Poetry > Ballads in the Cumberland dialect

82
CUMBERLAND BALLADS.
How neyce the spunky fire it bums,
For twee to sit beside!
And there’s the seat where Jwohnie sits,
And I forget to cheyde!
My fadder, tui, how sweet he snwores!
My mudder’s fast asleep;
He promis’d oft, but, oh! I fear
His word he wunnet keep!
What can it be keeps him frae me?
The ways are nit sae lang,
And sleet and snaw are nought at aw,
If yen were fain to gang!
Some ither lass, wi’ bonnier feace,
Has catch’d his wicked ee,
And I’ll be pointed at at kurk—
Nay! suiner let me dee!
O durst we lasses nobbet gang,13
And sweetheart them we like,
I’d rin to thee, my Jwohnie lad,
Nor stop at bog or dyke;
But custom’s sec a silly thing,
For men mun hae their way,
And mony a bonnie lassie sit,
And wish frae day to day.
But, whisht! I hear my Jwohnie’s fit—
Aye! that’s his varra clog!
He steeks the faul yeat softly tui—
0 hang that cwoley dog!
Now, hey for seeghs and sugar words,
Wi’ kisses nit a few—
O but this warl’s a paradise,
When lovers they pruive true!
July SI, ms.