Poetry > Ballads in the Cumberland dialect

CUMBEEIiAITD BALLADS.
105
I’ll gi’e ye, says Dick, Durty Dinah,
That’s aye big ■wi’ bairn fwok suppose;
She sticks out her lip leyke a pentes,
To kep what may drop from her nwose:
Leyke a hay-stack she hoists up ae shou’der,
And scarts, for she’s nit varra soun:
Wi’ legs thick as mill-posts, and greasy,
The deevil cud not ding her down!
We’re aw odd fellows round Torkin;
We’re aw larn’d fellows weel met;
We’re aw rich fellows round Torkin;
Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat:
Let’s drink to the lasses about us,
Till day’s braid glare bids us part:
We’ll sup till the sailer be empty—
Come, Matthew, lad, boddom the quart.
I’ll gi’e ye, says Matt, midden Marget,
That squints wi’ the left-handed e’e;
When at other fellows she’s gleymin,
I’s freeten’d she’s luikin at me:
She smells far stronger than carrion,
Her cheeks are as dark as hung beef,
Her breasts are as flat as a back-buird:
’Mang sluts she’s aye counted chief!
We’re aw wise fellows round Torkin;
We’re aw neyce fellows weel met:
We’re aw sad fellows round Torkin,
Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat:
Let’s drink to the lasses about us,
Till day’s braid glare bids us part;
We’ll sup till the sailer be empty—
Com, Gwordy, lad, boddom the quart.