Poetry > Ballads in the Cumberland dialect

130 CUMBERLAND BALLADS.
THREESCWORE AND NINETEEN.
Tune—By lie Author.
Aye, aye, I’s feeble grown,
And feckless—weel I may!
I’s threescwore and nineteen.
Ay, just this varra day!
I ha’e nae teeth, my meat to chew,
But little sarras me:
The best thing I eat or drink,
Is just a cup o’ tea.
Aye, aye, the bairns mak gam,
And pleague me suin and late;
Men fwok I leyke i’ my heart,
But bairns and lasses hate.
This gown o’ meyne’s lang i’ the weast,
Aul-fashion’d i’ the sleeve;
It meks me luik leyke fourscwore,
I varily believe.
Aye, aye, what, I’s deef,
My bearin’s quite geane;
I’s fash’d wi’ that sad cough aw neet,
But little I complain.
I smuik a bit, and cough a bit,
And then I try to spin;
And then I daddle to the duir,
And then I daddle in.
Aye, aye, I wonder much
How women can get men;
I’ve tried for threescwore years and mair,
But never could get yen.