ; who, intox- 
 
328 
 
 icated with their newly-acquired power, and encouraged 
 by the acclamations of their companions, disdain to sur- 
 render but upon what they consider the most honourable 
 terms. These are, the prolongation of the period for play; 
 the exemption from tasks during that period ; and a variety 
 of other conditions, for the true performance of which, each 
 of the stipulating parties has occasionally a guarantee. 
 Everything at length being adjusted, the doors are thrown 
 open and the master admitted, who, in some measure re- 
 covers his former authority. A general subscription is now 
 entered into for ale, fruit, and wheaten bread — I say 
 wheaten bread, because that is a luxury which even the 
 middling ranks of society in the north do but occasionally 
 indulge in : from this frugal regale, however, each re- 
 tires to his respective home as alert and as happy as any 
 alderman from his calipash and calipee." 
 
 Bass, a fish of the perch species, common in Kes- 
 wick lake ; also the inner rind of a tree. The 
 word is also applied in Cumberland and many 
 parts of England, to dried rushes or sedges : 
 thus, a rush-bottomed chair is called a hass- 
 bottomed chair. 
 Bassan, a basin. 
 Baselard, a poignard or dagger. 
 
 " Item, I give to my son, Leonard Machell, one has- 
 laerd." — Part of a will dated 1536, quoted in Nicolson 
 and Burn's Cumberland, vol. 1, p. 348. 
 
 Bask, a sharp hard acid, as of sloes. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Baste, a blow. 
 
 Bastert, a bastard. 
 
 Baterd, beat. 
 
 Batter, dirt. 
 
 Batten, see Waps. 
 
 Battling-stone, a large smooth-faced stone, set in a 
 sloping position by the side of a stream, on which 
 washerwomen beat their linen to clean it, the 
 same as in France. Battling-wood, a piece of 
 wood used in beating the linen or cloth on the 
 battling-stone. 
 
329 
 
 Bauldly, boldly. 
 
 Bawk, or Balk, a cross beam. 
 
 Bawks, a hayloft. — Grose. 
 
 Bawme, to dress or adorn. 
 
 Bawn, ready ; going. Bawned, prepared to go ; 
 dressed. 
 
 Bay, to bend ; from the Saxon hygan, hugan, to 
 crook ; whence a hay-Wmdiow. 
 
 Baze, to alarm. 
 
 Beaasts, Bease, or Beese, the plural of beast, as 
 geese is the plural of goose. 
 
 Bear-mouths, subterraneous passages by which 
 men and horses descend to the coal mines. 
 
 Beastlings, or Beastings, the milk of a cow for a 
 short time after calving. 
 
 Bebb, to drink. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Beck, a rivulet or brook. 
 
 Becose, because. 
 
 Beein, being. 
 
 Beeld, to build. — See Bigg. Beelded, builded. 
 
 Beelin, bellowing. 
 
 Befoar, before. 
 
 Behavs, behaves. 
 
 Behint, behind. 
 
 Behoaf, behalf. 
 
 Behonden, beholden. 
 
 Belaw, below. 
 
 Belder, to bellow ; vociferate. 
 
 Beleev, believe. 
 
 Belive, presently. 
 
 Beltain, Beltan, or Beltine, according to modern 
 usage, means a particular time of the year (the 
 first of May), so called from the fires which, 
 from the remotest ages, have been kindled upon 
 that day. " Till of late years the superstition of 
 the Beltein was kept up in these parts [Cumber- 
 
330 
 
 land] ; and in this rural sacrifice it was customary 
 for the performers to bring with them boughs of 
 the mountain ash." — Pennant's Tour in Scot- 
 land, vol. 2, p. 42. In another part of his Tour, 
 he gives an account of the rites which are used 
 upon this occasion. 
 
 Belving, drinking greedily, as is often done by 
 children. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Bentgrass (agrostis vulgaris, Linnceus), long, 
 coarse grass, which chiefly grows upon the 
 moors. 
 '•' He cared not for dint of sword or speere, 
 No more than for the stroke of straws or bents." — Spenser. 
 
 Bensil, to bang or beat. 
 
 Beruin, burying ; a funeral. 
 
 Berbt, a gooseberry. 
 
 " I lately signed a lease of a small estate in Cumberland, 
 in which, among other covenants, the tenant is restrained 
 from injuring or destroying orchards, fruit trees, berry- 
 bushes, &c." — Boucher. 
 
 Berry, to thrash corn. Berrier, a thrasher of corn. 
 " WuU is berrying in the barn." — Broclcett. 
 
 Bettermer, better. 
 
 Betwattled, confounded ; out of one's senses ; 
 also, bewrayed. 
 
 Beyte, a bite ; a sharper. 
 
 Bense, a cow's stall. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Beirsh, see Brash. 
 
 BrcDEN-WEDDiNG. Some of the Cumbrians, par- 
 ticularly those who are in poor circumstances, 
 have, on their entrance into the married state, 
 what is called a bidding (invitation), or bidden- 
 WEDDiNG, at which a pecuniary collection is 
 made among the company for the purpose of 
 setting the wedded pair forward in the world. 
 It is always attended with music and dancing ; and 
 
331 
 
 the fiddler, when the contributions begin, takes 
 care to remind the assembly of their duties, by 
 notes imitative of the following couplet : — 
 
 " Come, my friends, and freely offer, 
 Here's the bride who has no tocher [dowry].''^— -Sanderson. 
 
 Bide, to wait; to bear; to endure. "You must 
 grin and abide it." 
 
 Big, a coarse kind of barley ; properly that variety 
 which has six rows of grain on each ear, though 
 often confounded with what is called bear or four- 
 rowed barley. — Brockett. Vwie many illustra- 
 tions of the word in Boucher's Glossary. 
 
 Bigg, to build. Bigg'd, built. Biggin, a building. 
 The town of JSTewbiggin signifies new built or 
 new building. 
 
 Billy, brother. 
 
 BiNK, a stone seat or table 
 
 BiRLER, or BuRLER, the master of the revels, or 
 person presiding over and directing the feast at 
 a Cumberland bidden- wedding, whose office re- 
 quires hints, and who takes especial care that the 
 drink be duly and plentifully supplied. 
 
 Birr (pronounced in Cumberland burre), any 
 rapid, whirling motion, as that of a spinning- 
 wheel ; a running jump is there called a burre- 
 jump ; and a stone thrown with violence is said 
 to come with a birre against anything which it 
 strikes. 
 
 BisPEL, a term of reproach, but not severe ; applied 
 in general to young persons, and charging them 
 with being mischievous rather than vicious. 
 
 BizEN (bye-saying) , disgraceful notoriety. 
 
 " If thou wilt taak up wi' that dannet, thou'lt just be- 
 come a shem and a hizen to a' the parish." 
 
 Black-ar-T, necromancy, or as it is more commonly 
 pronounced in the north, nigromancy. 
 
332 
 
 Blackberries, in Shakspere's time, as in ours, 
 meant the fruit of the bramble-bush, but in the 
 north, at least in Cumberland, the term is now 
 applied chiefly to black currants. — Boucher. 
 
 Black-mail, or Black-meal, a contribution, tax, 
 or impost, paid by the quiet and peaceable inha- 
 bitants of several of the border counties, in for- 
 mer times, to the chieftains and parties of plun- 
 dering invaders, for the protection of their cattle 
 and goods against depredation. 
 
 Blae-berky, or Blea-berry, the fruit of the vac- 
 cinium myrtillus, the bilberry, whortleberry, or, 
 in some places, hurtleberry. 
 
 Blained, half-dry ; spoken mostly of linen hung 
 out to dry. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Blake, a yellowish golden colour. " As hlake as 
 a marygold," is a proverbial simile. 
 
 Blate, bashful. 
 
 Blaw, blow 
 
 Bleaad, or Bluid, blood. 
 
 Bleaam, blame. 
 
 Bleaken'd, blackened. 
 
 Bleb, or Blob, a bubble of water, either made 
 with soap or by the falling of rain. — MS. Glos. 
 
 Blebb'd, drank. 
 
 Bleckell, Blackwell, a village near Carlisle. 
 
 Bledder, to cry. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Bleer-e'ed, blear-eyed. 
 
 Bleets, blights. 
 
 Blemmle, to mix anything with a fluid by motion, 
 as the mixing of flour with water. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Blend, to mix. 
 
 Blin', blind. 
 
 Blinder-bridles, bridles with winkers to them. 
 
 Bluim, bloom. 
 
 Blusteration, the noise of a braggart. 
 
333 
 
 BoAAM, balm. 
 
 BoARN Foal, born fool ; a silly person. 
 
 Bobber, or Bobberous, elated ; bragging ; in high 
 spirits. 
 
 BoDDER, bother. 
 
 Bo'n, bald. 
 
 Boggart, a spirit ; a spectre. 
 
 Boggle, to be afraid ; to hesitate. 
 
 BoiLEN, boiling. 
 
 Boll, a ball. 
 
 Bolder, a loud report. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Bole, the trunk of a tree. 
 
 Boon-days, days work which the tenants of some 
 manors are obliged or bound to perform for the 
 benefit of their lord, gratis. Vast quantities of 
 land in Cumberland are held under lords of 
 manors by customary tenure, subject to the pay- 
 ment of fines and heriots, and the performance 
 of various duties and services on the hoon-days, 
 — BrocJcett. 
 
 Bonny, pretty. 
 
 Bord-claith, a table-cloth. 
 
 Born, suffered ; endured. 
 
 BoRNED, or BoRNT, bumed. 
 
 BoRTERRY, or BouTREY, the elder tree. 
 
 BoTEL, a bottle. 
 
 Bottom-wind, a phenomenon which occurs in Der- 
 went-water. The waters of this lake are some- 
 times agitated in an extraordinary manner, though 
 without any apparent cause, and in a perfectly 
 calm day, are seen to swell in high waves, which 
 have a progressive motion from west to east. 
 
 BouKS, the divisions or boundaries of a field. 
 
 BouRT, to offer; to pretend; to make believe. — 
 MS. Glossary. 
 
 Bout, a turn ; action. 
 
 2e 
 
334 
 
 Bout, bought. 
 
 BovATE. A bovate [oxgang] of land is as much as 
 one yoke of oxen can reasonably cultivate in a 
 year. — JVicolson and Burn's Cumberland. 
 
 Bower (sometimes spelt boor), a bedchamber, an 
 inner room. 
 
 Bow-hough' D, having crooked houghs. 
 
 Bowlder-stones (sometimes written and pro- 
 nounced BOWDER, BOODER, and BOOTHER-STONEs), 
 
 lumps or fragments of stone broken from the 
 adjacent cliffs, and rounded by being tumbled 
 to and fro by the water, whence their name. — 
 Woodward. 
 
 BowsTER, a bolster ; a pillow. 
 
 BowT, bought. 
 
 BrAx\id, broad ; also beat. Brayed, belaboured, 
 
 Braaid-scar, a broad stone. 
 
 Brack, broke. 
 
 Bracken, fern. 
 
 Brae, a bank or declivity ; any sloping broken 
 ground. 
 
 Braids, resembles, 
 
 " He iraids o' me ;" that is, he is something like me. 
 
 Brake, to beat violently. — MS. Glossary. 
 Brandreth, an iron tripod, fixed over the fire, on 
 
 which to place a pot, kettle, or girdle. 
 Brank, to hold up the head proudly. 
 Brant or Brent, steep. 
 Brash, Brattle, or Bevish, to run headlong; a 
 
 violent push ; a sudden motion. — MS. Glossary. 
 Brass, a common term for money. 
 Brast, burst. 
 
 " No gate so strong, no lock so firm and fast. 
 But with that piercing sound flew open or quite brast,"" — 
 
 Spenser, 
 
 Brat, a coarse apron. 
 
335 
 
 Brattle, see Brash. 
 
 Brattl't, a noise. 
 
 Brauchin, a horse-collar. 
 
 Braut, brought. 
 
 Bravely, well ; in a good state of health. 
 
 Brawn, a hoar. 
 
 Bray, to beat ; to pound. 
 
 Bree, a bustle. 
 
 Breead, bread. 
 
 Breed-boyder, a bread-basket. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Breeder, brother. 
 
 Breeks, breeches. 
 
 Breer, a briar. 
 
 Brees'd, bruised. 
 
 Breet, bright. 
 
 Brek, to break. 
 
 Bride-ale, a wedding feast. 
 
 " A man that's bid to bride-ale if he ha' cake 
 And drink enough, he need not vear [fear] his stake." — 
 Ben Jonson, Tale of a Tub, ii. 1. 
 
 Bride-cake. The bridal party after leaving the 
 church, repair to a neighbouring inn, where a 
 thin currant cake, marked in squares, though not 
 entirely cut through, is ready against the bride's 
 arrival ; over her head is spread a clean linen 
 napkin, and the bridegroom, standing behind the 
 bride, breaks the cake over her head, which is 
 then thrown over her and scrambled for by the 
 attendants. 
 
 Bride-wain, a custom in Cumberland, where the 
 friends of a new married couple assemble, and 
 are treated with cold pies, furmenty, and ale; 
 at the close of the day, the bride and bride- 
 groom are placed in two chairs, in the open air, 
 or in a large barn, the bride with a pewter dish 
 on her knee, half covered with a napkin; into 
 
 2e2 
 
336 
 
 this dish the company put their offerings, which 
 occasionally amount to a considerable sum. The 
 word main is supposed to be derived from a 
 very ancient custom in the north, of presenting 
 to the bride, when she left her father's house, a 
 wain or waggon-load of articles of use and luxury ; 
 on this occasion the wain was crowned with 
 boughs and flowers, and the horses decorated 
 with ribbons, &c. 
 
 Brig, a bridge. 
 
 Britches, breeches. 
 
 Broasen, Brosen, or Brosten, burst. 
 
 Brock, a badger. Sax. hroc. 
 
 Broo, brow ; forehead. 
 
 Brong, brought. 
 
 Brow, saucy ; pert ; handsome ; clever. — MS, Glos. 
 
 Brudders, brothers. 
 
 Bruil, to broil. 
 
 Brulliment, a broil. 
 
 Brunt, burnt. 
 
 Bryad, broad. 
 
 BucKSTALL, a service in the forest, in attending at 
 a certain station to watch deer in hunting. — 
 Nicolson and Burn's Cumberland. A net to 
 catch deer. — Huloefs Dictionary. 
 
 BuDE, patiently endured. 
 
 BuiK, a book. 
 
 BuiN, above. 
 
 BuiTS, boots. 
 
 BuLL-STANG, a dragon-fly. 
 
 BuMMiN, humming. 
 
 Bumm'd, struck ; beat. 
 
 BuMMELL, or Bumble-kite, a bramble or black- 
 berry. 
 
 Bummelt, bungled. Bummle, to blunder. Bumm- 
 ler's Luck, blunderer's luck. 
 
337 
 
 Bun, or Bunnel, a dried hemp-stalk ; a kex or dry 
 
 hollow stalk of the hemlock. 
 Bunc'd, bounced. " He hun&d in amang us." 
 Bund, bound, 
 Burley-Brigs, a rural game. — Vide Boucher under 
 
 Barley-break. 
 Burn, a brook. 
 BuRRE, see Birr. 
 BusHPu', bashful. 
 Buss, a kiss. 
 Busses, bushes. 
 Butch, to kill. 
 
 Butter-shag, a slice of bread spread with butter. 
 BuTTER-sops, wheaten or oaten bread soaked in 
 
 melted butter and sugar 
 Bwor'd, bored. 
 
 BwoRDER-cowppERs, horse-dealers from the Borders. 
 BwoRN, born. 
 Byans, bones. 
 
 Byer, or Byre, a cowhouse. 
 Bygane, bygone j past. 
 
 C. 
 
 Caad, Caud, or Cauld, cold. 
 
 Caant, or Cannit, cannot. 
 
 Caars, cares. 
 
 Cabbish, a cabbage. 
 
 Cade-lamb, a pet lamb. 
 
 Caff, chaff. 
 
 Cairds, cards. 
 
 Caleever, or Callevir, to prance about ; to make 
 
 a riot ; a furious manner. 
 Callar, cold. 
 
 Calimanco, calamanco ; a kind of woollen stuff. 
 Cam, comb. 
 Camlet, camblet. 
 
 2e3 
 
338 
 
 Cammed, crooked; or peculiarly untoward. — MS. 
 Glossary. 
 
 Campel, to reply saucily ; to argue. 
 
 Canny, a frequent expression for a neat, nice, 
 housewifely, or handsome woman ; and some- 
 times for a clever or smart man. Also, decent- 
 looking, well-made, clever. 
 
 Cankert, rusty ; ill-natured. 
 
 Cap, to complete ; to finish ; to surpass. Capper, 
 one who excels. Capt, overcome in argument. 
 
 Car, a cart. 
 
 Carel, Carlisle. 
 
 Carrick Fells, a range of hills in Cumberland. 
 
 Carras, a cart-house or shed wherein carts are 
 kept. 
 
 Carryth', carry the. 
 
 Cat, sometimes Nape or Cap, as " Cat o' the neck," 
 the cap or cape of the neck. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Cat-wittbd, silly and conceited. 
 
 Caul, a swelling. 
 
 Cauncel, council. 
 
 Caw, to call. Caw't, call it. 
 
 Caw, or Kaw, a cow. 
 
 Cawkers, see Clogs. 
 
 Cawl, to browbeat or frighten. — MS, Glossary. 
 
 Ceyder, cider. 
 
 Chaamer, a chamber, parlour, or bedroom. 
 
 Chaft, the jaw. 
 
 Chap, a general term for a man, used either in a 
 manner of respect or contempt. 
 
 Char, a species of trout frequently caught in Win- 
 dermere. 
 
 Chats, spray- wood. — Agr'ic. Survey of Westin. 
 
 Chawk, chalk. 
 
 Cheg, to chew a hard substance. 
 
 Cheil, a young fellow. 
 
339 
 
 Cheybe, to chide. 
 
 Chimley, a chimney. Chymlas, chimnies. 
 
 Chop, to put. Chopt in, put in. 
 
 Chow, to mumble and grumble. 
 
 Chyne, a chain, 
 
 Claaikin, scratching. 
 
 Claes, or Claise, clothes. 
 
 Claggy, the property of adhesion, as of wet clay or 
 earth sticking to the feet. 
 
 Claith, cloth. 
 
 Clam, to starve or hunger; also, to climb. 
 
 Clap-bread, thin, hard, oaten cakes ; but in Cum- 
 berland it is frequently made of the meal of bar- 
 ley, and differs from other barley bread only by 
 its being unleavened, made in the form of cakes, 
 and not baked in an oven. It has its name of 
 clap-hread from its being clapped or beaten out 
 with the hand, while it is dough, into the form 
 of large round cakes. There is a particular board 
 for this purpose, which is called a clap-hoard. 
 This kind of bread appears to be also in general 
 use in Norway. — Boucher. 
 
 Clabting, daubing with mud. 
 
 Clabts, mud. 
 
 Clarty, miry ; slippery ; wet ; sticky. 
 
 Clash -MA-SAUNTER, a tiresome repeater of stories. 
 
 Clashes, tale-bearers ; gossips. 
 
 Clart, to daub ; to smear ; to spread. 
 
 Claver, to climb. Claver'd, clambered. 
 
 Clavver, clover. 
 
 Clay-daubin, a custom in Cumberland, where the 
 neighbours and friends of a new married couple 
 assemble, and do not separate until they have 
 erected them a cottage, something in the style 
 of the old British wattled dwelHngs, and not 
 unlike the plastered houses in Norfolk, erected 
 
340 
 
 by the workmen called daubers. From the num- 
 ber of hands employed, the building is generally 
 completed in a day ; the company then rejoice 
 and make merry. — Brockett. 
 
 Cleck, or Click, to catch or snatch away. Per- 
 haps from the Sax. ffelcecian, of the same meaning. 
 
 Cleckings, a shuttlecock. 
 
 Cleed, to clothe. Cled, clothed. 
 
 Cleek, to clutch; to catch as with a hook. 
 
 Clegger, to cling. 
 
 Clepps, a wooden instrument for pulling weeds 
 out of corn. 
 
 Cleugh, or Clough, a ravine; a valley between 
 two hills ; a narrow glen, Clym of the Clough 
 is the hero of a very old and admired northern 
 ballad. 
 
 Clevver, to scramble up ; to climb. 
 
 Clifty, apt; active; generous. 
 
 Clink, a blow. 
 
 Glints, a species of limestone. 
 
 Clipt and Heel'd, properly dressed, like a cock 
 prepared to fight. 
 
 Clipt-dinment, a shorn wedder sheep; a thin 
 mean looking fellow. 
 
 Clish-ma-clash, foolish talk. 
 
 Cliver, clever. 
 
 Clod, to throw. 
 
 Clogs, a kind of shoes, the upper part of strong 
 hide leather, and the soles of wood, tipped at the 
 toe and heel with pieces of iron termed cawkers. 
 
 Clough, the body of a tree; or where the main 
 stem divides into branches. — Agric. Survey of 
 Cumberland. 
 
 Clowk, or Clow, to scratch — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Clowen, to bustle about. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Cluff, a blow. Cluffed, beat. 
 
341 
 
 Clume, climbed. 
 
 Cluuts, feet. 
 
 Cluves, the hoofs of horses or cows. 
 
 Clott, to toss about. 
 
 CoAATS, petticoats. 
 
 CoAF, a calf. 
 
 Cobby, headstrong ; obstinate ; stout ; hearty ; 
 lively. 
 
 CoBBS, the testicles. 
 
 Cocker, a feeder or fighter of cocks. 
 
 CocKiN, cock-fighting. 
 
 Cockle, or Cokle, to cry like a cock. 
 
 CocKLER, a gatherer of cockles. Cocklin, gather- 
 ing cockles. 
 
 CocKWEBS, cobwebs. 
 
 Coggers, woollen spatterdashes. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 CoLLERSHip, scholarship. 
 
 CoLLOP-MoNDAY, the first Monday before Lent, 
 on which day it is usual to have collops and 
 eggs for dinner; a custom derived from our an- 
 cestors, who gave full indulgence to their appe- 
 tites on this and the following day — Slirove- 
 Tuesday — previous to the arrival of the long and 
 meagre season, the Quadragesimal Fast. 
 
 Com, came. 
 
 Combe, a valley. 
 
 Con, or Conn, a squirrel. 
 
 CoNNOLY, cannily ; prettily. Conny, pretty. 
 
 Convoy, a block of wood which is pressed down on 
 one of the wheels of a waggon to retard its pro- 
 gress on an inclined plane — chiefly on the railways 
 from the coal-pits. 
 
 Coo, or CoE, to call. Cood, called. 
 
 CooM, dust. 
 
 Coon. To coon thanks is to acknowledge or re- 
 quite a favour. 
 
 " Wheever it was that put the bunch o' whins under ma 
 
342 
 
 galloway's tail, last Setterday neet, au' gart him fling an' 
 lowp a' t' way howm, aw's nowt obleged to him : the de'il 
 coon him thanks." Whoever it was that put the bunch of 
 furze under my pony's tail, last Saturday night, and made 
 him kick and plunge all the way home, I am nothing 
 obliged to him : the devil give him thanks. 
 
 CoppY, a small wooden stool. — MS. Glossary/. 
 
 Corby, a raven. 
 
 CoRNAGE, a tenure which obliges the landholder to 
 give notice of an invasion by blowing a horn. 
 
 CoRN-LAiTERS, corn-seckcrs ; newly married pea- 
 sants, who beg corn to sow their first crop with. — 
 Brockett. 
 
 Corp, a corpse. 
 
 CoRRANs, currants. 
 
 Corse, to curse. Corsing, cursing. 
 
 CoTTERED, entangled. 
 
 CouPER-EAiR, a market held at Kirby-Stephen, the 
 day before Brough-hill, where the phrase " bel- 
 ter for belter," implies a proposal to barter or 
 exchange horse for horse. — Brockett. 
 
 CoupRAisE, to raise anything in the manner of a 
 lever. 
 
 CouREN, cowering ; crouching. 
 
 CouT, or CowT, a colt ; a foal. 
 
 CowD-LWORD, a pudding made of oatmeal and suet. 
 
 Cowl, to scrape dirt. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 CoW-SCARN, or COW-SHAREN, COW-duUg. 
 
 Cowp, to exchange ; to overturn. 
 Craaled, crawled. 
 Crack, to challenge. 
 
 '' Ne yet hath any knight his courage crack'd." — Spenser. 
 
 Crack, to boast; a short space of time, as, "I's 
 
 dui't in a crack ; also, to chat. 
 Crackel, a cricket, an insect that squeaks or chirps 
 
 about ovens or fireplaces ; also, a low stool. 
 Craisy, crazy ; insane. 
 
343 
 
 Cramble, to creep ; applied to insects that move 
 
 slowly forward, and to children when going on 
 
 their hands and knees. 
 Crammel, to perform a thing awkwardly. 
 Cranky, chequered ; as, a cranTcy neckcloth, a 
 
 cranky apron. 
 Crap, crept. Crappen, crept in. 
 Crawn, a crown. 
 Credel, a cradle. 
 Creyke, a creek. 
 Croft, a small field or paddock. 
 Cronie, an old acquaintance. 
 Croupe, to stoop ; to crouch ; or move the body 
 
 stoopingly. — MS. Glossary. 
 Grouse, or Crowish, spirited ; pert. 
 
 " Every cock is crouse on his own midden ;" which per- 
 fectly agrees with our own proverb, that " every cock is 
 crowish on his own dunghill." 
 
 Crow-coal, an inferior sort of coal. 
 
 Crowdy, a mess of oatmeal. 
 
 Cruds, curds. 
 
 Cruin, Crune, or Croon, to make a murmuring 
 
 noise ; to hum a tune. 
 Cud, could. Cudee, could I. Cudn't, or Cuddent, 
 
 could not. 
 Cuddy, Cuthhert. 
 CuiL, cool. 
 
 Cum, or Com, to come. 
 CuMMERLAN, Cumberland. 
 Cunn'd, counted. 
 CuNTRY, country. 
 CuPY, Cupid. 
 
 CuRLEY-pow, a curled head. 
 CuRSBNMAS, or CuRSMAs, Christmas. 
 CuRsiNiN, christening. 
 CuKSTY, Christopher. 
 
344 
 
 Cuutchey'd, courtesied. 
 CusEN, cousin. 
 CusH, an exclamation. 
 
 " Cush! they ha'e pegged thirsels." 
 
 CuTTEN, cut down. 
 
 Cutter, to speak low ; to whisper. 
 
 Cutty, short. " A cm^^^ pipe." 
 
 CwoACH, a coach. 
 
 CwoALS, coals. 
 
 CwoALEY, or CwoLEY, a cur dog. 
 
 CwoATS, coats, or garments of any kind. 
 
 CwoRN, corn. 
 
 CwosE-HOUSE, corse-house. 
 
 D 
 
 Daddle, the hand. 
 
 Dadge, to walk danglingly or saunteringly. 
 
 Daft, idiotic ; half wise ; used sometimes as wanton. 
 
 Daggy, drizzly. 
 
 Daisent, decent. 
 
 Daive, or Dill, to sooth. — MS. Glossary/. 
 
 Dander, to hobble. 
 
 Dannet, a man or woman of disreputable character. 
 
 Dapper, neatly dressed. 
 
 Daark, or DarRAK, a day's work. 
 
 Dar, dare. 
 
 Darter, active in performing anything. 
 
 Daut, to doubt. 
 
 Dawkin, a soft simple person. Thence the vulgar 
 
 saying— 
 " I had rather have a wife a dule than a dmvJcin." — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Dawn, down. 
 
 Dawnth, down the. 
 
 Dawstoners, inhabitants of Dalston, a village near 
 
 Carlisle. 
 De, do. 
 
345 
 
 Dea, Due, or Deya, do. Deas, does. 
 
 Deail, Dole, or Drail, a share or an allotment in a 
 
 common or enclosed land. 
 Deaikgs, or Deains, doings. 
 Deait, do it. 
 
 Deame, dame ; the matron or mistress of the house, 
 Ded, dad. Deddy, father. 
 Dee, to die. 
 Deef, deaf. 
 
 Deelan, dealing ; dividing the cards at play. 
 Debt, died ; also, dirt. 
 Deeth, death. 
 
 Deetunt, or Deeghtan, winnowing corn. 
 Deftly, quietly. — MS. Glossary. 
 Deg, to sprinkle with water ; to ooze out ; to drop 
 
 slowly. 
 De'il bin. Devil be in. 
 Dere, dear. 
 Dess, a row ; a pile or heap ; also, to sort ; to pile 
 
 up. 
 Deyke, a hedge. 
 Deyl'd, spiritless ; careworn. 
 Dezzed, injured by cold, — MS. Glossary. 
 Diebler, a pewter plate, 
 Didder, to tremble; to shiver. 
 Diddle, to hum a tune. 
 
 DiGHT, or Deet, to clean ; to dress ; to put in order. 
 Din, noise. 
 
 DiNNLE, to thrill ; to tingle. 
 Dis, does. 
 DispERT, desperate. 
 DissNiNs, a distance in horse-racing, the eighth 
 
 part of a mile. 
 DiTT, to stop up. — MS. Glossary. 
 DivvENT, do not. 
 
 " Odswunters ! I says, what, ye divent ken me," — 
 
 Anderson's Borrowdale Jwohnny. 
 
 2p 
 
346 
 
 DoBBY, a ghost ; a spectre. 
 
 Dodder, to tremble ; to shake. 
 
 Doff, do off; to undress ; to put off. 
 
 DoFT, undressed. 
 
 Don, do on ; to dress 
 
 DoND, dressed. Donning, dressing. 
 
 DoNNET, a term for the Devil. 
 
 DoNSE, to dance. 
 
 DoNSiN-NEET, dancing-night. 
 
 DooNT, do not. 
 
 Dope, a simpleton. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 DouELER, a bowl. See Posset-cup. 
 
 DoUKE, to duck; to stoop suddenly with the head; 
 to put the head or body into water ; to bathe. 
 
 Douse, or Douce, jolly or cheerful looking ; some- 
 times used as solid, grave, and prudent. 
 
 Dow, good ; as, " naught at doiv,'" that is, nothing 
 that is good. — MS. Glossary. In the border 
 counties of Scotland the word dow is expressive 
 of ability, "We maun do as we dow,'' that is, 
 we must do as we can. 
 
 DowLY, melancholy ; sad ; as applied to persons : 
 lonely, as to places. 
 
 Down-house, a kitchen. 
 
 DowNO-CANNOT, that is, when one has the power 
 but wants the will to do anything. 
 
 DowTER, daughter. 
 
 DozEND, spiritless and impotent. 
 
 Dra, to draw. Draain, drawing. 
 
 Draff, brewer's grains ; or rather the water wherein 
 barley is steeped before it is malted. 
 
 Drawnt, drowned. 
 
 Dreave, drove. 
 
 Dree, long; tedious; slow beyond expectation : 
 " A c^ree road." Also, to endure ; to hold out. 
 
 Drbeamt, dreamed. 
 
347 
 
 Dreeap, to speak slowly. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Drip, snow : " White as drip.'' 
 
 Drokk'n hizzy, a drunken huzzy. 
 
 Druivy, overcast ; muddy. 
 
 Dub, a small pool of stagnant water. 
 
 DuBBLER, a wooden platter. — Anderson, A large 
 
 dish of earthenware. — Brockett. A plate of the 
 
 largest kind. 
 DucE, a fiend or evil spirit. 
 
 " The deuce is ia it," a very common expression in most 
 parts of the kingdom. 
 
 Dud, did. Duddn't, did not. 
 
 Duds, ragged clothes. 
 
 DuiM, doom. 
 
 Dum, or Dun, done. 
 
 DuiR, the door. 
 
 DuLE, the Devil. Dulish, devilish. 
 
 Dumb-Wife, a person born without the faculty of 
 speech, who is thought by the illiterate part of 
 the Cumbrian peasantry to possess the gift of 
 prescience ; a fortune-teller. 
 
 DuNCH, to strike with the elbows ; to nudge. 
 
 DuNG-ouRE, knocked over or down. 
 
 Dunnet, or DoANT, do not. 
 
 DuRDEM, uproar; hubbub. 
 
 Dure, the door. 
 
 DuRTMENT, anything useless. 
 
 Dust, one of the many provincial terms for money. 
 
 DusTEA, or DusTAY, dost thou. 
 
 Dwallow'd, withered. 
 
 DwoATED, doated. 
 
 Dykes, detached parts of the vein of a coal mine. 
 
 E. 
 Ea, in ; and. 
 
 Earles-penny, or Arles-penny, the earnest-money 
 
 2p2 
 
348 
 
 paid down to bind a bargain ; money advanced 
 to farm-servants when they are hired. 
 
 EA.VE-LONG, oblong. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Eaver, orEEEVER, a corner or quarter of the heavens. 
 
 " The wind is in the rainy eaver." 
 
 Eeem (Sax. cemtan) , leisure ; rest ; spare time. 
 Een, the eyes. 
 
 " And eke with fatness swollen were his een," — Spenser. 
 Efter, after. 
 Efternuin, afternoon. 
 Ehint, or Ahint, behind, 
 
 " I sleept on the flags just ahint a kurk corner." — 
 
 Anderson's Borrowdale Jwohnny. 
 
 Eider, either. 
 EiGH, aye ; yes. 
 EiTH, easy. 
 
 " A fole is eith to begile." — Chaucer, 
 El, I'll ; I will, 
 Elcy, Alice. 
 Eld EN, any old things, or old wood of no use but 
 
 for the fire ; also, fuel of every description. 
 Eleeben, eleven. 
 Ellek, Alexander. 
 El-mother, a step-mother. 
 Elson, a shoemaker's awl. 
 Em, them. 
 
 En, or An, and ; also ; if 
 En' the end, 
 Eneugh, enough. 
 Enquear, to enquire. 
 Enth, and they. 
 Er, your ; or ; are. 
 Esh, or Ax, to ask. Esht, asked. 
 Eshes, ash trees. 
 Esse, ashes. " Skeer the esse,'' separate the dead 
 
 ashes from the embers. 
 
349 
 
 Et, at; to; that. 
 
 Ettle, to prepare ; to set in order.— ilf^S*. Glossary. 
 
 EuNiN, or EvNiN, the evening. 
 
 Ev, have. 
 
 F. 
 
 Faad, fold. 
 
 Faavor, favour. 
 
 Fadder, father. Fadder-fwok, father's family. 
 
 Fadge, to walk as if tired. 
 
 Faffle, to saunter ; to fumble. 
 
 Fagg, to tire ; to become weary. 
 
 Fain, glad ; delighted ; pleased ; desirous. 
 
 Fair-tro-days, daylight. 
 
 Famish, famous. 
 
 Fancy, a ribbon ; a prize for dancers. 
 
 Fan, found ; felt. 
 
 Fand, found. 
 
 Fansome, kind ; fondling. 
 
 Farr, to ache. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Farrantly, orderly; decent; respectable. 
 
 Farbs-te-weel, fare thee well. 
 
 Farlies, strange sights ; strange news ; wonders in 
 
 general, 
 Farlton Knot, a hill near Burton, in Kendal, 
 Fash, to trouble ; to tease. " I cannot hefasKd.''^ 
 Fashen, fashion. 
 
 Fashery, unnecessary niceness; annoyance. 
 Fassen's Even, Fastings-eve, or shrovetide. 
 Faul, a farm yard. 
 
 Fau't, fall it, or befall it ; also, a fault. 
 Fause, false; deceitful. 
 Faw, to fall. Fawn, fallen. 
 Feaard, or Feard, feared. 
 Feace, the face. 
 Feale, fail. 
 
 2f3 
 
350 
 
 Fearful (used adverbially), very. 
 
 Feater, a footer ; a dancer. 
 
 Featlet, four pounds of butter. 
 
 Feckless, feeble; insignificant; without effect. 
 Perhaps a corruption of effectless. 
 
 Feeag, to encumber ; to load. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Feeal, to hide. " He ihditfeeals can find." 
 
 Feeind, to find. 
 
 Feight, to fight. Feighten, fighting. 
 
 Fell, a rocky hill ; a mountain or common, 
 scarcely admitting of cultivation. " This country 
 abounds with mountains which, in the language 
 of the country, are called fells.'" — JSTicolson and 
 Burn's Westmoreland and Cmnberland. 
 
 Felt, felled. 
 
 Fend, to provide for ; to be industrious ; to work 
 hard ; as, " he fends hard for a living." It is 
 also used in inquiries after a person's health, as 
 
 " How fend ye, Mr. Ritson, how/en«i ye?" that is, how 
 do you thrive ? 
 
 Fendy, thrifty ; managing. 
 Fer, for. 
 
 Fest, to let out; to bind as an apprentice. 
 Fettle, to put in order ; to repair or mend any- 
 thing that is broken or defective ; to set or go 
 about anything; to dress, or prepare, '"''^o fettle 
 th' tits," that is, to dress the horses. 
 " Nor list he now go whistling to the car, 
 But sells his team, aad fettleik to the war." — 
 
 Bishop HalVs Satires. Sat. iv. 6. 
 
 Fettle, a cord which is used to a pannier. 
 Few't weel, promised fair. 
 Feyne, fine. 
 
 FiDGE, to sprawl. — MS. Glossary. 
 Fig-sue, a mess made of ale boiled with fine wheaten 
 ' bread and figs, usually eaten on Good-Friday. 
 
351 
 
 Filth, a scoundrel. 
 
 Fine, to cease, or end. 
 "Thou never ^ne* feeking" [or gadding]. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Fin, to find ; to feel, 
 
 FiRTLE, or Febk, to fidget.— J/aS*. Glossary. 
 
 Fit, foot ; fought. 
 
 Fizzle, to nestle. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Flackering, quivering ; shuddering. 
 
 Flacker'd, fluttered. 
 
 Flaayd, or Flate, frightened. Flay, to frighten. 
 
 Flait, afraid 
 
 Flaitch, to flatter; to persuade. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Flann, shallow. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Flawer, a flower. Flawred, flowered. 
 
 Fleebysky (flee by the sky), a flighty person. 
 
 Flead, stood. 
 
 Fleak, or Flook, a flounder. 
 
 Fleek, a flitch. 
 
 Fleer, or Flear, the floor ; also to laugh ungovern- 
 ably or jeeringly. 
 
 Flig-me-gairey, a gaudily dressed, yet untidy, 
 girl; useless fripperies of female dress. 
 
 Flipe, the rim of a hat. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Flook, see Fleak. 
 
 Flou, or Flough, bleak; windy. 
 " It's Jlough weather." 
 
 Flyer, or Flyre, to fleer; to laugh scornfully. 
 
 Flyte, to scold. 
 
 Foal, fool. 
 
 FoAT, foot. 
 
 Foe, fall. Foeth', fall thee. 
 
 FoiN-AWT, fallen out; quarrelled. 
 
 FoiN, falling. 
 
 Followin, following. 
 
 FoRBY, besides; in addition to. 
 
 Force, a waterfall. 
 
352 
 
 FoosEN, generosity. Foosenable, generous. 
 
 FoRET, or FoRRAT, forward. 
 
 FoRMEL, to bespeak. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 FossPLE, the impression of a horse's hoof on soft 
 ground. 
 
 FoTCH, to fetch. 
 
 Fou, full ; also, tipsy. 
 
 FouDERSOME, bulky ; cumbrous. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Foumart, a polecat. 
 
 FouT, fond ; foolish. 
 
 FouT, or FowT, a pet ; a spoiled child ; a fondling. 
 
 Frae, from. Fraith', from the. 
 
 Frahdle, to talk sillily. 
 
 Frase, fray. 
 
 Fratch, to quarrel. 
 
 Freat, to fret ; to mourn ; to grieve. 
 
 Fremmed, strange. 
 
 Freet, fright. Freetint, frightened. 
 
 Fresh cullert, fresh coloured ; ruddy. 
 
 Frid, or Frith, unused pasture land. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Fridge, or Fruin, to rub against another in pass- 
 ing, &c. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Frittish, cold. " I am very/rittish." — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Frosk, a frog. 
 
 Frostit, frosted. 
 
 Frow, a worthless woman. 
 
 Fudgel, an awkward little child. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 FuE, to make an attempt. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 FuiL, a fool. 
 
 Full drive, with unchecked force. 
 
 " Joe Dobson ran off tappy-luppy, an' just as he turned 
 t' neuk o' George Anderson's byre, he cam full drive 
 agyenst owd Babby Bell, the howdy, an' couped her into 
 the clarts." 
 
 Furbelows, useless silks, frills, or gauzes of a 
 
 female's dress. 
 Fured, went. " Where/ured you ?" — Hay. 
 
353 
 
 FuRST, first. 
 
 FusoM, or Fewsome, handsome ; neat ; notable ; 
 
 tidy. 
 Fuss, bustle. 
 FwoAL, a foal. 
 FwoLDs, folds, 
 FwoR, fore. 
 FwoRCED, forced. 
 FwuRM, a form ; a bench. 
 
 G. 
 
 Ga, to go. Gaen, gone. 
 Gaain, or Gangin, going. 
 
 Gaapen, or GowpEN, the hands ; also, as much as 
 can be contained by the two hands held together. 
 
 " had I gowd i' gowpins, O had I gowd i' store, 
 had I gowd i' gowpins, my laddie should wark no more." — 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 Gaily, or Gaylie, tolerable ; very well. 
 
 Gale, wild myrtle. 
 
 Gam, game. 
 
 Gamlers, gamblers. 
 
 Gammashers, spatterdashes ; gaiters. 
 
 Gammerstang, a tall awkward person of a bad gait ; 
 a hoyden or awkward girl. — Craven Dialect. 
 
 Gane, gone. 
 
 Gang, to go. Gangin, going. From the Low 
 Dutch, gangen, and Sax. gan, to go. 
 
 Gang, a confederate company of infamous persons. 
 
 Ganging a Eocking, going to visit a neighbour's 
 house, and taking a rock and spindle to help to 
 pass away the time. An old local tale alludes to 
 this custom of visiting each other's houses for the 
 purpose of spinning : — 
 
 "Wya, Matty," said a young wag, "what, parliament's 
 gaan et meak a la' et thear's to be full moon for three 
 
354 
 
 months this winter." " Girt falk can due aught," replied 
 Matty; " than we can gang a rocking every neet." — West- 
 moreland as it was. 
 
 Gar, to make ; to cause or force ; to compel. From 
 the Danish ^ior. 
 
 "Tell me, good Hobbinol, vfha.t gars thee greet?" — 
 
 Spenser's Shep. Cal. 
 
 Garrick, or Garrae, an awkward person. 
 
 Garth, a garden; a croft; an orchard; a parrock. 
 
 Gash, to cut ; also, a cut. 
 
 Gat, got. 
 
 Gate, a road or path ; a way. 
 
 " Go your gate ;" that is, go your way. 
 
 Gav, or Gev, gave. 
 
 Gavel, see Gove. 
 
 Gavelock (Sax. ffaveloc) , a strong iron bar used as 
 
 lever. 
 Gawm IN, foolish; ignorant. 
 Gawn, a gown ; also, going. 
 Gayshen, a smock-faced silly-looking person. 
 Geane, gone. 
 Gear, wealth ; money ; the tackling of a cart or 
 
 plough. 
 Geaat, a street, or road. 
 Geen, given. 
 Gerse, grass. 
 Gezlins, goslings. 
 
 GiDDER, to gather. Giddered, gathered. 
 Gie, to give. 
 Gill, or Gyll, a small valley or dell; properly 
 
 a narrow glen with steep and rocky banks on 
 
 each side, with a stream of water at the bottom. 
 GiLLivER, gilliflower. 
 GiNNY, or GiNNEA, a guinea. 
 Gird, a fit. A '■'■gird of laughter," that is, a fit of 
 
 laughter. — MS. Glossary. 
 
355 
 
 GiRN, to grin. 
 
 Girt, great. 
 
 Git, to get. Gitten, got, or gotten. 
 
 Glad, smooth ; particularly the smoothness with 
 which one thing turns or runs upon another, as 
 a door upon its hinges 
 
 Gleaan, squinting. 
 
 Glender, to stare. 
 
 Glent, a glimpse ; a glance. 
 
 Glief, a transient view ; a glance. 
 
 Glimmer, to shine a little. 
 
 Glime, to look askance; to look obliquely; to squint. 
 
 Glime, the mucus issuing from the nostrils of 
 horses or cattle. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Glish, or Glisk, to shine, or glitter. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Gloar, to stare. Gloaring, staring. 
 
 Gloppen, to surprise ; to astonish 
 
 Glop, to stare. Sax. glopan. Isl. glopur, a fool. 
 
 Glowre, to stare. 
 
 Glump'd, gloomed 
 
 Glunch, to look angry. 
 
 Gob, the mouth. 
 
 Goddartly, cautiously. 
 
 GoDiL, God's will. GoDLiNs, God willing. 
 
 GoEFRAM, a clown. Chaucer uses the word gqfish 
 as foolish. 
 
 GoPE, to talk vulgarly and loud. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 GosE, gauze. 
 
 Gove, to look about like a simpleton. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 GowD i' GOWPENS, gold in handfuls. 
 
 Gowk, or Gowky, the cuckoo ; a thoughtless igno- 
 rant fellow, who harps too long upon a subject. 
 
 Gowk, or Goke, the core of an an apple; the yolk 
 of an egg ; the inner part of anything. 
 
 GowL, to weep ; to cry sulkily. 
 
 GowLAN, crying ; sobbing. 
 
356 
 
 Graaidly, honestly. 
 
 Graaiped, groped. 
 
 Graith, the condition of the body, as to being fat 
 
 or lean.— MS. Glossary. 
 Graitii'd, dressed ; accoutred, 
 Granbideer, a grenadier. 
 Grank, to groan slightly. 
 Grathe, to repair. 
 Greaav, to cut peat ; to dig. 
 Greace, grace. 
 Greave, grave. 
 Greean, or Graen, to groan. 
 Greet, to weep. Greetin, crying; weeping. 
 Grepen, clasped. 
 
 Greymin, a thin covering of snow. 
 Greype, or Grape, a dung-fork. 
 Grise, young pigs. 
 Groon, grown. 
 
 Grooin, or Growen, growing. 
 Grote, a groat. 
 
 Grousome, or Grewsome, grim; fearful, 
 Groows, grows, 
 Gruby, dirty. 
 Grund, the ground. 
 Grump, to be displeased. 
 Gryke, a cranny; a chink; a fissure. 
 GuD, GuiD, or Gyud, good. 
 GuD HAWNS, good hands ; stanch drinkers. 
 GuDS, goods. 
 GuDMAN, husband. 
 Guff, a fool. 
 
 GuLDER, to speak loud and with a dissonant voice. 
 Gully, a large knife. 
 GuRDLE, or Girdle, the iron on which cakes are 
 
 baked. 
 GuBSiN, grazing ; pasturage. 
 
357 
 
 GwoRDiE, George. 
 
 Gyan, gone. 
 
 Gyat, a gate; a way, or road. 
 
 Gyote, a goat. 
 
 H. 
 Haad, hold. 
 Haanted, haunted. 
 Haard, heard. 
 Haat, hot. 
 
 Hack'd, won every thing. 
 Hadleys, hardly. 
 Hae, or Hev, have. 
 Hag, to cut, or hack, 
 
 Haike, an exclamation; a signal of defiance. 
 " Haike for a fight !" 
 
 Haim-ath-ward, aim of the world. 
 
 Haista, hast thou. 
 
 Haistert, hoisted about. 
 
 Hale, whole. 
 
 Hallan, the passage or space between the outer 
 and inner door of a cottage ; also, the partition 
 between the passage and the room. Brockett 
 derives the word from the German hehlen, to 
 conceal ; it is more likely to be the diminutive of 
 hall: a hallan is to a cottage what a lobby or 
 hall is to a large house. 
 
 Hallan-shaker, a sturdy beggar, one who stands 
 ahint the hallan to excite charity. 
 
 Halts (probably derived from halt or halte, an 
 obsolete participle of the verb to hold), a pair of 
 strong wicker hampers, which were joined by a 
 pack-saddle, and hung across a horse's back; 
 they were put to various uses in husbandry, 
 which offices are now performed by carts. 
 
 Ham-samm, irregularly. 
 
 2g 
 
358 
 
 IIankitcher, a handkerchief. 
 
 Hantijl, a large quantity. 
 
 Hap, to cover. 
 
 Happfn, a coverlid. 
 
 Happron, an apron. 
 
 Hakden-cloth, a very coarse cloth of open texture, 
 such as bales are commonly packed in. 
 
 Hark't, guessed. 
 
 Harns, brains. 
 
 Hask, rough; parched; stiff. 
 
 Haspin, an idle fellow who lurks continually about 
 the house. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Haster, a word used for surfeit. As the latter 
 term alludes to the cause — an overdoing ; so the 
 former has reference to the effect — as what may 
 hasten one's end. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Haugh, low, flat, or marshy ground. 
 
 Hauir, hair. 
 
 Hauld, hold ; shelter. 
 
 Hause, a house; also, the neck; the throat, Hause- 
 WATER (usually written Haaves-water) , in West- 
 moreland, takes its name from a lew promontory 
 of closures dividing it, near the middle, into two 
 sheets of water, which are connected by a deep 
 neck or strait. 
 
 Havey-scavey, helter-skelter. 
 
 Havver, oats. 
 
 Haw, a hall ; also, how. 
 
 Haw, hungry. 
 
 Hawers, the hours. 
 
 Hawf, half. 
 
 Hawflin, a half-witted person ; a fool, 
 
 Hay-ray, hubbub ; noise. 
 
 Heaad, the head. Heaad-wark, headache. 
 
 Heaal, the whole. 
 
 Heaam, home. 
 
359 
 
 Heald, sometimes Weald, to lean, as a vessel set 
 
 on one side. 
 Hear's, here is. 
 Heaste, haste. 
 
 Heck, the division from the side of the fire in the 
 form of a passage in old houses; also, an enclosure 
 of open work, of slender bars of wood, as a rack 
 to hold hay for horses. A Heck-board, is the 
 hoard at the tail of a cart. Heck-door, the inner 
 door not closely pannelled but only partly so, 
 and the rest latticed. Half-heck, the half or 
 lower part of a door. 
 Hed, had. Hedn't, had not. 
 Hee, high. 
 
 Heeams, a wooden collar for horses. 
 Heeas, he has. 
 Heer, higher. 
 Hees, he is. 
 Heesta, hast thou. 
 
 Hefple, to hesitate; to prevaricate. — M8. Gloss. 
 Heeter, after. 
 Hepternean, afternoon. 
 Helle (Isl. Tiella), to pour in a rapid manner. 
 Helmwind, a particular kind of wind, described as 
 follows : — 
 
 " In these mountains (Crossfell), towards the north- 
 east part of the county, is a very remarkable phenome- 
 non, such as we have not found any account of elsewhere 
 in the kingdom, except only about Ingleton, and other 
 places bordering upon the mountains of Ingleborrow, Pen- 
 die, and Penigent, in the confines of the counties of York 
 and Lancaster ; it is called a helmwind. A rolling cloud, 
 sometimes for three or four days together, hovers over 
 the mountain tops, the sky being clear in other parts. 
 When this cloud appears, the country people say, " The 
 helm is up," which is an Anglo-Saxon word, signifying 
 properly a covering for the head. This helm is not dis- 
 persed or blown away by the wind, but continues in its 
 station although a violent roaring hurricane comes tumbling 
 
 2g2 
 
360 
 
 down the mountain, ready to tear up all before it; then, on 
 a sudden, ensues a profound calm; and then again alter- 
 nately the tempest, which seldom extends into the country 
 above a mile or two from the bottom of the mountain." — 
 Nicolson and Burn's West, and Cumh. vol 1, p. 7. 
 
 Helter, a halter. 
 
 Herd, a keeper of cattle. Some three or four farms 
 in the mountains of Cumberland, have obtained 
 the name of HerdwicJcs, that is, the district of 
 the herds ; and the sheep that graze there, the 
 appellation of HerdwicTc sheep, — Agric. Survey 
 of Cumberland. 
 
 Heriot, a fine paid to the lord at the death of a 
 landholder, sometimes the best thing in a land- 
 holder's possession, but usually a beast. 
 
 Heriotable, subject to the demand of an heriot. 
 
 " The tenants are chiefly customary and heriotable." — 
 Nicolson and Burn's West, and Cumh, vol. 1, p. 174. 
 
 Herry (Sax. herian), to rob. 
 
 Hes, has. 
 
 Hesp, to latch ; as, " Jiesp the door." A hesp or 
 hasp is properly that part of an iron fastening 
 that goes over the staple, and which is prevented 
 from slipping back by means of a toggle or pin. 
 
 Het, hot. 
 
 Hether-faced, rough-faced. 
 
 Heugh, a rugged steep hill-side ; a ravine. 
 
 Hev, have. 
 
 HiGHT, to promise ; to vow. 
 
 " I, to the Lord, will pay my vows which I to him 
 behight.''' — Psalm cxvi, 14. (Old translation.) 
 
 " He had hold his way as he had hight.'''' — Chaucer, 
 Wife of Bath's Tale. 
 
 HiNG, hang. 
 HiNMOST, hindmost. 
 
 HiNNEY, honey ; also, a term of endearment ex- 
 pressive of great regard. 
 
361 
 
 HiRPLE, to limp ; to walk lame. 
 
 HiTTEN, eaten. 
 
 HizzY, huzzy. 
 
 HoAF, half. 
 
 HoALEs, holes. 
 
 Ho ANGRY, hungry. 
 
 HoAP, hope. 
 
 HoAST, the curd for cheese before it is taken from 
 the whey. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 HocKER, to climb upon anything. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Hod, to hold. Hodder, held. 
 
 HoDD, odd. 
 
 H OFFER, to offer. 
 
 Hogs, a provincial term for sheep from six months 
 old till being j&rst shorn. — Agric. Survey Oj 
 Cumberland. 
 
 HoLESOME, wholesome. 
 
 Holm, low, flat, alluvial land; also, a small island. 
 Dry grounds, nearly surrounded by the course of 
 a river, or situate in low places by its edge, are 
 often called holms .• — the holms on Ullswater and 
 Windermere. Holm, in the Saxon language, 
 generally signifies the sea, or a deep water; but 
 it is frequently used with an adjective to designate 
 an insular situation. — Brockett. 
 
 Holt, a peaked hill covered with wood. In the 
 southern part of England it means simply a wood. 
 
 Hong, hang. 
 
 HoppEN, open. 
 
 HoRT, hurt. 
 
 Hot, a sort of square basket, formerly used for 
 taking manure into fields of steep ascent ; the 
 bottom opened by two wooden pins, to let out 
 the contents. " I have heard old people say, that 
 between the confines of Yorkshire and Westmore- 
 land, it was common for the men to occupy 
 
 2g3 
 
362 
 
 themselves in knitting, while the women were 
 engaged in the servile employment of carrying 
 these hots on their backs." — Brockett. 
 
 HoTCH, to shake. 
 
 HouT (out), pshaw; away. 
 
 Hove, swelled. — Agric. Survey of Cumberland. 
 
 " Tom Piper hath hoven and puffed up his cheeks, 
 If cheese be so hoven, make cesse to seeke creeks." — Tdsser. 
 
 HowDER, to walk heavily. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 HowDEY, a midwife. 
 
 HowK, to scratch a hole; to scoop out; to dig 
 
 with a pick or mattock. 
 HuBBLESHOO, a multitude; a mob. 
 Huddle, to embrace ; to squeeze ; to hug; to cuddle. 
 HuDDiiiN, embracing; cuddling. 
 Hug, to squeeze; to cuddle. 
 Huips, hoops 
 
 Hulk, a lazy, clumsy fellow. 
 Hundredth, a hundred. 
 HuNsup, to scold ; to quarrel. 
 HuR, her. 
 
 HuRSLE, to raise, or shrug the shoulders. 
 'HwoAZiN, resin. 
 HwoRNs, horns. 
 Hyam, home. 
 
 I. 
 
 I', a contraction of iw. 
 
 I'd, I would. 
 
 Ifth', if the. 
 
 Ilk, or Ilka, every ; each ; the same ; the like, 
 
 I'll, I will. 
 
 Ill-pavort, ill-favoured ; ugly. 
 
 Ime, hoar frost. 
 
 Immea, in my. 
 
 Imp, an addition to a beehive. 
 
363 
 
 Inder, hinder. 
 
 Ingle, fire, or flame ; a blaze. Engle, or Ingle- 
 wood, signifies wood for firing. — JRitson. Engle- 
 wooD, or Inglewood, is the name of a forest in 
 Cumberland. An ingle of sticks is a common 
 expression in Cumberland. 
 
 Inkling, a hint. 
 
 In't, in it. 
 
 Intil, or Intul, into. 
 
 Intulth', into the. 
 
 I's, I is, for / am. 
 
 Is't, is it. 
 
 IsTER, is there. 
 
 I'th', in the. 
 
 Ither, other. 
 
 It 'll, or Itt'il, contractions of it will. 
 
 I've, I have, 
 
 IvvER, ever. Ivvery, every, 
 
 Izle, hoar frost. 
 
 Jant, a jaunt. 
 
 Jarble, to bemire ; to daggle ; to wet. 
 
 Jaws o' yell, great quantities of ale. 
 
 Jellus, jealous. 
 
 Jeybe, a gibe ; a joke. 
 
 JiMMER, a hinge. 
 
 Jimp, slender ; neat. 
 
 Jink AN and careering, junketing and keeping 
 
 it up. 
 Joan, John. 
 
 JoBBY, or JwosEP, Joseph. 
 JoiSTED (agisted), pastured. 
 JowRiNG, or JowLiNG, pushing against, or shaking 
 
 anything. — MS. Glossary. 
 JwoKE, a joke. 
 Jyke, to creak. — MS. Glossary. 
 
364 
 
 K. 
 
 Kaaikin, looking about stupidly. 
 
 Kaff, chaff. 
 
 Kaik, or Kelk, a blow, or kick. 
 
 Kaw, or Caw, a cow. 
 
 Keale (kail), broth, or pottage; so called, from 
 kail or colewort being a principal ingredient in it. 
 
 Keane, to scamper. 
 
 Kease, case. 
 
 Keave, to give an awkward wavering motion to 
 the body. 
 
 Keeave, to plunge ; to struggle. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Keek, to peep ; to look pryingly. 
 
 Keel, to cease, or give over; as, "you never 
 TieeV — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Keep-and-cueak (keeper and crook), hook and eye. 
 
 Keld, the still part of a river, which has an oily 
 smoothness, while the rest of the water is ruffled. 
 I have only heard this word on the Tyne, and 
 confined to the meaning here given ; but a friend, 
 who lately visited Ullswater, informs me, that 
 when the day is uniformly overcast, and the air 
 perfectly still, that lake has its surface dappled 
 with a smooth, oily appearance, which is called a 
 held. The word is also I find a common term 
 in Yorkshire, Westmoreland, and Cumberland, 
 for a well or spring. — Brockett. 
 
 Kelp, a young crow. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Kelp, a crook to hang a pot or kettle on. 
 
 Kem, a comb. 
 
 Kemps, coarse fibres or hairs in wool. — Agric. 
 Survey of Cumberland. 
 
 Ken, to know. Kent, known. Kenst, knowest. 
 
 Kendal green, a kind of green cloth made in 
 Kendal, a place long distinguished for dyeing 
 cloths with several bright colors. This sort of 
 
365 
 
 stuff is mentioned in a statute of Richard II. — 
 Vide Warton's English Poetry, vol. 4, p. 40. 
 
 "Three misbegotten knaves, in Kendal green, came at 
 my back and let drive at me," — Shakspere's Henry IV., 
 part 1. 
 
 Ken-guid, the example by which we are to learn 
 
 what is good ; also, a mark to know a person by. 
 
 "If thou comes that way agyen, I'll gi'e thee a ken-guid." 
 Kerley-merley, a fanciful or useless article. 
 Kersen, or KiRSEN, to christen. 
 Kersmas, Kirsmas, or Kursmas, Christmas. 
 KEST,orKESSEN,to cast, as, "to ^e^^ a loop;" to knit. 
 Kett, rubbish. 
 
 Kevvel, to walk clumsily. — MS. Glossary. 
 Keysand, Kysant, or Kysty, squeamish, or nice 
 
 in eating. 
 Kezzlup-skin, the substance used in curdling milk, 
 
 prepared from the stomach of a calf; in some 
 
 counties called Runnet. 
 Kilt, killed. 
 Kirock, a large heap of stones, formerly used as 
 
 boundary marks, burial places, or guides for 
 
 travellers. 
 KisT, a chest. 
 Kite, the belly. 
 Kith, acquaintance. Kith-and-kin, friends and 
 
 relations. 
 
 " First she made him the fleece to wynne. 
 And after that from kith and kynne. 
 With great treasore with him she staye." — 
 
 Gower Conf. Am., b. 5. 
 KiTLiNs, kittens. 
 Kits, pails. 
 
 Kittle, to tickle ; also, ticklish ; quick. 
 Kizzard, dried ; shrivelled. 
 Kna, know. Knas, knows. 
 Knaanit, know not. Knain, knowing. 
 
366 
 
 Knack, or Knapp, to speak affectedly. 
 
 " She Icnappt her words ;" that is, she minced her words. 
 
 Kneaf, or Neap, the fist. 
 
 Knoll, Know, or Knowl, a bare rounded hillock, 
 or eminence. 
 
 Knop, a large tub. 
 
 KuRK, a church. Kurk-garth, a church-yard. 
 
 KuRN, churn. 
 
 KuRN SUPPER, a harvest supper ; so called, be- 
 cause a quantity of cream, slightly churned, was 
 originally the only dish which constituted it. 
 
 Ky, or Kye, cows. 
 
 Kyesty, dainty. 
 
 L. 
 
 La, low. 
 
 Laa, law. Laas, laws. 
 
 Laaf, or Lauf, a loaf. 
 
 Laaid, a load. 
 
 Laase, to lose. 
 
 Lapp, to laugh Lafpin', laughing. 
 
 Laik, or Lake (Sax. lacan) , to play. 
 
 Laiker, a person engaged in sport. 
 
 Laird, a farmer's eldest son, or one who already 
 
 possesses land. 
 Lairly, or Laisy, idle ; base. 
 Lait, or Laait, to look for. 
 Laitit, found. 
 Lakeing, a toy. 
 Lall, little. 
 
 Lallops, a slattern. — MtS. Glossary. 
 Lam, to beat. 
 
 Lane, or Lean, to connive at, or hide a fault. 
 Lang, long. Langer, longer. Lang length, the 
 
 whole length. Lang-some, long ; tedious. 
 Lankester, Lancaster. 
 
367 
 
 Lanlword, a landlord. 
 
 Lant (in some counties Loo), a game at cards. 
 
 Lakters, the players at lant. 
 
 Lap, leaped. 
 
 Late, to seek; to search ; to invite. 
 
 Lating, divisions of the county of Westmoreland, 
 so called, in early times, from the north country 
 verb to late, signifying to seek, to invite. 
 
 When a death happened in one of these districts, the 
 heads of the houses within the circuit, met to condole with 
 the friends of the deceased, and the younger members of 
 the community watched the corpse during the night to the 
 day of interment. The mistresses of families also met to 
 celebrate the birth of every child. But of all festive occa- 
 sions, none could be compared with a marriage ; it was 
 attended by the whole lating, each family being summoned 
 to meet on the appointed day, by the bridegroom in person, 
 attended by a cavalcade of his friends. It is necessary to 
 add, that the expenses on these occasions are fully met by 
 the contributions of the visiters. 
 
 Lauke, to strike as with a whip ; also, to pull weeds 
 
 out of corn. 
 Laukfn, weeding. 
 Lave (Sax. lav and lave) , the rest ; the remainder. 
 
 "We are always ahint the lave ;" that is, we are always 
 behind the rest. 
 
 Lea, or Lee, rich meadow or pasture land. 
 
 Leaam, lame. 
 
 Leace, lace. 
 
 Leak, to look 
 
 Leaksta, lookest thou ; do you see. 
 
 Leane, alone. 
 
 Leaser, leisure. 
 
 Leate, late. 
 
 Leather-te-patch, a particular kind of step in a 
 
 Cumberland dance. 
 Leatly, lately. 
 Ledder, or Leather, to beat. 
 
368 
 
 Lee, to lie. Leein, lying. 
 
 Leea, Leagh, or Leigh, a scythe. 
 
 Leeath, or Leathe, a barn. 
 
 Leeptail, quick sale. 
 
 Leet, to happen ; to meet with ; to alight. 
 
 Leethet' lass, Lewthwaite's lass. 
 
 Leetnin, lightning. 
 
 Leetsome, lightsome. 
 
 Leev, to live. 
 
 Leever, rather. 
 
 Let-to-geate, went home. 
 
 LtcK, to beat. Lick'd, beat. Lickin, a beating. 
 
 Lids, manner; fashion. 
 
 Liekd, loved. 
 
 Lig (Sax. ligan), to lay. 
 
 LiLE, little. 
 
 Lilt, to sing or play a tune in a cheerful key. 
 
 Limber, supple. — ^^S*. Glossary. 
 
 Ling, a provincial term for heath. — Agric. Survey 
 
 of Westmoreland. 
 Life, a piece cut off or taken away from anything. — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 LiRPLE, Liverpool. 
 
 LiRT, to toss. 
 
 .LisH, active ; genteel. 
 Lithe, to listen; to attend. 
 Lock, or Loke, a small quantity. 
 
 " Gi'e the mear a loke o' hay." 
 
 Locker, a small cupboard. 
 
 LoFF, to offer. 
 
 Loft, the upper apartment of a cottage ; a sleeping 
 
 room. 
 LoNNiN, a lane. 
 LooME, lame. 
 Lout, an awkward clown. 
 Low, to blaze : to flame. 
 
369 
 
 Lowes, small hills or eminences on a flat. 
 
 Lowes, to loose; to untie. Lows'd, loosed. 
 
 LowN, or LouND, a calm. 
 
 Lowp, a leap. Lowpt, leaped ; leapt. 
 
 Lugs, the ears. 
 
 Luik, to look. Luikt, looked. 
 
 LuiM, a weaver's loom; a chimney. 
 
 LuiVE, or Lyuiv, love. 
 
 Luke, to look. Luking, looking. 
 
 Lump, a sum ; a large piece. 
 
 Lurry, to pull. 
 
 Lush, the noise of anything falling into water. — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 LwoNiN, a lane ; sometimes used for a street. 
 LwosERS, losers. 
 Lyave, see Lave. 
 
 Lyte, to expect ; to depend upon ; to trust to. 
 Lythey, thick. 
 
 M. 
 
 Maad, Meaad, or Maaid, made. 
 Maak, Mack, or Mek, make. 
 Maakin, or Mackin, making. Maaks, makes. 
 Maander, to miss one's way. 
 Maap, to maunder ; to wander about in a thought- 
 ful manner. — MS. Glossary. 
 Maar, or Mare, more. 
 Mack, or Mak, a sort ; a kind ; a fashion. 
 Maddled, confused ; stupified. 
 Madlin, a bad memory. 
 Mapflin, a simpleton. 
 Magget, or Maggot, a whim. 
 Mail, see Black-mail. 
 Maikt, may not. 
 Maislikin, foolish. 
 
 2h 
 
370 
 
 Maist, most. 
 
 Mal, Mary. 
 
 Mangeel, a mongrel cur. 
 
 Man thysel', act with the spirit of a man. 
 
 Mannerly, decent; neat. 
 
 Mant, to stutter, 
 
 Mappen (may happen) , may be ; perhaps. 
 
 Marget, Margaret. 
 
 Marrow, an equal ; a companion ; one of the same 
 sort. 
 
 Match'd, paired or pitted. 
 
 Maunder, or Mander, to wander about in a thought- 
 ful manner ; to talk confusedly. 
 
 Maut, or Mote, malt. 
 
 Maw, to mow grass. 
 
 Mawkin, a bunch of rags to clean an oven with ; 
 a dirty lazy woman. 
 
 Mawm, peaceable ; quiet. — MiS. Glossary. 
 
 Maythem, a may-game or simpleton. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Mazle, to wander as if stupified. 
 
 Mazelins, silly persons. 
 
 Me, my. 
 
 Mea, or Meya, make. 
 
 Meake, Meck, or Maye, to make. 
 
 Meakin, an aquatic vegetable that grows six or 
 eight feet long, in water about ten or twelve feet 
 deep, forming a curious wood, a favorite resort 
 of the bass. 
 
 Mean (Sax. mcsnan) , to bemoan. 
 
 Me AND, moaned ; complained. 
 
 Meeda, meadow ground. 
 
 Meet, might. 
 
 Meeterly, moderately. 
 
 Meety, mighty ; very large. Meetily, mightily, 
 
 Mell, meddle. 
 
 
371 
 
 Mell, a mallet or beetle. 
 
 " I, John Bell, 
 Leave this mell 
 For to fell 
 Them that gi'es a' to their bairus, 
 And keeps nought for theirsel'." — 
 Epitaph on himself by an old country mason, who, during 
 his life, had given away all his property to his ungrate- 
 ful children. The jockey who is last in a race is called 
 the mell. It has been said that he is so called from it 
 having been formerly the custom to give a mell to the 
 owner of the last horse ; the presumed custom, however, 
 lacks proof. It is more likely that the rider of the last 
 horse is called the mell, from his driving the others before 
 him. 
 
 Mell-door, the space between the heck and out- 
 ward door, the entry or passage; that is, the 
 middle or intermediate door. The mell-door and 
 hecU were always at the back of the house. 
 
 Menny, many. 
 
 Mens'd, graced or decorated. 
 
 Mense, decency; propriety. Tailor's mensb, the 
 morsel of meat which a country tailor leaves at 
 dinner, when working out, that he may not be 
 charged with indecently eating all up. 
 
 Menspul, decent. 
 
 Menseless, mean ; improper ; wanting mense. 
 
 Ment (Sax. m^ngan, or mengan)y mixed or min- 
 gled. 
 
 " For evir of love the sicknesse 
 Is ment with sweete and bittirnesse." — Chaucer. 
 
 Mere, or Meer, a mare. 
 
 Mere, a pool ; a lake. 
 
 Mess, truly ; indeed. 
 
 Methy, a difficult respiration, occasioned by the 
 
 lightness of the air. — Hutchinson's History of 
 
 Cumberland. 
 MiCKLE (Sax. mid or micel), much. 
 
 2h2 
 
372 
 
 Mid, middle. 
 
 MiDDiN, a dunghill. 
 
 Midge, a gnat. 
 
 MiDNEET, midnight. 
 
 MiD-THiE, mid-thigh. 
 
 MiFFMAFF, nonsense. 
 
 Mirk, dark. 
 
 MiRLiN, pining. 
 
 Mismanner'd, unbecoming. 
 
 MisNARE, to incommode, or put out of the way. — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 MisTACKEN, mistaken. 
 MisTETCH, to teach improper things. A mistetched 
 
 horse signifies a horse that has some peculiar vice. 
 Mitch, much. 
 Mittens, gloves. 
 Mizzle, to rain slightly. 
 MoAM, mellow. There is a sort of crumbling stone 
 
 in Oxfordshire which the country people call 
 
 maum. — Plot's Oxfordshire. 
 MoANT, or MuNNET, must not. 
 MoNNY, or MoNiE, many. 
 MooAN, the moon. 
 Mood, roared. 
 
 MooDLE, to fold up. — MS. Glossary. 
 MooR-MASTER (so Called in Cumberland" in other 
 
 places Bar-master) , an officer or agent connected 
 
 with the mines. 
 More, or Moor, a hill ; a mountainous country. 
 
 Hence the county of Westmoreland derives its 
 
 name — the land or country of the western mores. 
 
 — Ray. 
 MowDYWARP, a mole. 
 Mud, must or might. 
 MuiNs, moons. 
 Muir, a moor. 
 
373 
 
 MuL, the dust of peats. 
 
 Mull, to break anything into small pieces. — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 MuN, must. 
 MuiSTEA, must I. 
 MuNNET, must not. 
 MuRRLE, to muse or think with great attention. — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 MuRRY, merry. 
 MuRRY-NEET (merry-night) , a merry meeting where 
 
 each of the guests pays a certain sum for the 
 
 benefit of the person giving the entertainment. 
 MwoRN, morn or morrow. 
 Myaking, making. 
 
 N. 
 
 Na, or Nea, no ; not. 
 
 Naething, nothing. 
 
 Naigs (nags), horses. 
 
 Nangnail, see Agnayles. 
 
 Nanny, Ann. 
 
 Nantle, to fondle ; to trifle. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Nar, near. 
 
 Nash, brittle. 
 
 Nattle, to strike slightly. 
 
 Naw, now. 
 
 Neaam, name. 
 
 Neaan, noon. 
 
 Neakt, naked. 
 
 Neak, Neuk, or Nuik, a nook or corner : as, " the 
 
 ingle-nmk ;" that is, the chimney corner. 
 Neb, a point ; a beak ; also, the nose ; the mouth. 
 
 *' How she holds up the neb, the bill to him, 
 And arms her with the boldness of a wife." — 
 
 Shahspere's Winter's Tale. 
 
 Nebbor, a neighbour. 
 
 2h3 
 
374 
 
 Neep, or Neif, the fist. Double-neif, the clenched 
 fist. 
 " Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif.'" — Shakspere' s Henry IV. 
 
 Neen, nine. 
 
 Ne'er ak, never mind. 
 
 Neet, night. 
 
 Neider, neither. 
 
 Neisht, Neist, or Neest, next. 
 
 Net, not. 
 
 New fangled, new fashioned. 
 
 Neybor, neighbour. 
 
 Neyce, nice. 
 
 Night Courtship. This custom, which we are 
 happy to state is on the wane, is thus described 
 in a note to Anderson' s Ballads .• — 
 
 " A Cumbrian peasant pays his addresses to his sweet- 
 heart during the silence and solemnity of midnight, when 
 every bosom is at rest, except that of love and sorrow. 
 Anticipating her kindness, he will travel ten or twelve 
 miles over hills, bogs, moors, and mosses, undiscouraged 
 by the length of the road, 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 immediately rises, dresses herself, and 
 proceeds with all possible silence to the door, which she 
 gently opens, lest a creaking hinge or a barking dog should 
 awaken the family. On his entrance into the kitchen, the 
 luxuries of a Cumbrian cottage — cream and sugared curds — 
 are placed before him by the fair hand of his 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." 
 
 NiMMEL, nimble. 
 Nin, none. 
 NiT, not. 
 
375 
 
 NivvER, never. 
 
 NoANT, aunt. 
 
 NoASE, the nose. 
 
 NoBBET, nought but ; only. 
 
 Noddy, a game of cards. 
 
 "Cranwell. Gentlemen, what shall our game be? 
 Wendoll. Master Frankford, you play best at noddy" — 
 Heywood's Woman Killed with Kindness. 
 NoDER, neither. 
 NoLT, black cattle. 
 NoNSKAiTH, a wishing or longing ; the desire raised 
 
 in one person to do a thing by seeing it done by 
 
 another. — MS. Glossary. 
 Norse, a nurse. 
 
 NouGHT-AT-DOW, good for nothing. 
 NouT, or NowT, nothing. 
 NouT-GELD, or Neat-geld, cornage rent ; originally 
 
 paid in cattle ; a horn tax. 
 
 " Coinage seems to have been peculiar to the border 
 service against the Scots. The tenants holding under it 
 were bound to be ready to serve their prince and the lord 
 of the manor, on horseback or on foot, at their own costs 
 and charges ; and, being best acquainted with the passes 
 and defiles of the country, had the honour of marching in 
 the vanguard when the king's army passed into Scotland." 
 — Nicolson and Burn's West, and Cunib,, vol. 1, p. 16. 
 
 NowT, or NoLT, cattle. 
 
 Nowther, neither. 
 
 NuDDER, another. 
 
 NuiKEEL, or NuiKKELT, yeilding milk. A cow is 
 said to be top-nuikkel when her milk is most 
 abundant, shortly after calving. Nuikkel is 
 probably a corruption of nen-calved. 
 
 Nyfle, to pilfer. 
 
 0. 
 
 Oa, or Aw, all. 
 Oaners, owners. 
 
376 
 
 Oast, curd for cheese. 
 
 Oddments, odds and ends ; articles of no great 
 value. 
 
 Oddwhite (God's wite), a malediction. 
 
 Odswinge, a rustic oath. 
 
 Offen, often. 
 
 Omast, almost. 
 
 Ommea, or Omme, of me. 
 
 Ondergang, to undergo. 
 
 Onny, or Ony, any. 
 
 Onset, a dwelling house and out-buildings. 
 
 On't, of it. 
 
 Open'd-their-gills, said of those who gape wide 
 and drink much. 
 
 Oppent, opened. 
 
 Or, ere. 
 
 Orndorn, see Aandorn. 
 
 Oss, to offer ; to try ; to essay ; to set about any- 
 thing. Ossing, offering. 
 
 O'th', all the ; of the. 
 
 Ought, aught. 
 
 Owar, or OwR, over. 
 
 Owarteaak, overtook. 
 
 OwND, fated or destined. 
 
 OwTHER, either. 
 
 P. 
 
 Pace-eggs (from pash, the feast of Easter), eggs 
 boiled hard and dyed or stained various colours, 
 given to children about the time of Easter. A 
 custom of great antiquity among various nations. 
 See an account of it in Brand's Popular Anti- 
 quities, vol. 1., p. 142. 
 
 Pack, a measure of coals, of about three Win- 
 chester bushels. 
 
 Paddock, a small field (see Parrak) ; also, a frog. 
 
377 
 
 ^^ The paddock, ov irog paddock, breeds on the 
 land; is bony and big, especially the she." — 
 Tzaak Walton. 
 Paddock-rud, or Paddock-kide, the spawn of frogs. 
 Papfeldin, baggage. — MS. Glossary. 
 Pan, to fit ; to agree. 
 Pang'd, quite full ; crammed with food. 
 Par, a pair. 
 Parcel, parsley. 
 Parfet, perfect; entire. 
 Parlish, perilous ; dangerous. 
 
 " The more part of writers were wholly given to serve 
 Antichriste's aiFectes in the parelouse ages of the church." 
 
 John Bale. 
 
 Parrak, or Parruck (Sax. parruc), a small field 
 or park adjoining to, or surrounding, a house. 
 
 Parsen, personal charms. 
 
 Pat, put. 
 
 Pate, the head. 
 
 Pate, a badger. 
 
 Paund, a pound. 
 
 Paur, or Pawer, power. 
 
 Paut, to walk heavily. 
 
 Paw-mair, stir more. 
 
 "The cat will never paw-mair." 
 
 Pawpe, to step softly forward in a leisurely mea- 
 sured manner, — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Pean, to strike or beat. 
 
 Peat, or Peet, turf; a fibrous moss used as fuel, 
 dug out of marshes or fens. 
 
 Pech, to pant; to breathe heavily. 
 
 Pee, to squint ; to spy with one eye ; to look 
 through contracted eyelids. 
 
 Peed, blind of an eye. There is a ludicrous anec- 
 dote of " Peed Dalton, of Shap," in JVicolson 
 and Burn's West, and Cumh., vol. 1. p. 537. 
 
378 
 
 Peer, poor. 
 
 Peg, to beat with sharp knuckles. 
 
 Pelder, to encumber. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Pelter, anything large. 
 
 Pelsey, obstinate; cross; mischievous. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Pennystones, stones in the form of quoits. 
 
 Pennystone-cast, the distance which such a stone 
 
 can be thrown. 
 Pettle, to trifle. — MS. Glossary. 
 Peyl, to beat. 
 
 Pey, a pea. Peays, peas. Pezz, pease. 
 Pez-strae, a rustic love charm. 
 
 "A Cumbrian girl, whea her lover proves unfaithful to 
 her, is, by way of consolation, rubbed with peas-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. — Anderson. 
 
 Pick, pitch. 
 
 PiCK-THE-PwoAL, said of mares who foal before 
 
 their natural time. 
 Picks, the suit of diamonds at cards. " Mr. Hunter 
 
 says that when people have burnt their shins by 
 
 sitting before a hot fire, they will say ' my legs 
 
 are all over picks and hearts,' that is, red 
 
 blotches." — BrocJcett. 
 PiGGms, small wooden vessels made in the manner 
 
 of half-barrels, and having one stave longer than 
 
 the rest for a handle. 
 Pig-hull, a hog-sty. 
 
 PiRNEB, dried up; pined. — MS. Glossary. 
 Plack, a piece of money. 
 Plaigd, plagued. 
 Plaum, a plum. 
 Pleaast, pleased. 
 Pleenin, complaining. 
 Pleugh, a plough. 
 
379 
 
 Float, to pluck feathers. 
 
 Flood, ploughed. 
 
 FoAK, or FoKE, a sack or bag. 
 
 PoDiSH, porridge. 
 
 FoKY, saucy, — MiS. Glossary. 
 
 Food, or Fowt, pulled. Fooin, or Fowen, pulling. 
 
 FoppLE, to rise up in the water like bubbles. — 
 MS. Glossary. 
 
 Fops-and-Fairs, a game at cards. 
 
 FoRSHON (portion) , fortune ; a dowry. 
 
 PossET-CTJP. Before the introduction of tea, it was 
 customary to give strangers at festival times, ale- 
 possets ; they were served up in bowls called 
 douhlers, into which the company dipped their 
 spoons promiscuously, for the simplicity of the 
 times had not then seen the necessity of accom- 
 modating each guest with a basin or soup-plate. 
 The posset-cup shone as an article of finery in 
 the better sort of houses ; it was made of pewter, 
 and was furnished with two, three, or more 
 lateral pipes, through which the liquid part of 
 the compound might be sucked by those who did 
 not choose the bread. 
 
 Fow, to pull ; also, a term for the head. 
 
 FowDER, bustle ; haste. 
 
 Fraia, pray you. Pra'tha, prythee. 
 
 Fraud, proud. 
 
 Frent, print. 
 
 Frimely, very well. 
 
 Frimp, to behave in a ridiculously formal, or 
 affected manner. 
 
 Frod, thrust. 
 
 Fruive, prove. 
 
 FuBBLE, plump. 
 
 FuDDER, confusion. 
 
 FuiL, a pool. 
 
380 
 
 Punch, to strike with the feet ; to kick. 
 
 PuzzEN, poison. 
 
 PwoKE, to poke. 
 
 Pyaknet, a magpie. 
 
 Pyple, to pick delicately. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Q. 
 
 QuALiTY-MAK, quality-kind ; gentry. 
 
 Quartern, a quarter. 
 
 Quean, a queen ; also, a whore. 
 
 E. 
 
 Raaid, ride or rode. 
 
 Racken, to think ; also, to count. 
 
 Rack-hurry, the track or railway on which wag- 
 gons run in unloading coals at a hurry ; that is, 
 at a staith or wharf. 
 
 Rackle, rude ; unmanageable. 
 
 Rackle-deed, loose conduct. 
 
 Ragabrash, low idle people. 
 
 Raid, an incursion or plundering inroad of the 
 Scottish Borderers into the English frontier. — 
 BrocTcett. 
 
 Raise, a cairn, tumulus, or heap of stones. 
 
 " In the parishes of Edenhall and Lazonby, in Cumber- 
 land, there are yet some considerable remains of stones 
 which still go by the name oi raises, though many of them 
 have been carried away, and all of them thrown out of their 
 ancient form and order." — Hutchinson's History of Cum- 
 berland, vol 1, p. 252. 
 
 Ram, having a strong smell. 
 
 Rammish, violent. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Rang, wrong. 
 
 Rannel-balk, or Rannel-tree, a strong piece of 
 wood crossing the chimney, parallel to the floor 
 of the upper room, from which is suspended a 
 
381 
 
 chain with crooks to hang the boiler upon. Mr. 
 Carr thinks it is a corruption of ran-tree-hauh, 
 which might have a wonderful effect in keeping 
 off the witches from the kail, &c. 
 
 Rannigal, see Reeul. 
 
 Ranty, frisky; wild. 
 
 Rappis, a rapscallion ; a dissolute person. 
 
 Rascot, a rascal. 
 
 Ratten-cbook, a long crook, reaching from the 
 rannel-balk to the fire. 
 
 Rattens, rats. 
 
 Raum, room. 
 
 Raund, or Rawnd, round. Raundth', round the. 
 
 Rave, tore. 
 
 Rear, to raise; to rally. 
 
 Reddy, ready. 
 
 Reed, red. Reeder, redder. 
 
 Reeden, or Reedin, ill-tempered. 
 
 Reek, smoke. 
 
 Reerd, raised on end. 
 
 Reet, right. Reetly, rightly. 
 
 Reeul, or Rannigal, a rude unmanageable per- 
 son. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Rench, to rinse. 
 
 Ride, to rob ; or rather to go out on horseback for 
 such a purpose ; a border word. 
 
 " A sayiog is recorded of a mother to her son (which 
 is now become proverbial), ' Ride, Rowlie, hough's i' the 
 pot;'' that is, the last piece of beef was in the pot, and, 
 therefore it was high time for him to go and fetch some 
 more." — Nicolson and Burn's Westmoreland and Cum- 
 berland, vol. 2, p. 466. 
 
 Riding the Stans, a punishment inflicted upon 
 adulterers, those who beat their wives, and such 
 persons as follow their occupations during par- 
 ticular festivals or holidays. In cases where the 
 offender was too powerful to be personally punish- 
 
 2i 
 
382 
 
 ed, a deputy mounted the stang — a long thick 
 stake or pole borne on men's shoulders, and 
 published his neighbour's shame in some such 
 rhyme as this : — 
 
 " It isn't for my foat et I ride stang. 
 But for W. B. who his wife does bang." 
 
 A copious description of the custom may be 
 found in Brand's Popular Errors, and Jamie- 
 son's Scottish Dictionary. 
 
 RiN, to run, 
 
 RiNEs, the reins. 
 
 RiTiN, writing. Ritten, written. 
 
 Rive, to tear; to eat voraciously without knife or 
 fork. 
 
 Rivven, torn. 
 
 Rock, a distaff; or the stick to which flax is fastened 
 when spinning. 
 
 Roughness, plenty ; store. 
 
 RouNDGE, a great noise; a violent push. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 RowoRGiN, an organ. 
 
 Row-up, to devour. 
 
 RoYSTERAN, indulging in boisterous mirth and 
 jollity. 
 
 Royster'd, vociferated. 
 
 Ruddy, ready, Ruddily, readily, 
 
 RuGGS, thick woollen coverlids for beds. 
 
 RuMBUR, the short run before leaping, — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Ruse, a rose, 
 
 RussLiN, wrestling. 
 
 Rust, rest ; repose. 
 
 RwoARD, roared. 
 
 RwosE, rose. 
 
 Ryap, a rope. 
 
 Saak, sake. 
 Saar, sore. 
 
383 
 
 Sackless, innocent ; faultless ; weak ; simple. 
 
 Sae, or SoA, so. 
 
 Sair, sore. Sairly, sorely. 
 
 Sairy, poor ; innocent. 
 
 Sall, shall. 
 
 Sampleth, a sampler ; a piece of needlework. 
 
 San, sand. 
 
 Sank, a great quantity; as, "there is a sanh of 
 
 potatoes." — MS. Glossary. 
 Sark, a shirt or chemise. 
 Sarra, to serve. 
 Sartan, certain. 
 Sarvants, servants. 
 Sarvis, service. 
 Sarvth', serve the, 
 Sattle, or Settle, a long seat, generally with a 
 
 high back to it. 
 Saurin, vinegar. 
 Saut, or Sault, salt. 
 Saww, a violent yet sluggish kind of ache or pain, 
 
 such as follows a blow upon the head, or is felt 
 
 in the fingers when brought to the fire in a severe 
 
 frost. — MS. Glossary. 
 Scale, to disperse or waste ; as, to scale goods, 
 
 money, or any property. 
 Scar, or Skar, a bare and broken rock on the side 
 
 of a mountain, or in the high bank of a river. 
 Scaur, to scour. 
 Scaumy, a particular misty appearance of the sky. — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 ScAWD, to scald or boil. Scawder'd, scalded. 
 Sceap'd, escaped. 
 
 Sceape-greace, a hair-brained graceless fellow. 
 ScHuiL, a school. 
 Sconce, a screen capable of being drawn across the 
 
 front of the fire from the corner of the heck, thus 
 
 2i2 
 
384 
 
 shutting the family up as it were in a little par- 
 lour ; also, a kind of candlestick, with a tin back 
 or reflector, to hang against a wall. 
 Scons, cakes made of barley-meal. 
 
 SCOTTY KYE, Scotch COWS. 
 
 ScowDUE, a bustle ; untidy state. — MS. Glossary. 
 ScRAFPLE, to scramble ; to struggle ; also, to wrangle 
 
 or quarrel. 
 Scran, food. 
 
 ScRAT, or Skrat, a scratch. ScrattinGj scratching, 
 ScRAWLEN, sprawling. 
 Screes, precipices ; scars, — MS. Glossary. 
 Scribe or a pen, a line by way of letter ; a letter. 
 ScRUDGE, a squeeze. 
 ScuGG, lurking or lying hid in a corner. 
 ScuMPisHED, suffocated. 
 
 ScuPTER, to bustle; to hurry. — MS. Glossary. 
 Scy', a scythe. 
 Sea, see you. 
 Seaal, sale, 
 Seaam, the same, 
 Seaave, to save. 
 Seager, or Shugar, sugar. 
 Seak, Seec, or Seek, sick. 
 Seek as a peat, extremely sick. 
 Sea-nag, a ship. 
 Sean, soon, 
 Seape, soap. 
 Seat, soot. 
 Seck, such. 
 
 Sed, said. Sedth', said the. 
 Seed, saw. 
 Seegh, to sigh. 
 Seer, sure. 
 See't, see it. 
 Seet, sight. 
 
385 
 
 Seevy-cap, a cap made of rushes. 
 
 Seggy, callous, as the skin in the palm of a work- 
 man's hand, or on the bottom of the feet. — MS, 
 Glossary. 
 
 Sell, self. 
 
 Selt, sold. 
 
 Sen, or Seyne, since. Senth', since the. 
 
 Settle, see Sattle. 
 
 Seugh, a wet ditch. 
 
 Seune, or Sewen, seven. 
 
 Seyde, side. 
 
 Seypees, those who drink to the last drop ; immo- 
 derate drinkers. 
 
 Shag, a slice of bread. 
 
 Shakin, the ague. 
 
 Shally-wally, an expression of contempt. 
 
 Shap, shape. 
 
 Shawl, to walk badly or with the legs crooked. — 
 MS, Glossary. 
 
 Shear, to reap. Shearin', reaping. 
 
 Shed, to excel ; as in the saying, " he passes and 
 sheds^'' that is, he surpasses or excels all. 
 
 " Here lies John Richmond, honest man : 
 Shed that who can." — 
 
 Grave-stone in Coclcerham churchyard. 
 
 Shem, shame. 
 
 Shem and a Bizen (a shame and a bye-saying) , a 
 
 scandal and a bye-word. 
 Sheynin, shining. 
 Shilla, a stony beach. 
 Shirl, to slide. 
 Shive, to cut in slices. 
 
 Shittle-cum-shaw, an exclamation of contempt 
 Shoo, a shoe. Shoon, shoes. 
 Shot, each man's share or just proportion of the 
 
 score or reckoning at a public-house ; as, " shot 
 
 2i3 
 
386 
 
 was gethert," that is, the reckoning was collected, 
 
 — BrocTcett. 
 Shoul, a shovel. 
 Showder, the shoulder. 
 Shuffle, to scrape with the feet; to evade. 
 Shuik, shook. 
 Shwort, short. 
 Shwort cakes, rich sweet cakes which break short, 
 
 such as the Cumbrian peasants present to their 
 
 sweethearts at fairs. 
 Sic, such. 
 SiKE, or Syke, a small stream or rill which is 
 
 usually dry in summer. 
 Sin, since. Sinseyne, since that time. 
 SiND, to rinse. 
 Sine, a sign. 
 SiNEWAYs, sundry ways. 
 SiNiFiEs, signifies, 
 Skaip, distant ; wild ; fearful ; scattered abroad, or 
 
 apt to be dispersed. — MS. Glossary. 
 Skear, or ScowER, gravel ; or a bed of small peb- 
 bles. — MS. Glossary. 
 Skeer, the place where cockles are gathered. 
 Skelled, anything twisted or warped out of a flat 
 
 or straight form into that of a curve, sTzell, or 
 
 shell. — MS. Glossary. 
 Skelp, to skip or run with great strides, or in a 
 
 bounding manner. — MS. Glossary. 
 Sken, to squint. 
 Skensmadam, or Who-may-say, a mock dish set 
 
 upon the table for show, — MS. Glossary, 
 Skewin up, tossing up. 
 Skew't-and-tew't, tossed about. 
 Skilvings, a wooden frame to fix on the top of a 
 
 cart in order to widen and extend its size. — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 
387 
 
 Skimmels, forms ; seats. 
 
 Skirl, to scream. 
 
 Skreengd, squeezed. 
 
 Slaister, to beat violently. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Slack, a valley or small shallow dell. 
 
 Slake, an accumulation of mud or slime, particu- 
 larly in a river. 
 
 Slake, a gentle drawing of one thing over another ; 
 hence, a piece of furniture half-cleaned is said to 
 have had the slut's slake. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Slape, slippery ; smooth. 
 
 Slat, to spill or throw. 
 
 Slattery, wet and dirty. 
 
 Sleas, sloes, the fruit of the blackthorn. 
 
 Slee, sly. Sleely, slily. 
 
 Sleevless-arrant, an errand to no purpose. 
 
 Slinge, or Slink, to go creepingly away as if 
 ashamed. Perhaps from the Saxon slincan, to 
 creep. 
 
 Slird, to slide. 
 
 Slive, to dress carelessly ; a sloven. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Slokken, to slake; to quench. ^^ To slokken your 
 thirst." 
 
 Slon, sly. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Smaw, small. 
 
 Smiddy, a smithy ; a blacksmith's shop. 
 
 Smoar, to smother ; to suffocate. 
 
 Smuly, looking smoothly ; demure. 
 
 Smurk (smirk), to smile. 
 
 Snaar, greedy. 
 
 Snapplen, sauntering. 
 
 Snag, to cut off; as, " to snag the bough of a 
 tree." 
 
 Snape, to check ; to chide. 
 
 Snaps, small round gingerbread cakes. 
 
 Snarrel, a hard knot. — MS. Glossary. 
 
388 
 
 Sneck, the latch of a door or gate ; also, a notch. 
 
 Snift'rin, sniffling. 
 
 Sniggs, young eels. 
 
 Snirp, to pine ; to wither ; to contract. — MS.Gloss. 
 
 Snirrels, the nostrils. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Snizy, cold. — M8. Glossary. 
 
 Snocksnarrels, entangled ; cross. 
 
 Snodd, smooth ; demure. 
 
 Snotter, to cry ; to snivel. 
 
 Snwornin, snoring, 
 
 SoARY, sorry. 
 
 SoAV AND CLIP, to salve and shear sheep. 
 
 SoNN, to think deeply. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Sonsy, honest-looking ; jolly ; good. 
 
 " Tamar's a sonsy lass." " Aye, an' a sonsy weight she 
 is too." 
 
 SooND, to faint. 
 
 Sops, lumps of black-lead. 
 
 SoRRO, sorrow. 
 
 Soss, generally spoken of a thing falling heavily to 
 
 the ground ; also, to drink. 
 Sote, salt. 
 
 Sotter, to boil slowly. 
 Sour milk, buttermilk. 
 Souse, to plunge or immerge in water. 
 SowDGERs, soldiers. 
 Spain, to wean. Spainin, weaning. 
 SpANGS, springs. 
 Span new, quite new. 
 Spelk, a splinter, or thatching pin. 
 SpENSES, expenses. 
 SpEYCE, spice. 
 Spinnels, spindles. 
 Splet, split. 
 Spot, a place. 
 Spottle, a schedule. 
 
389 
 
 Spunky, sparkling ; full of spirit. 
 
 Squab, a kind of sofa. 
 
 Squeelin, squalling. 
 
 Squoaveran callan, a jesting youth, 
 
 Staat, an estate. 
 
 Stapfle, Staivel, or Stoap, to walk about as if 
 lost, or like a drunken person. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Stag, a young horse. 
 
 Stang (Sax.), to sting. 
 
 Stang, a long bar ; a wooden pole ; a piece of tim- 
 ber adapted for a shaft of a cart or carriage, or 
 for a railing, or for putting across a river, or 
 indeed for any purpose requiring strength. — 
 Brockett. See Riding the stang. 
 
 Stank, to sigh ; to moan ; to groan ; to gasp for 
 breath ; also, a dam or weir. 
 
 Starken, to tighten. 
 
 Statesman, one who occupies his own estate; a 
 small landholder. His eldest son is called a 
 laird, and when there is no son, the eldest daugh- 
 ter is born to the title of lady or leady, while the 
 holder of a manor of course bears that of Ircord, 
 Thus we may see a statesman driving the plough, 
 lady Bell labouring at the churn, and lord Rit- 
 son attending the market with turnips to sell.— ■ 
 Joule's Cumberland Manners. 
 
 Stavlan, lounging. 
 
 Stayt, staid. 
 
 Steaad, stood, 
 
 Steaak, stake ; also, to shut. 
 
 Steaal, stole. Steaalin, stealing. 
 
 Steal, a stool. 
 
 Stee, a ladder, or stile. 
 
 Steek, or Stuik, to shut; to close. 
 
 " Kittle t' coal, and mak t' ingle shine ; 
 Steek t' dere, and keep out t' swine." 
 
390 
 
 Steaan, a stone. 
 
 Steg, a gander. 
 
 Steven, to set the Steven, is to agree upon the time 
 and place of meeting previous to some expedi- 
 tion — M8. Glossary. 
 
 Stevvin, to be in a fuss. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Stibble, stubble. 
 
 Sticks, furniture. 
 
 Stint, a limit; quantity or allowance of anything, 
 as of labour, victuals, &c. Perhaps from the 
 Saxon stincan, to restrain, or set bounds to. 
 
 " How much wine drink you in a day ? My stint in 
 company is a pint at noon." — Swift. 
 
 Stitches, narrow ridges of land. 
 Storken, to cool, to stiffen like tallow. 
 Stodn, or Stound, a sudden and transient pain. 
 
 " Such piercing grief her stubborn heart did wound, 
 That she could not endure the doleful stound,^' — Spenser. 
 
 Stoup (stoop) , to bend forward. 
 
 Stour, dust. 
 
 Stourt, dusty. 
 
 Stove, a young shoot of wood. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Stown, stolen. 
 
 Stowter, to struggle ; to walk clumsily. 
 
 Strack, or Struik, struck. 
 
 Strae, straw. 
 
 Strammer, large ; great ; as, " a strammer lie." — 
 
 MS. Glossary. 
 Strones, tenants who are bound to assist the lord 
 
 in hunting, and turning the red deer on the tops 
 
 of the mountains to the forest. — Jficolson and 
 
 Burn's West, and Cuivb. 
 Stroo, to strain a liquid through cloth, or to press 
 
 it through a narrow passage, as through the teeth. 
 
 — MS. Glossary. 
 
391 
 
 Stummer'd, stumbled. 
 
 Styan, a stone. 
 
 SuD, should. 
 
 SuiN, soon. 
 
 Sum, sure. 
 
 SuKKEN, moisture. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Sump, a puddle or dirty pond. 
 
 SuMMET, something. 
 
 SuMPH, a blockhead. 
 
 SuNKETS, suppers. 
 
 SwAiTH, ihe fetch or ghost of a dying person. 
 
 Swap, to exchange. 
 
 SwAYMUS, shy. 
 
 SwEELS OF LAUGHTER, swells Or bursts of laughter. 
 We likewise say the candle smeels, when the 
 light flickers and causes the tallow to burn away 
 quickly. From the Saxon sncelan. 
 
 " Into his face the brond he forst, his huge beard brent a light, 
 And sweating made a stink." — 
 
 Phaer's Translation of VirgiPs Mneid. 
 
 SwELT, overcome with heat and exercise ; to faint ; 
 to swoon ; to die. Grass, when cut in wet wea- 
 ther is said to smelt. In a hot dry season it is 
 said that every green thing smelts for want of 
 rain. 
 
 SwEYNE, swine. 
 
 Swipe, to drink off hastily. 
 
 SwiRTLE, to move nimbly, uneasily, or in a fidgetty 
 manner. 
 
 SwoAP, or SwopE, a sup. 
 
 SwoRRY, sorry. 
 
 SwoRT, a syringe. 
 
 SwuRLT, whirled. 
 
 Sype, to drain. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Syzle, to saunter. — MS. Glossary. 
 
392 
 
 T. 
 
 Taakin, state of ill-temper ; a tiff. 
 
 Taar, tore. 
 
 Taas, wood split thin to make baskets with, 
 
 Taave, or Teeave, to wade through mire. 
 
 Taavin, or Teaavin, kicking. 
 
 Tae, to. 
 
 Ta'en, taken. 
 
 Taggelt, a loose character either male or female : 
 
 " a sad taggelt.^'' — MS. Glossary. 
 Tahmy, stringy, untwisted, like tow. — MS. Gloss. 
 Taistrel, a scoundrel. See Taystkayelt. 
 Tak, or Taick, take. Takenth', taken the. 
 Tammy, glutinous or sizy. — MS. Glossary. 
 Tan, then. 
 Tane, the one. 
 Tangle, sea-weed. 
 Tangs, tongs. 
 Tappy-lappy, in haste, with the coat-laps flying 
 
 behind through speed. 
 
 " Nanny Bell's crying out : I just gat a gli£F o' Gweorge 
 runniu', tappy-lappy, for the howdey." 
 
 Tarn, a pool or small lake, usually on the top of a 
 hill. Ray says, a bog, a fen, a marsh, a pool, a 
 quagmire. 
 
 Tarn'd, ill-natured. 
 
 Tath', to the 
 
 Tave, a fidgeting like motion with the feet ; or the 
 working of plaster, &c., with a spade. — MS. Gloss. 
 
 Taystrayelt, a loose idle person. From tie-stray- 
 elt, a horse or cow that is apt to break beyond 
 the bounds of its tie or tedder. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Teaable, table. 
 
 Teaan, taken. 
 
 Tea-draa (too-draw) , a place of refuge ; a home. 
 
 Teakin, taking. 
 
393 
 
 Te, thee; to. Te dui, to do. 
 
 Teanale, a basket. 
 
 Teap or Tup, a ram. 
 
 Tearan, tearing; a tearan fellow is a rough, hot- 
 headed person, who drives everything before 
 him, regardless of danger and of consequences. 
 
 Tedder-styak (tether-stake), a stake driven into 
 the ground to which cattle are tied up, or te- 
 thered up. 
 
 Tee, tea ; also, to fasten ; to tie. 
 
 Teea, or Teya, too. 
 
 Teeht, a lock of wool, flax, &c. — M8. Glossary. 
 
 Teem, or Tuim, to pour out of one vessel into 
 another. 
 
 Teen, to kindle ; to light ; as, " teen the candle." 
 
 Teerd, tired. 
 
 Tegidder, together. 
 
 Tek, take. 
 
 Telt, told; as, " I telt him to his head." 
 
 Teugh, tough. 
 
 Teydey (tidy), neat. 
 
 Teyelleyer, a tailor. 
 
 Teyme, time. 
 
 Teyney, small; diminutive, 
 
 Teyte (tide, old English for time) , used compara- 
 tively for soon : as, " I'd as teyte hev a glass o' 
 rum as a pint o' yell." See Titter. 
 
 Th', or The, they. 
 
 Thack, thatch, both as verb and substantive. Sax. 
 thaccan, to cover ; thac, a roof or covering for 
 a house. — Brochett. 
 
 Thame, them. 
 
 Thar, or Thur, these ; them. 
 
 Thar, or Ther, their. 
 
 Tha, or Thau, thou. 
 
 Thaul, thou will. Thault, thou wilt. 
 
 2if 
 
394 
 
 Thaum, Thoom, or Thoum, a thumb. 
 
 Thaurt, thou art. 
 
 Thear, or Thiar, there. 
 
 Thee, the ; also, the thigh. 
 
 Theek'd, thatch'd. Theeker, a thatcher. 
 
 Ther, those. 
 
 Thibel, or Thival, a wooden instrument with 
 which hasty pudding is stirred. — Ewan ClarTi's 
 Poems. 
 
 Thick, intimate. 
 
 Thimmel, a thimble. 
 
 Thisan, this. Thissen, this way. 
 
 Thof, although. 
 
 Thou'll, thou wilt. Thou's, thou art. 
 
 Thout, or Thowt, thought. 
 
 Thraad, throwed. 
 
 Thrang, throng ; busy. 
 
 Thraw, to writhe ; to twist. 
 
 Threap, or Threep, to assert positively. 
 
 Threshwood, the threshhold of a doorway. 
 
 Thrimmelt, pulled out. 
 
 Throoth', through the. 
 
 Thropple, the windpipe. 
 
 Throssle, a thrush. 
 
 Throtjgh-stone, or Thruff-stgne, a flat tomb- 
 stone. 
 
 Thur, these. 
 
 Thwaite, land, which was once covered with wood, 
 brought into pasture or tillage ; an assart. 
 Thwaite enters into the name of many places in 
 Westmoreland and Cumberland. 
 
 Tift, a small draught of liquor, or short fit of 
 doing anything ; also, condition, as to health of 
 the body ; as a verb, it means fetching of the 
 breath quickly as after running, &c. — M8. Gloss. 
 
 Tig, to strike gently. 
 
 ■ 
 
395 
 
 Tike, or Tyke, a blunt or vulgar fellow. 
 
 Titter (tider) , more timely ; sooner ; earlier ; as, 
 
 '^^ titter up coe tudder;" that is, the earliest up 
 
 call the other. 
 Titty, sister. 
 Tocher, or Towgher, a portion or dowry ; a dower. 
 
 ToKER, in other places means the same. — 
 
 Brockett. 
 ToDDER, the other, 
 ToiT, to tumble over or fall; commonly said of 
 
 whatever stands on one end. — MS. Glossary. 
 ToMA, to me. 
 
 Tome, a hair line for fishing. 
 TooMiNG, an aching or dizziness of the eyes. — MS. 
 
 Glossary. 
 Top, or Topper, of a good quality ; anything superior. 
 Torn, to turn. Torn'd, turned. 
 Toth', to the. 
 Tow, two. 
 TowERT, towards. 
 ToYTLE, to fall ; a child falling is said to " toytle 
 
 ower." — MS. Glossary. 
 Traave, or Treeave, to stride along as if through 
 
 long grass. — MS. Glossary. 
 Traily, slovenly. — MS. Glossary. 
 Tram, a train or succession of things, as of cattle, 
 
 carts, &c. — MS. Glossary. 
 Trig, tight ; compact. 
 Trimmel, to tremble. 
 Trinkums, useless finery. 
 Trippet, a small piece of wood obtusely pointed, 
 
 something like a shoe, hollow at one end and 
 
 having a tail a little elevated at the other, which 
 
 is struck with the huck-stich in a game called 
 
 " trippet and coit," played by the rustics. 
 
 2k2 
 
396 
 
 Trod, a footpath. 
 
 Trollybags, tripe. 
 
 Trouncin, a beating. 
 
 Tu, or TuE, to work hard ; to be fatigued. 
 
 TuiNG, toiling; laborious. 
 
 TuDDER, the other. 
 
 Tui, too. 
 
 TuiK, took. 
 
 TuiM, see Teem. 
 
 TuiTH, a tooth TuiTHWARK, the tooth-ache. 
 
 TuL, till. TuLT, to it ; till the. 
 
 TuMBLE-cARR, a cart drawn by a single horse ; pro- 
 bably so named from the axle being made fast in 
 the wheels, and turning round with them. — 
 Agric. Survey of Cumberland. 
 
 TuMMELT, tumbled. 
 
 Tup, a ram. 
 
 TwEA, or Twee, two. Twie, twice. 
 
 TwiLT, a quilt. 
 
 TwiRTER, a year-old sheep. 
 
 Tyer, moreover. 
 
 U. 
 
 Udder, other. 
 
 Unco, uncommonly. 
 
 Une, even. 
 
 Unknaan, or Unname, unknown. 
 
 Unhomed, awkward, unlikely. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Unkat, uncouth. 
 
 Unket, strange, particular news. 
 
 Upho'd, uphold. 
 
 Upth', up the. 
 
 Urchon, a hedgehog. 
 
397 
 
 V. 
 
 Varra, very. 
 
 Varmant, or Varment, vermin ; sometimes used 
 
 as a term of reproach. 
 Versal, universal. 
 Vest, a waistcoat. 
 
 W. 
 
 Waair, or Waare, wore, 
 
 Waat (Sax. rvitan), to understand. 
 
 " Fein a whit I waat ;" that is, not a whit do I know. 
 
 Wabble, to shake or tremble. 
 
 Wad, black-lead. It also means a neighbourhood: 
 
 as, " those places lie in the same wad or beat." 
 Wad, would. Waddn't, would not. 
 Wa dang it, a rustic mode of swearing. 
 Wae, woe. 
 
 Waff, a slight blast or smell. — MS. Glossary. 
 Waff, to bark like a dog short and sharp. 
 Waffler, a waverer. 
 Waintly, very well. 
 Waistomba, woe's me. 
 Wait, or Wared, laid out or expended ; spent on 
 
 wares. 
 Wait (Sax. wat, from witan, whence weet, of which 
 
 the preterite was wot) , to know ; to be aware. 
 Wale, choice. 
 Wan, to win. 
 Wandren, wandering. 
 Wankle, weak ; feeble. 
 
 Wanters, persons who want wives or husbands. 
 Wap'd, wrapt. 
 Waps, so called in Cumberland, but in some of the 
 
 northern counties Batten, a large bundle or 
 
 truss of straw. 
 
 2k3 
 
398 
 
 War, was ; were ; also, worse. 
 
 " They say the world is much war than it wont." — 
 
 Spenser's Shep. Cal. 
 
 Ward, or Warl, the world. Ward's, world is. 
 
 War-day, work-day ; every day in the week except 
 Sunday. 
 
 Warison, the stomach and its contents. 
 
 Wark, to ache. 
 
 Waws, walls. 
 
 Weage, wages. 
 
 Weahze, Weeze, or Waze, a wreath of straw, wool, 
 or other soft substance, for protecting the head 
 under the pressure of a load or burthen. 
 
 Weathergall, the lower part of the rainbow when 
 the rest of the arch is not seen. — MS. Glossary. 
 
 Weatin, urine. 
 
 Webster, or Wobster, a weaver. 
 
 Wed, a heap of clothes, which each party of boys 
 put down in a game called "Scotch and English." 
 
 Wee, little ; small; diminutive: as, " a w^e bit." 
 
 Weeaky, moist; juicy. 
 
 Weel, well. 
 
 Wees, we shall. 
 
 Wee't, with it. 
 
 V/eght, or Wecht, an article like a sieve, but 
 without holes in the bottom, which is usually of 
 sheepskin. 
 
 Welly, well nigh ; almost. 
 
 Welsh, or Wallow, tasteless ; insipid. Broth and 
 water, and pottage, without salt, are mallow or 
 welsli. A person whose face has a raw, pale, and 
 unhealthy look, whom a keen frosty morning 
 pinches, and to whom it gives an appearance of 
 misery and poverty, has a melsh and wallow face. 
 A welsh day is the same as a sleety day, when it 
 is neither thaw nor frost; but a wallow day is 
 
399 
 
 when a cold, strong, and hollow wind prevails.— 
 Brockett. 
 Welt, to lean on one side ; to upset. 
 Wesh, to wash. Wesh'd, washed. 
 Wey, an expression of assent ; also, why. 
 Weyfe, a wife. 
 Weyte, blame. 
 Whaar, where. 
 
 Wharth', where the. Whaar'st, where is it. 
 Whaes, whose. 
 
 Whaint, very. Whaintly, very well. 
 Whaker, to quiver ; to shake. 
 Whaker'd, quivered ; shook. 
 Whane, to stroke down. — MS. Glossary. 
 Whang, to jump clumsily ; also, a blow. 
 Whang, a large and thick piece of anything eatable. 
 Whanter, to flatter. — MS. Glossary. 
 Whantle, to fondle. — MS. Glossary. 
 Whart, a quart. 
 
 Wheezlin (wheezing), drawing the breath with 
 difficulty. 
 
 Whelker, sometimes Yarker, a thump or blow ; 
 also, anything uncommonly large ; a thumper. 
 
 Whell, until. 
 
 Whemmle, to turn upside down. 
 
 Whenth' when the. 
 
 Whewtle, a slight whistle. 
 
 Whey-feac'd, pale-faced. 
 
 Wheyte, quite. 
 
 Whey-whig, a pleasant and sharp beverage, made 
 by infusing mint or sage into buttermilk whey. 
 
 Whick, quick ; alive. 
 
 Whidder, to tremble, 
 
 Whietly, quietly. 
 
 Whiew, to fly hastily ; to make great speed. 
 
 Whilk, which. 
 
400 
 
 Whinge, to whine ; to weep. 
 
 Whinnering, neighing. 
 
 Whin.s, gorse or furze. 
 
 Whipping-the-cat, the custom of itinerant tailors, 
 carpenters, &c., going from house to house to 
 work. 
 
 Whissenday, Whit-Sunday. 
 
 Whist, hush ! 
 
 White, to requite ; also, to cut wood with a knife. 
 
 Whittle, a knife ; generally a clasp-knife. 
 
 Whittle, to haggle in cutting. 
 
 Whittle-gait. In Cumberland when the village 
 schoolmaster does not receive adequate pay to 
 support himself, from his scholar's quarter-pence, 
 he is allowed what is called a whittle-gait, or the 
 privilege of using his knife, in rotation, at the 
 tables of those who send children to his school ; 
 and if he be not a bashful trencherman, he never 
 finds any reason to regret this mode of dining by 
 rotation, as every good housewife always provides 
 against his mliittle-day , a comed-lword and a 
 piece of beef or mutton. Not many years ago, 
 a harden sarTi, a guse-grassing , and a whittle- 
 gait, were all the salary of a clergyman ; in other 
 words, his entire stipend consisted of a shirt of 
 coarse linen, the right of commoning geese, and 
 the more valuable privilege of using a knife and 
 fork at the table of his parishioners. — Sanderson 
 and BrocTiett. 
 
 Whoal, a hole. 
 
 Whope, hope. 
 
 Whoor, a whore. 
 
 Whore, where. 
 
 Whornpeype, a hornpipe. 
 
 Whurry, a wherry. — Anderson. A large boat, a 
 sort of barge or lighter. — Broclcett. 
 
401 
 
 Whuzzin, whizzing. 
 
 Whya, well. 
 
 Whye, a heifer. Why-calf, a female or cow- calf. 
 
 Whyllymer, or, as some whimsically style it, 
 RosLEY Cheshiee, a very poor cheese, of which, 
 says Brockett, " it might be safely said, saving 
 both meat and mense, mhe'll ha' mare ?" It is 
 as remarkable for its poverty as that of Stilton 
 is for its richness ; its surface is so hard that 
 it frequently bids defiance to the keen edge of a 
 Cumbrian gully ; and its interior substance so 
 very tough, that it rather affords occupation to 
 the teeth of a rustic than nourishment to his 
 body, making his hour of repast (to use the ex- 
 pression of an ingenious friend), the severest part 
 of his day's labour. — J\roteto Anderson' s Ballads . 
 
 Wi' or Win, with. 
 
 WiDDERSFUL, eudeavouring. 
 
 Wide-gobb'd, wide-mouthed. 
 
 WiE, with. WiEAWT, without. Wieth', with the. 
 
 WiEME, or WiMMA, with me. 
 
 Willy-wands, willow-rods. 
 
 WiLTAE, wilt thou. 
 
 Win', the wind. 
 
 Windy, noisy. 
 
 WiNNiT, will not. 
 
 WisKETT, or Whisket, a basket. 
 
 WiTTENLY, or WoTTiNGLY, designedly. 
 
 WoD, or Wad, would. 
 
 Won (Sax. wunnian), to dwell; to inhabit; to 
 haunt ; to frequent. 
 
 Wonted, or Wennied, applied to milk when it has 
 been kept till approaching sourness. 
 
 Woo, wool. 
 
 Wood (Sax. wod), furious; raging. 
 
 " Thro' unadvised rashness waxen wood." — Spenser. 
 
402 
 
 WoR, were. 
 WoRCHET, an orchard. 
 Wordy, worthy. 
 WoRSED, worsted. 
 Wot, to know. 
 
 " If Skiddaw hath a cap, 
 Criffel wots full well of that." — Cumberland Proverb. 
 
 WoTS, oats. 
 
 Wramp, a sprain. 
 
 Wrang, wrong. 
 
 Wraul, to fret ; to find fault ; to grumble. — MS. 
 
 Glossary. 
 Wreeden, peevish ; cross. 
 
 Ya, Yaa, or Yan, one. 
 
 Ya, an ewe. 
 
 Yable, able. 
 
 Yale, or Yell, ale. 
 
 Yallo, yellow. 
 
 Yammert, bawled. 
 
 Yance, once. Yans, ones. 
 
 Yat, a gate. Both Chaucer and Spenser use yate. 
 
 Yaud, or Yawd, a common name among country 
 people for a horse ; a jade. A druidical temple 
 in Cumberland, goes by the name of the " Grey 
 Yauds," probably from the colour of the stones. 
 — Brockett. 
 
 Yaur, or Yer, your. 
 
 Ye AGE, age. 
 
 Yearles (Earles in Craven), money advanced or 
 given to confirm a bargain. 
 
 Yeasy, easy. 
 
 Yedder, a straight hazel stick used in binding 
 down fences. 
 
 Yee, you. 
 
403 
 
 Yee'l, you will. 
 
 Ybek, a year. 
 
 Yek, an oak. 
 
 Yell, whole. 
 
 Yen, one. Yence, once. 
 
 Yer, or Yatjr, your. Yersel', yourself. 
 
 Yerd, a yard. 
 
 Ye's, ye shall. 
 
 YiLP, a term used to express the chirping of mice, 
 
 birds, &c. 
 YouNGERMER, youuger persons. 
 
 the end. 
 
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VALUABLE AND INTERESTING BOOKS, 
 
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 A Dictionary of Archaic and Provincial Words, 
 
 Obsolete Phrases, Proverbs, and Ancient Customs, from, tbe Reign of 
 
 Edward I. by James Orchard Halliwell, F.R.S., F.S.A., &c. 2 vols. 
 
 8vo. containing upwards of lOOO pages, closely printed in double columns, 
 
 cloth, £2. 2s 
 This work, which has occupied the Editor some years, is how completed ; it contains 
 above 50,000 words (embodying all the known scattered glossaries of the English lan- 
 guage) forming a complete key for the reader of the works of our old Poets, Dramatists, 
 Theologians, and other authors whose works abound with allusions, of which explanations 
 are not to be found in ordinary Dictionaries and books of reference. Most of the prin- 
 cipal Archaisms are illustrated by examples selected from early inedited MSS. and rare 
 books, and by far the greater portion will be found to be original authorities. 
 
 Guide to the Anglo-Saxon Tongue : on the Basis 
 
 of Professor Rask's Grammar, to whicb are added Reading Lessons in 
 Verse and Prose, with Notes for the use of Learners, by E. J. Vernon, 
 B.A., Oxon. 12mo. cloth, 5* &d 
 "The author of this Guide seems to have made one step in the risrht direction, by com- 
 piling what may be pronounced the best work on the subject hitherto published in ^n^- 
 land." —AthencEUTn. 
 
 " Mr. Vernon has, we think, acted wisely in taking Rask for his model ; but let no 
 one suppose from the title that the book is merely a compilation from the work of tha* 
 philologist. The accidence is abridged from Kask, with constant revision, correction, and 
 modification ; but the syntax, a most important portion of the book, is original, and is 
 compiled with great care and skill ; and the latter half of the volume consists of a well- 
 chosen selection of extracts from Anglo-Saxon writers, in prose and verse, for the practice 
 of the student, who will find great assistance in reading them from the grammatical notes 
 with which they are accompanied, and from the glossary which follows them. This volume, 
 well studied, will enable any one to read with ease the generality of Anglo-Saxon writers ; 
 and its cheapness places it within the reach of every class. It has our hearty recom- 
 mendation." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 The Anglo-Saxon Version of the Life of St. Guth- 
 
 lac, Hermit of Croyland. Printed for the first time, from a MS. in the 
 Cottonian Library, vrith a Translation and Notes by Charles Wycliffe 
 Goodwin, M.A., Fellow of Catharine Hall, Cambridge, 12mo. cloth, 5s 
 
 An Introduction to Anglo-Saxon Reading; com- 
 prising ^Ifric's Homily on the Birthday of St. Gregory, with a copious 
 Glossary, &c. by L. Langley, F.L.S. 12mo. cloth, 2s 6<? 
 
 Compendious Anglo-Saxon and English Dictionary, 
 
 by the Rev. Joseph Bosworth, D.D., F.R.S., F.S.A., &c. 8vo. closely 
 
 ■printed in treble columns, cloth, lis 
 This may be considered quite a new work from the author's former Dictionary : it ha» 
 been entirely remodelled and enlarged, bringing it down to the present state of Anglo- 
 Saxon literature both at home and abroad. 
 
2 John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compfon Street, Soha, 
 
 Reliquiae Antiquse.^ — Scraps from Ancient Manu- 
 scripts, illustrating chiefly Early English Literature, and the English Lan- 
 guage, edited by Wright and Halliwell, 2 vols. 8vo. cloth, £2. 2« — 
 reduced to £l. 4s 
 Containing communications by Ellis, Madden, Hunter, Bruce, Turnbull, Laingr, 
 
 Nichols, &c. But very few copies remain. Odd numbers may be had to complete sets 
 
 at 2s. each. 
 
 It contains a large number of pieces in Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Norman, and Early 
 
 English ; it will be found of use to future Philologists, and to all who take an interest in 
 
 the history of our language and literature. 
 
 Popular Treatises on Science, written during the 
 
 Middle Ages, in Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Norman, and English, 8vo. edited 
 by Thos. Wright, cloth, Zs 
 
 Contents :— An Anglo-Saxon Treatise on Astronomy of the TENTH CENTURY, 
 now _flrst piMished from a MS. in the Britinh Museum, with a translation ; \Avre 
 des Creatures by Phillippe de Thaun, nowjirst printed with a translation, {extremely 
 valuable to the Philologist, as being the earliest specimens of Anglo- Norman remain- 
 ing, and explanatory of all the sym,bolical signs in early sculpture and painting) ; tiie 
 Bestiary of Phillippe de Thaun, with a translation ; Fragments on Popular Science from 
 the Early English Metrical Lives of the Saints, {the earliest piece of the kind in the 
 linglish lanyuage.) 
 
 Anecdota Literaria : A Collection of Short Poems 
 
 in English, Latin, and French, illustrative of the Literature and History of 
 England in the Xlllth Century ; and more especially of the Condition and 
 Manners of the different Classes of Society, by T. Wright, M.A., F.S.A., 
 &c. 8vo. cloth, only 2^% printed, 7s 6cZ 
 
 Philological Proofs of the original Unity and recent 
 
 Origin of the Human Race, derived from a Comparison of the Languages 
 of Asia, Europe, Africa, and America, by A. J. Johnes, 8vo. cloth, 
 reduced from 12s M to 6s 
 Printed at the suggestion of Dr. Pritchard, to whose works it will be found a useful 
 supplement. 
 
 Early Mysteries, and other Latin Poems of the 
 
 Xllth and "Xlllth centuries, edited from original MSS. in the British 
 Museum, and the Libraries of Oxford, Cambridge, Paris, and Vienna, by 
 Thos. Wright, M.A., F.S.A., 8vo. bds. 4s &d 
 
 " Besides the curious specimens of the dramatic style of Middle-Age Latinity, Mr. 
 Wright has given two compositions in the Narrative Elegiac Verse (a favourite measure 
 at that period), in the Comoedia Babionis and the Geta of Vitalis Blesensis, which form a 
 link of connexion between the Classical and Middle-age Literature ; some remarliable 
 Satyrical Rhymes on the people of Norfolk, written by a Monk of Peterborough, and 
 answered in tlie same style by John of St. Omer; and lastly, some sprightly and often grace- 
 ful songs, from a MS. in the Arundel Collection, which afford a very favourable idea of 
 the Lyric Poetry of our clerical forefathers." — G«m</eman'« Mag. 
 
 An Essay on the Origin, Progress, and Decline of 
 
 Rhyming Latin Verse, with many specimens, by Sir Alex. Croke, post 
 8vo. cloth, Is 6d — reduced to 3s 
 "Tiiis is a clever and interesting little volume on an attractive subject, the leisure 
 work of a scholar and man of ta^te."— British Critic. 
 
 On the Origin and Formation of the Romance Lan- 
 guages ; containing an examination of M. Raynouard's Theory on the Re- 
 lation of the Italian, Spani.^i. Provencal, and French, to the Latin, by 
 Geo. CoRNEWALJL Lewis, 8vo. cloth, 12s — reduced to 7s 6d 
 
John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 3 
 
 Essays on the Literature, Popular Superstitions, 
 
 and History of England in the Middle Ages, by Thomas Wright, 
 M.A., F.S.A., 2 stout vols, post 8vo. elegantly printed, cloth, 16s 
 Contents .-—Essay I. Anglo-Saxon Poetry. II. Anfjlo-Norman Poetry. III. Chan- 
 sons de Geste, or Historical Romances of the Middle Ages. IV. On Proverbs and Po- 
 pular Sayings. V. On the Anglo-Latin Poets of the Twelfth Century. VI. Abelard and 
 the Scholastic PhUosophy. Vll.'On Dr. Grimm's German Mythology. VIII. On the Na- 
 tional Fairy Mythology of England. IX. On the Popular Superstitions of Modern Grerce. 
 and their connection with the English. X. On Friar Rush, and ihe Frolicsome Elves. XI. 
 On Dunlop's History of Fiction. Xll. On the History andTrausniission of Popular Stories. 
 XIII. On ihe Poetry of History. XIV. Adventures of Hereward the Saxon. XV. The 
 Story of Eustace the Monk. XVI. The History of Fulke Fitzwarine. XVII. On the 
 Popular Cycle of Robin-Hood Ballads. XVIII. On the Conquest of Ireland by the Anglo- 
 Normans. XIX. On Old English Political Songs. XX. On the Scottish Poet Dunbar. 
 
 The Early History of Freemasonry in England, 
 
 Illustrated by an English Poem of the XlVth Century, with Notes, by 
 
 J. O. Halliwell, post 8vo. Second. Edition, with a facsimile of the 
 
 original MS. in the British Museum, cloth, 2s &d 
 
 " Tlie interest which the curious poem of which this publication is chiefly composed 
 
 has excited, is proved by the fact of its having been translated into German, and of it 
 
 having reached a second edition, which is not common %vith such publications. Mr. Hal- 
 
 liwell has carefully revised tlie new edition, and increased its utility by the addition of a 
 
 complete and correct glossary." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 Torrent of Portugal ; an English Metrical Ro- 
 mance, now first published, from an unique MS. of the XVth century, 
 preserved in the Chetham Library at Manchester, edited by J. O. Halli- 
 WELL, &c. post 8vo. cloth, uniform with Ritson, Weber, and Ellis's 
 publications, 5« 
 "This is a valuable and interesting addition to our list of early English metrical 
 romances, and an indispensable companion to the collections ,of Ritson, Weber, and 
 Ellis." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 "A literary curiosity, and one both welcome and serviceable to the lover of black- 
 letter lore. Though the obsoleteness of the style may occasion sad stumbling to a modern 
 reader, yet the class to which it rightly belongs will value it accordingly ; both because it 
 is curious in its details, and possesses philological importance. To the general reader it 
 presents one feature, viz. the reference to Wayland Smith, whom Sir W. Scott has invested 
 with 60 much interest." — Metropolitan Magazine. 
 
 The Harrowing of Hell, a Miracle Play, written in 
 
 the Reign of Edvrard II., now first published from the Original in the 
 
 British Museum, with a Modern Reading, Introduction, and Notes, by 
 
 James Orchard Halliwell, Esq. F.R.S., F.S.A., &c. 8vo. sewed, 2s 
 
 This curious piece is supposed to be the earliest specimen of dramatic composition in 
 
 the English Language ; vide Hallam's Literature of Europe, Vol. I. ; Strutt's Manners 
 
 and Customs, Vol. II. ; Warton's English Poetry ; Sharon Turner's England ; Colli, r's 
 
 History of English Dramatic Poetry, Vol. II. p. 213. All these mriters refer to the 
 
 Manuscript. 
 
 Nugae Poeticse ; Select Pieces of Old English 
 
 Popular Poetry, illustrating the Manners and Arts of the XVth Century, 
 
 edited by J. O. Halliwell, post 8vo. only 100 copies printed, cloth, bs 
 
 Contents :—Colyn Blowbols Testament; the Debate of the Carpenter's Tools ; the 
 
 Merchant and his Son ; the Maid and the Magpie; Elegy on Lobe, Henry Vlllth's Fool ; 
 
 Romance of Robert of Sicily, and Jive other curious pieces of the same kind. 
 
 Reliques of Irish Jacobite Poetry, with Interlinear 
 
 Translations, and Biographical Sketches of the Authors, and Notes by 
 J. Daly, also English Metrical Versions by E. Walsh, 8vo. parts 1 and 2, 
 (all yet published,) 2s 
 
i John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 
 
 Rara Mathematica ; or a Collection of Treatises on 
 
 the Mathematics and Subjects connected with them, from ancient inedited 
 MSS. by J. O. HALLiwEi^i, 8vo. Second Edition, cloth, 3* &d 
 Contents : Johannis de Sacro-Bosco Traotatus de Arte Numerandi ; Method used in 
 England in tlie Fifteentli Century for taking tiie Altitude of a Steeple; Treatise on the Nu- 
 meration of Algorism; Treatise on Glasses for Optical Purposes, by W. Bourne; Johannis 
 Robyns de Cometis Commentaria ; Two Tables showing the time of High Water at 
 London Bridge, and the Duration of Moonlight, from a MS. of the Thirteenth Century ; on 
 (he Mensuration of Heights and Distances ; Alexandri de Villa Dei Carmen de Algorismo; 
 Preface to a Calendar or Almanacli for 1430 ; Johannis Norfolk in Artem progressionig 
 summula ; Notes on Early Almanacs, by the Editor, &c. &c. 
 
 Popular Errors in English Grammar, particularly 
 
 in Pronunciation, familiarly pointed out, by George Jackson, 12mo. 
 Third Edition, with a coloured frontispiece of the " Sedes Busbeiana," 6d 
 
 f robmcial Minlttt^ of Cnglantr* 
 
 Bibliographical List of all the Works which have 
 
 been published towards illustrating the Provincial Dialects of England, by 
 John Russell Smith, post 8vo. 1« 
 " Very serviceable to such aa prosecute the study of our provincial dialects, or are 
 collecting works on that curious subject. We very cordially recomment it to notice." 
 
 Metropolitan. 
 
 An Historical Sketch of the Provincial Dialects 
 
 of England, illustrated by numerous examples, Extracted from the " Dic- 
 tionary of Archaic and Provincial Words," by James Orchard Halli- 
 WELL, 8vo. sewed, 2s 
 
 Poems of Rural Life, in the Dorset Dialect, with a 
 
 Dissertation and Glossary, by William Barnes, second edition, en- 
 larged AND corrected, royal 12mo. cloth, 10s 
 A fine poetic feeling is displayed through the various pieces in this volume ; according 
 to some critics nothing has appeared equal to it since the time of Burns ; the ' Gentle- 
 man's Magazine' for Dec, 1844, gave a review of the first edition some pages in length, 
 
 A Glossary of Provincial Words and Phrases in use 
 
 in Wiltshire, showing their Derivation in numerous instances from the 
 Language of the Anglo-Saxons, by John Yonge Akerman, Esq. F.S.A., 
 12mo. cloth, 3« 
 
 The Vocabulary of East Anglia, an attempt to 
 
 record the vulgar tongue of the twin sister Counties, Norfolk and Suffolk, 
 as it existed in the last twenty years of the Eighteenth Century, and still 
 exists ; with proof of its antiquity from Etymology and Authority, by the 
 Rev. R. FoRBY, 2 vols, post 8vo. cloth, 12s (original price £1. Is) 
 
 Westmoreland and Cumberland Dialects, Dialogues, 
 
 Poems, Songs, and Ballads, by various Writers, in the Westmoreland and 
 Cumberland Dialects, now first collected, to which is added, a Copious 
 Glossary of Words peculiar to those Counties, post 8vo. pp. 408, cloth, 9s 
 This collection comprises, in the Westmoreland Dialect, Mrs. Ann Wheeler's Four 
 Familiar Dialogues, with Poems, &c. ; and in the Cumherlands Dialect, I. Poems and 
 Pastorals by the Bev. JosiahRelph ; II. Pastorals, &c., by Ewan Claik ; III. Letters from 
 Dublin by a young Borrowdale Shepherd, by Isaac Kitson; IV. Poems by John Stagg; 
 V. Poems by Mark Lonsdale; VI. Ballads and Songs by Robert Anderson, the Cumbrian 
 Bard {including some nowjirst printed) ; VII. Songs by Miss Blamire and Miss Gilpin ; 
 VIII Songs by John Eayson ; IX. An Extensive Glossary of Westmoreland and Cumber- 
 land Words. 
 
John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 5 
 
 Specimens of Cornish Provincial Dialects, collected 
 
 and arranged by Uncle Jan Treenoodle, with some Introductory Remarks 
 and a Glossary by an Antiquarian Friend, also a Selection of Songs and 
 other Pieces connected with Cornwall, post 8vo. with curious portrait of 
 Dolly Pentreath, cloth, 4.s 
 
 Exmoor Scolding and Courtship in the Propriety 
 
 and Decency of Exmoor (Devonshire) Language, with Notes and a Glos- 
 sary, post 8vo. 12th edition, Is 6d 
 
 " Avery rich bit of West of Englandism."— AfeiropoZiifan. 
 
 The Yorkshire Dialect, exemplified in various Dia- 
 logues, Tales, and Songs, applicable to the County, with a Glossary, post 
 8vo. \s 
 " A. shilling book worth its money; most of the pieces of composition are not only 
 harmless, but good and pretty. The eclogue on the death of ' Awd Dai^y," an outworn 
 horse, is an outpouring of some of the best feelings of the rustic mind ; and the addresses to 
 riches and poverty have much of the freedom and spirit of Burns." 
 
 Gent.'s Magazine, May, 1841. 
 
 A Collection of Fugitive Pieces in the Dialect of 
 
 Zummerzet, edited by J. O. Halliwell, post 8vo. only ^Q printed, 2s 
 
 Dick and Sal, or Jack and Joan's Fair, a Doggrel 
 
 Poem, in the Kentish Dialect, 3rd edition, 12mo. &d 
 
 Jan Cladpole's Trip to 'Merricur in Search for Dollar 
 
 Trees, and how he got rich enough to beg his way home ! written in Sussex 
 Doggerel, 12mo. &d 
 
 John Noakes and Mary Styles, a Poem, exhibiting 
 
 some of the most striking lingual localisms peculiar to Essex, with a Glos- 
 sary, by Charles Clark, Esq. of Great Totham Hall, Essex, post 8vo. 
 cloth, 2s 
 
 " The poem possesses considerable humour." — Tail's Mag." A very plensanf. trifle." 
 Lit. Gaz. " A very clever production." — Essex Lit. Journal. Full of rich humour " — 
 Essex Mercury. "Yery droll." — Metropolitan. "Exhibits the dialect of Essex per- 
 ffctly.'" — Eclectic Review. " Full of quaint wit and humour." — Gent.'s Mag. May 1841. 
 " A very clever and amusing piece of local description." — Arehaologist- 
 
 Grose's (Francis, F.S.A.) Glossary of Provincial 
 
 and Local Words used in England, with which is now first incorporated 
 the Supplement by Samuel Pegge, F.S.A., post 8vo. elegantly printed, 
 cloth. As &d 
 
 The utility of a Provincial Glossary to all persons desirous of understanding our 
 ancient Poets is so universally acknowledged, that to enter into a proof of it would be 
 entirely a work of supererogation. Grose and Pegge are constantly referred to in Todd's 
 " Johnson's Dictionary." 
 
 ^rr!)aei3l05p antr Numismatics* 
 
 The Druidical Temples of the County of Wilts, by 
 
 the Rev. E. Duke, M.A., F.S.A., Member of the Archaeological Institute, 
 
 &c.. Author of the " Hall of John Halle," and other works, 12mo. plates, 
 
 cloth, bs 
 
 " iMr. Duke has been long honourably known as a zealous cultivator nf our local 
 
 antiquities. His collections on this subject, and on the literature of Wiltshire, are nowhere 
 
 surpassed ; while his residence on the borders of the Plain, and within reach of our most 
 
 interesting remains, has afforded scope to his meritorious exertions. The work before 'is is 
 
 the fruit of long study and laborious investigation."— Sa/isJj«'?/ Journal. 
 
6 John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compion Street, Soho. 
 
 An Archaeological Index to Remains of Antiquity 
 
 of the Celtic, Romano^British and Anglo-Saxon Periods, by John Yonge 
 Aeerman, F.S.A,, in 1 vol. 8vo. illustrated with numerous engravings, 
 comprising upward of five hundred objects, cloth, \os 
 
 This work, though intended as an introduction and a guide to the study of our early 
 antiquities, will it is hoped also prove of service, as a book of reference to the practised 
 Archseologist. The contents are as follows : * 
 
 Part I. Celtic Pekiod. — Tumuli, or Barrows and Cairns.— Cromlechs.— Sepulchral 
 Caves. — Rocking Stones. — Stone Circles, etc. etc. — Objects discovered in Celtic Sepulchres. 
 — Urns. — Beads. — Weapons. — Implements, etc. 
 
 Part II. Romano-British Period. — Tumuli of the Roman-British Period.— 
 Burial Places of the Romans.— Pavements. — Camps. — Tillas. — Sepulchral Monuments. 
 — Sepulchral Inscriptions. — Dedicatory Inscriptions. — Commemorative Inscriptions.— 
 Altars.— Urns.— Glass Vessels.— Fibulse. — Armilte. — Coins.— Coin-Moulds, etc. etc. 
 
 Part III. Anglo-Saxon Pebiod. — Tumuli.- Detailed List of Objects discovered 
 in Anglo-Saxon Barrows. — Urns.— Swords. — Spears. — Knives. — Umbones of Shields. — 
 Buckles. — Fibulae. — BuUse. — Hair Pins — Beads, etc. etc. etc. etc. 
 
 The Itineraet of Antoninus (as far as relates to Britain). The Geographical Tables 
 of Ptolemy, the Notitia, and the Itinesart of Richard of Cirencester, together 
 with a classified Index of the contents of the ArcHjEologia (Vols. i. to xxxi.) are given 
 in an Appendix. 
 
 Vestiges of the Antiquities of Derbyshire, and the 
 
 Sepulchral Usages of its Inhabitants, from the most remote ages to the 
 Reformation, by Thomas Bateman, Esq. of Yolgrave, 8vo. profusely 
 illustrated with woodcuts, cloth, lbs 
 
 Notitia Britannise, or an Inquiry concerning the 
 
 Localities, Habits, Condition, and Progressive Civilization of the Abori- 
 gines of Britain ; to which is appended a brief Retrospect of the Results of 
 their Intercourse with the Romans, by W. D. Saull, F.S.A., F.G.S., &c. 
 8vo. engravings, 3s &d 
 
 A Verbatim Report of the Proceedings at a Special 
 
 General Meeting of the British Archaeological Association, held at the Theatre 
 of the Western Library Institution, 5th March, 1845, T. J. Pettigrevr in 
 the Chair. With an Introduction by Thomas Wright, 8vo. sewed, \s &d 
 A succinct history of the division between the Archseological Association and Institute. 
 
 British Archgeological Association. — A Report of 
 
 the Proceedings and Excursions of the Members of the British Archaeolo- 
 gical Association, at the Canterbury Session, Sept. 1844, by A. J. Dun- 
 kin, thick 8vo. with many engravings, cloth, £\. Is 
 " The volume contains most of the papers entire that were read at the Meeting, and 
 revised by the authors. It will become a scarce book as only 120 were printed ; and it 
 forms the first yearly volume of the Archseological Association, or the Arcbseological 
 Institute." 
 
 Coins of the Romans relating to Britain, Described 
 
 and Illustrated, by J. Y. Akerman, F.S.A., Secretary to the Numismatic 
 Society, &c. Second edition, greatly enlarged, 8vo. withplates and wood- 
 cuts, 10s &d 
 The " Prix de Numismatique" has just been awarded by the French Institute to the 
 author for this work. 
 
 " Mr. Akerman's volume contains a notice of every known v.iriety, with copious 
 illustrations, and is published at very moderate price; it should be consulted, not merely 
 for these particular coins, but, ulso for facts most valuable to all who are interested in the 
 Romano-British \dsiovy."—Arch(eological Jonrnal. 
 
 Ancient Coins of Cities and Princes, Geographically 
 
 arranged and described, Hispania, Gallia, Britannia, by J. Y. Akek- 
 MAN, F.S.A., 8vo. with engravings of many hundred coins from actual 
 emamples, cloth, 18s 
 
John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 7 
 
 Numismatic Illustrations of the Narrative Portions 
 
 of the New Testament, fine paper, numerous woodcuts from the original 
 coins in various public and private collections, 1 vol. 8vo. cloth, 5« dd 
 
 Lectures on the Coinage of the Greeks and Romans, 
 
 delivered in the University of Oxford, by Edward Cardwell, D.D., 
 Principal of St. Alban's Ball, and Professor of Ancient History, 8vo. cloth, 
 reduced from 8s 6c? to 4» 
 A very interesting historical volume, and written in a pleasing and popular manner. 
 
 Essay on the Numismatic History of the Ancient 
 
 Kingdom of the East Angles, by D. H. Haigh, royal Svo. ^plates, con. 
 taining numerous figures of coins, sewed, 6* 
 
 A Hand-Book of English Coins, from the Conquest 
 
 to Victoria, by L. Jewitt, 12mo. \\ plates, cloth, \s 
 
 The Curiosities of Heraldry, with Illustrations from 
 
 Old English Writers, by Mark Antony Lower, Author of " Essays 
 on English Surnames ;" with Illuminated Title-page, and numerous engrav- 
 ings from designs by the Author, Svo. cloth, gules, appropriately orna- 
 mented, OR, 14s 
 "The present volume is truly a worthy sequel (to the 'Surnames') in the same 
 curious and antiquarian line, blending with remarkable facts and intelligence, such a fund 
 of amusing anecdote and illustration, that the reader is almost surprised to find that he has 
 learnt so much, whilst he appeared to be pursuing mere entertainment. The text is so 
 pleasing that we scarcely dream of its sterling value ; and it seems as if, in unison with the 
 woodcuts, which so cleverly explain its points and adorn its various topics, the whole 
 design were intended for a relaxation from study, rather than an ample exposition of an 
 extraordinary and universal custom, which produced the most important effect upon tl)e 
 minds and habits of mankind." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Lower s work is both curious and instructive, while the manner of its treatment 
 is so inviting and popular, that the subject to which it refers, which many have hitherto 
 had too good reason to consider meagre and unprofitable, assumes, under the hands of the 
 writer, the novelty of fiction with the importance of historical truth." —Athenceurn. 
 
 English Surnames. A Series of Essays on Family 
 
 Nomenclature, Historical, Etymological, and Humorous ; with Chapters 
 on Canting Arms, Rebuses, and the Roll of Battel Abbey, a List of Latin- 
 ized Surnames, &;c. by Mark Antony Lower. The third edition, 
 enlarged, 2 vols, post 8vo. with woodcuts, cloth, 12s 
 To those who are curious about their patronymic, it will be found a very instructive 
 
 and amusing volume — mingling wit and pleasantry, with antiquarian research and 
 
 historical ijiterest. 
 
 An Index to the Pedigrees and Arms, contained 
 
 in the Heralds' Visitations, in the British Museum, alphabetically arranged 
 in Counties, Svo. ^ „ In the press. 
 
 An indispensable work to tho,«e engaged in Genealogical and Topographical pursuits, 
 affording a ready clue to the Pedigrees and Arms of nearly 20,000 of the Gentry of 
 England, their Residences, &c. (distinguishing the different families of the same name in 
 any county), as recorded by the Heralds in their Visitations between the years 1528 to 1686. 
 
 History and Antiquities of the Ancient Port and 
 
 Town of Rye in Sussex, compiled from Original Documei^s, by William 
 HoLLOWAY, Esq., thick Svo. only 200 printed, cloth, £\. Is 
 
8 John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 
 
 Pedigrees of the Nobility and Gentry of Hertford 
 
 shire, by William Berry, late and for fifteen years Registering Clerk in 
 the College of Arms, Author of the " Encyclopsedia Heraldica," &c. &c. 
 folio, (only 125 printed), bds. £3. lOs, reduced to £l. 5* 
 
 A Genealogical and Heraldic History of the Extinct 
 
 and Dormant Baronetcies of England, Ireland and Scotland, by J. Burke, 
 Esq. medium 8vo. Second Edition, 638 closely printed pages, in double 
 columns with about \QQQ arms engraved on wood, fine portrait of 3 AiA'E.'i 1., 
 and illuminated title-page, extra cloth, £\. is reduced 1o 10* 
 
 This work, which has engaged the .attention of the Authors for several years, comprises 
 nearly a thousand families, many of them amongst the most ancient and eminent in the 
 kingdom, each carried down to its representative or representatives still existing, with 
 elaborate and minute details of the alliances, achievements, and fortunes, generation after 
 generation, from the earliest to the latest period. The work is printed to correspond! 
 precisely with the last edition of Mr. Burke's Dictionary of the Existing Peerage and 
 Baronetage : the armorial bearings are engraved in the best style, and are incorporated 
 witii the text as in that work. 
 
 History and Antiquities of Dartford in Kent, with 
 
 Incidental Notices of Places in its Neighbourhood, by J. Dunkin, Author 
 of the "History of the Hundreds of Bulling ton and Ploughleyin Oxford- 
 shire ; " History of Bicester ;" " History of Bromley," &c. Svo. 17 plates, 
 cloth. Only IbO printed, 21s 
 
 Historic Sites and other Remarkable and Interest- 
 ing Places in the County of Suffolk, by John Wodderspoon, with Pre- 
 fatory Verses by Bernard Barton, Esq., and a Poetical Epilogue by a 
 " Suffolk Villager." Improved edition, fine woodcuts, post Svo. 
 pp. 232, closely printed, and containing as much matter as many 12s 
 volumes, cloth, only 4* ^d 
 
 History of Banbury, in Oxfordshire, including 
 
 Copious Historical and Antiquarian Notices of the Neighbourhood, by 
 Alfred Beesley, thick Svo. 684 closely printed pages, with 60 woodcuts, 
 engraved in the first style of art, by 0. Jeivitt, of Oxford, (pub. at.^'l. 5s} 
 now reduced to 14s 
 " The neighbourhood of Banbury is equally rich in British, Roman, Saxon, Norman, 
 and English Antiquities, of all which Mr. Beesley has given regularly cleared accounts. 
 Banbury holds an important place in the history of the Parliamentary War of the Seven- 
 teenih Century, and was the scene of the great Battle of Edgehill, and of the important 
 figlit of Cropredy Bridge. Relating to the events of that period, the author has collected a 
 great body of local information of the most interesting kind. By no means the leasf 
 valuable part of Mr. Beesley's work, is his account of the numerous interesting early 
 churches, which characterize the Banbury district."— 77ie A?-c/i«oZo<7is<. 
 Odd Parts to complete copies. Is. 6d. instead of 2«. Qd. 
 
 History and Antiquities of the Isle of Axholme, in 
 
 Lincolnshire, by the Venerable Archdeacon Stonehouse, thick 4to. 
 fine plates, reducedfrom £3. 3s to 18s 
 
 The Local Historian's Table-Book of Remarkable 
 
 Occurrences, Historical Facts, Traditions, Legendary and Descriptive 
 Ballads, &c. &c. connnected with the Counties of Newcastle-on-Tyne, 
 Northumberland, and Durham, by M. A. Richardson, royal Svo. 
 profusely illustrated with woodcuts, now complete in 8 vols, royal %vo. 
 cloth, 9s each, or the Divisions sold separately as follows : — 
 
 Historical Division, 5 vols. Legendary Division, 3 vols. 
 The legendary portion will be found very interesting volumes by those who take 
 no interest in the historical one. 
 
 1 
 
John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 9 
 
 A Critical Dissertation on Professor Willis's " Archi- 
 
 Svo"^ 6^''*°^^ of Canterbury Cathedral," byC. Sandys, of Canterbury, 
 
 Profe3/willii°JJ.° 1'?5'"*'i^°™'' J"" c?;P«ous spirit: the highest compliment is paid to 
 «o^; tr Willis, where it is due. But the author has certainly made out a clear case tn 
 constructLnr^PW^ instances of inaccuracies that have led the learned Professor into the 
 uanion to h,= , ' ^"°? throughout. It may be considered as an indispensable com- 
 ^i^-ln-Vr^^"^^' "'"'^^'""'^ ^ ^'•*^' ^^''^ of e^fa information of a%ery curio^ 
 
 Bibliotheca Cantiana, a Bibliographical Account of 
 
 what has been published on the History, Topography, Antiquities, Cus- 
 toms, and Family Genealogy of the County of Kent, with Biographical 
 JNotes, by John Russell Smith, in a handsome 8vo. volume, pp 370 
 with two plates of facsimiles of Autographs of 33 eminent Kentish, 
 Writers, lis reduced to 5s— large paper, 10s 6d 
 
 The History of the Town of Gravesend in Kent, 
 
 and of the Port of London, by R. P. Cruden, late Mayor of Gravesend, 
 royal 8vo. 37 fne plates and woodcuts, a very handsome volume, cloth 
 1843, reduced from £l. 8s to 10* 
 
 The Visitor's Guide to Knole House, near Seven 
 
 Oaks in Kent, with Catalogue of the Pictures contained in the Mansion, a 
 Genealogical History of the Sackville Family, &c. &c. by J. H. Brady, 
 F.R.A.S., 12mo. 27 woodcuts by Bonner, Sly, 8fc. cloth, 4* Gd. Lara'e 
 Paper, 10s 1 ^ y 
 
 Illustrations of Knole House, from Drawings by 
 
 Bonner, Sly, &c. 8vo. 1& plates, with Descriptions, 5s 
 
 Greenwich ; its History, Antiquities, and Public 
 
 Buildings, by H. S. Richardson, 12mo./we woodcuts ly Baxter, Is M 
 
 The Folkestone Fiery Serpent, together with the 
 
 Humours of the Dovor Mayor ; being an Ancient Ballad full of Mystery 
 and pleasant Conceit, now first collected and printed from the various MS. 
 copies in possession of the inhabitants of the South-east coast of Kent, 
 with Notes, 1 2mo. Is 
 
 A Brief Account of the Parish of Stowting, in Kent, 
 
 and of the Antiquities lately discovered there, by the Rev. F. Wrench, 
 Rector, 8vo. three folding plates, etched by the Author, sewed, 2s M 
 
 History of Portsmouth, Portsea, Landport, South- 
 sea, and Gosport, by Henry Slight, Esq. 8vo. Third Edition, bds. 4s 
 
 A Hand-Book to Lewes in Sussex, Historical and 
 
 Descriptive, with Notices of the Recent Discoveries at the Priory, by Mark 
 Antony Lower, 12mo. many engravings, cloth, 2s 
 
 Chronicles of Pevensey in Sussex, by M. A. Lower, 
 
 12mo. woodcuts. Is 
 
 The Archaeologist and Journal of Antiquarian 
 
 Science. Edited by J. O. Halliwell, Bvo. Nos. I. toX. complete, with 
 Index, pp. 490. with 19 engravings, cloth, reduced from 10s &d to 5s Qd 
 
 Containing original ai tides on Architecture, Historical Literature, Round Towers of 
 Veland, Philology, Bibliography, Topography, Proceedings of the various Antiquarian 
 Societies, Retrospective Eeviews, and Eeviews of rec«!it Antiquarian Works, &c. 
 
jo John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 
 
 Historia Collegii Jesu Cantabrigiensis a J. Sher- 
 
 MANNO, olim prses. ejusdem Collegii. Edita J. O. Halliwell, 8vo. cloth, 2* 
 
 History and Antiquities of the Hundred of Comp- 
 ton, Berks, with Dissertations on the Roman Station of Calleva Attre- 
 batum, and the Battle of Ashdown, by W. Hewitt, Jun. 8vo. 18 plates, 
 cloth. Only 250 printed, lbs — reduced to 9s 
 
 Newcastle Tracts ; Reprints of Rare and Curious 
 
 Tracts, chiefly illustrative of the History of the Northern Counties ; beauti- 
 fully printed in crown 8vo. on a fine thick paper, with facsimile Titles, 
 and other features characteristic of the originals. Only 100 copies printed, 
 Nos. I. to XLIX. £b. 5s 
 Purchasers are expected to take the succeeding Tracts as published ; the Series is nearly 
 completed. 
 
 A Journey to Beresford Hall, in Derbyshire, the 
 
 Seat of Charles Cotton, Esq. the celebrated Author and Angler, by W. 
 Alexander, F.S.A., F.L.S., late Keeper of the Prints in the British 
 Museum, crown iio. printed on tinted paper, with a spirited frontispiece, 
 representing Walton and his adopted Son Cotton in the Fishing -house, and 
 vignette title-page, cloth, bs 
 Dedicated to the Anglers of Great Britain and the various Walton and Cotton Clubs ; 
 only 100 printed. 
 
 iSioffrajp^p, i^iterarp i^i^torp, anti Criticism* 
 
 A New Life of Shakespeare, founded upon recently 
 
 discovered Documents, by James Orchard Halliwell, F.R.S., F.S.A., 
 
 wiik numcrovs iUnstrations of objects Jicver before engraved, from draw- 
 ings by F. W. Fairholt, F.S.A., in 1 vol. 8vo. cloth, 15s 
 
 An Introduction to Shakespeare's Midsummer 
 
 Night's Dream, by J. O. Halliwell, 8vo. cloth {2b0 printed), 3s 
 
 An Account of the only known Manuscript of 
 
 Shakspeare's Flays, comprising some important variations and corrections 
 in the Merry Wives of Windsor, obtained from a Playhouse copy of that 
 Play recently discovered, by J. O. Halliwell, 8vo. sewed, Is * 
 
 On the Character of FalstafF, as originally exhibited 
 
 by Shakespeare in the two parts of King Henry IV., by J. O. Halliwell, 
 12mo. cloth, (only IQO printed,) 2s 
 
 Shakesperiana, a Catalogue of the Early Editions of 
 
 Shakespeare's Plays, and of the Commentaries and other Publications illus- 
 trative of his Works, by J. O. Halliwell, 8vo. cloth, 3s 
 " Indispensable to everybody who wishes to carry on any inquiries connected with 
 Shakespeare, or who may have a fancy fur Shakespearian Bibliography." — Spectator. 
 
 England's Worthies, under whom all' the Civil 
 
 and Bloody Warres, since Anno 1642 to Anno 1647, are related, by John 
 Vicars, Author of "England's Parliamentary Chronicle," &c. &c. royal 
 12mo. reprinted in the old style, {similar to Lady Willoughby's Diary,) 
 with copies of the 18 rare portraits after Hollar, S(c. half morocco, bs 
 Copies of the original edition have been sold from £16. to £20. 
 The portraits comprise, Robert, Earl of Essex ; Robert, Earl of Warwick ; Lord Mon- 
 tagu, Earl of Denbigh, Earl of Stamford, David Lesley, General Fairfax, Sir Thomas Fair- 
 fax, O. Cromwell, Skippon, Colonel Massey, Sir W. Brereton, Sir W. Waller, Colonel 
 Langhorne, General Poyntz,Sir Thos. Middleton, General Brown, and General Mitton. 
 
John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. H 
 
 Autobiography of Joseph Lister, of Bradford, in 
 
 Yorkshire, to which is added a contemporary account of the Defence of 
 Bradford, and Capture of Leeds by the Parliamentarians in 1642, edited by 
 Thomas Wright, 8vo. only 250 copies printed, cloth, is 
 
 Love Letters of Mrs. Piozzi, written when she was 
 
 Eighty, to the handsome Actor, William A.ugustus Conway, aged Twenty- 
 seven, 8vo. sewed, 2s 
 " written at tliree, four, and five o'clock (in tlie morning) by an Octogenary pen, 
 
 a heart (as Mrs. Lee says) twenty-six ytars old, and as H. L. P. feels it to be, all your 
 
 cnvn"— Letter V. 3rd Feb. 1820. 
 
 Collection of Letters on Scientific Subjects, illustra- 
 tive of the Progress of Science in England temp. Elizabeth to Charles II. 
 edited by J. O. Halliwell, 8vo. cloth, 3s 
 Comprising letters of Digges, Dee, Tycho Brahe, Lower, Harriott, Lydyat, Sir W. 
 
 Petty, Sir C. Cavendish, Bi ancker, Pell , &c. ; also the autobiography of Sir Samuel 
 
 Morland, from a MS. in Lambeth Palace, iVat. Tarpoley's Corrector Analyticus, &c. 
 
 Cost the Subscribers £\. 
 
 A Rot among the Bishops; or a Terrible Tempest 
 
 in the Sea of Canterbury, set forth in lively emblems to please the judicious 
 Reader, by Thomas Stirry, 1641, 18mo. (a satire on Abp. Laud,) four 
 very curious woodcut emblems, cloth, 3* 
 A facsimile of the very rare original edition, which sold at Bindley's sale for £13. 
 
 Bibliotheca MadrigaUana. — A Bibliographical Ac- 
 count of the Musical and Poetical Works published in England during the 
 Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, under the titles of Madrigals, Ballets, 
 Ayres, Canzonets, &c. &c. by Edward F. Rimbault, LL.D., F.S.A., 8vo. 
 cloth, bs 
 It records a class of books left undescribed by Ames, Herbert, and Dibdin, and 
 
 furnishes a most valuable Catalogue of the Lyrical Poetry of the age to vvhich it refers. 
 
 Who was '' Jack Wilson" the Singer of Shake- 
 speare's Stage .' An attempt to prove the identity of this person with John 
 Wilson, Dr. of Musick in the University of Oxford, a.d. 1644, by E. F. 
 RiMBAULT, LL.D. 8vo. Is 
 
 popular ^Detrp, Mnvit^^ antJ ^iipergititiong* 
 
 The Nursery Rhymes of England, collected chiefly 
 
 from Oral Tradition, edited by J. O. Halliwell. The Fourth Edition, 
 enlarged, with 38 Designs by W. B. Scott, Director of the School of 
 Design, Newcastle-on-Tyne, 12mo. in very richly illuminated cloth, gilt 
 leaves, As &d 
 " Illustrations ! And here they are ; clever pictures, which the three-year olds under- 
 stand before their A, B, C, and which the fifty-three-year olds like almost as vvell as the 
 threes." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " We are persuaded that the very rudest of these Jingles, tales, and rhymes, possess 
 a strong imagination-nourishing power; and that in infancy and early childhood a 
 sprinkling of ancient nursery lore is worth whole cartloads of the wise saws and modern 
 instances which iire now as duly and carefully concocted by experienced litterateurs, into 
 instructive tales for the spelling public, as are works of entertainment for the reading public. 
 The work is worthy of the attention of the popular antiquary."— Taii!'* Mag. 
 
 Wonderful Discovery of the Witchcrafts of Margaret 
 
 and Philip Flower, daughters of Joan Flower, nearBever (Belvoir), executed 
 at Lincoln for confessing themselves actors in the destruction of Lord 
 Rosse, son of the Earl of Rutland, 1618, 8vo. 1« 
 
 One t>f the mcist extraordinary cases of Witchcraft on record. 
 
12 John Russell Smith, 4, Old Compton Street, Soho. 
 
 Saint Patrick's Purgatory ; an Essay on the 
 
 Legends of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, current during the Middle Ages, 
 by Thomas Wright, M.A., F.S.A., &c. post 8vo. cloth, 6« 
 " It must be observed that this is not a mere account of St. Patrick's Purgatory, but a 
 complete history of the legends and superstitions relating to the subject, from the earliest 
 times, rescued from old MSS. as well as from old printed books. Moreover, it embraces a 
 singular chapter of literary history, omitted by Warton and all former writers with whom 
 we are acquainted ; and we think we may add, that it forms the best introduction to Dante 
 that has yet been published." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " This appears to be a curious and even amusing book on the singular subject of Pur- 
 gatory, in which the idle and fearful dreams of superstition are shown to be first narrated 
 as tales, and then applied as means of deducing the moral character of the age in which 
 they prevailed." — Spectator. 
 
 Trial of the Witches at Bury St. Edmunds, before 
 
 Sir M. Hale, 1664, with an Appendix by Charles Clark, of Totham, 
 Essex, 8vo. \s 
 " The most perfect narrative of anything of this nature hitherto extant." — Preface. 
 
 Account of the Trial, Confession, and Condemnation 
 
 of Six Witches at Maidstone, 1652 ; also the Trial and Execution of Three 
 others at Faversham, 1645, 8vo. Is 
 
 These Transactions are unnoticed by all Kentish historians. 
 
 An Essay on the Archaeology of our Popular 
 
 Phrases and Nursery Rhymes, by H. B. Ker, 2 vols. 12mo. new cloth, is 
 
 (pub. at 12*) 
 A work which has met with great abuse among the reviewers, but those who are fond of 
 philological pursuits will read it now it is to be had at so very moderate a price, and it really 
 contains a good deal of gossiping matter. The author's attempt is to explain every thing 
 from the Dutch, which he believes was the same language as the Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 The Merry Tales of the Wise Men of Gotham, 
 
 edited by James Orchard Halliwell, Esq. F.S.A,, post 8vo. Is 
 
 Illustrations of Eating, displaying the Omnivorous 
 
 Character of Man, and exhibiting the Natives of various Countries at 
 feeding-time, by a Beef-Eater, fcap. 8vo. with woodcuts, 2s '' 
 
 Elements of Naval Architecture, being a Translation 
 
 of the third part of Clairbois' " Traite Elementaire de la Construction 
 des Vaisseaux," by J. N, Strange, Commander, R.N., Svo. with 5 larffe 
 folding plates, cloth, 5s 
 
 Poems, partly of Rural Life (in National English), 
 
 by William Barnes, Author of " Poems in the Dorset Dialect," 12mo. 
 cloth, 5s 
 
 Waifs and Strays (a Collection of Poetry), ]2mo. 
 
 onli/ 250 printed, chiefly for presents, setoed. Is 6d 
 
 Facts and Speculations on the History of Playing 
 
 Cards in Europe, by W. A. Chatto, Author of the ' History of Wood 
 Engraving, with Illustrations by J. Jackson,' Svo. profusely illustrated 
 with engravings, both -plain and coloured, cloth, £1. Is 
 " It is exceedingly amusing." — Atlas. " Indeed the entire production deserves our 
 
 warmest approbation." — Lit. Qaz. " A perfect fund of antiquarian research, and most 
 
 interesting even to persons who never play at cards." — Tail's Mag. 
 
 a. NOBATAN, PRINTER, MAIDETT LANE, COVENT GARDEN. 
 

 
 
 
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