Poetry > Ballads in the Cumberland dialect

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CUMBERLAND BALLADS.
TOM LINTON. >»
Tone—" Come under my Plaidie."
Tom Linton was bwom till a brave canny fortune,
His auld fadder screap’d aw tbe gear up be cud;
But Tom, country booby, luik’d owre bee abuin
bim,
And mix’d wi’ tbe bad, nor e’er heeded tbe
good;
At tbe town he’d whore, gammle, play hell and
the deevil.
He wad bev his caper, nor car’d bow it com;
Then be mud hev bis greyhounds, guns, setter,
and hunter,
And king o’ tbe cockers they aw cursen’d Tom.
I think I just see bow tbe lads wad flock roun
him.
And, oh! they were fain to shek Tom by tbe
band!
Then he’d tell how be fit wi’ tbe barbers and
bullies,
And drank wi’ tbe waiter till nowther cud stan;
His watch be wad show, and bis lists o’ tbe horses,
And pou out a guinea, and offer to lay,
Till our peer country lads grew uneasy and lazy,
And Tom cud hae coax’d hawf the parish away.
Then be drank wi’ tbe ’squire, and laugh’d wid
his worship,
And talk’d of tbe duke, and tbe deevil kens
wbee;
He gat aw the new-fangled oaths i’ the nation,
And mock’d a peer beggar man wanting an e’e: