Poetry > Ballads in the Cumberland dialect

24
CUMBERLAND BALLADS.
The Thuirsby lads they fit the best;
The Worton Weavers drank the meast;
But Brough-seyde lairds bang’d aw the rest
For braggin o’ their gear,
And singin—Whurry whum, whuddle whum,
Whulty whalty, wha-wha-wha,
And derry dum, diddle dum,
Derry eyden dee.
Furst helter skelter frae the kurk;
Some off like fire, through dub and mire;
“ Deil tek the hindmost!” Meer’ lad cries—■
Suin head owre heels he flew:
“God speed ye weel!” the priest rwoar’d out,
“Or neet we’s hae a hearty bout”—
Peer Meer’ lad gat a bleaken’d snout—
He’d mickle cause tae rue—
It spoil’d his—Whurry whum, &c.
When on the teable furst they set
The butter’d sops, sec greasy chops,
’Tween lug and laggen! oh what fun,
To see them gim and eat!
Then lisping Isbel talk’d sae feyne,
’Twas “vathly thockin* thuth to dine;
Theck grivethf wark! to eat like thweyne !”J
It meade her sick to se’et;
Then we sung—Whurry whum, &c.
Neist stut’rin Cursty, up he ruse,
Wi’ a-a-a, and ba-ba-ba;
He’d kiss Jen Jakes, for aw lang seyne,
And fearfu’ wark meade he;
* Vastly shocking. t Such grievous. t Swine.