Poetry > Ballads in the Cumberland dialect

CUMBERLAND BALLADS.
47
But, God be prais’d, we’ve peace at last,
Tbe news hes spread afar;
Oh may our bairns and bairns’ bairns hear
Nae mair o’ murderous war.
THE CUMBERLAND FARMER.
've thought and I’ve thought agean and agean,
in I was peat-heet, now I see it quite plain,
hat farmers23 are happier far, tho’ we’re peer,
Than thur they caw gentlefwok, wi’ aw then- gear;
Then why about riches aye mek sec a fuss,
Gi’e us meat, drink, and cleading, it’s plenty for us:
Frae the prince to the ploughman, ilk hes but his
j day,
(And when Death gi’es a beckon, we aw mun obey.
^There’s our ’squire, wi’ his thousands, jant jantin
about,
SVhat! he’d gi’e aw his gear to get shot o’ the gout:
iSJowther heart-ach nor gout e’er wi’ rakin had I,
For labour brings that aw his gold cannot buy:
Then he’ll say to me, “Jacob, tou whussels and
Mess, lad, but you’ve ten times mair pleasure than
kings;
mean honest simplicity, freedom, and health;
n are dearer to man than the trappings o’
wealth.”