University of Virginia Library

Well, Betsy, what d'ye think o' that?
A pretty story to be at—
Me to be took an' scolded so
For things as I no more could know
Or think on, nor the babe unborn!
Good Lord! a wench like me 'ud scorn
To be beholden for I love ye
To them as is too far above ye
To court you in the reg'lar way:
Besides, I'd got my Jack. I lay
If he'd ha' heerd the master's tune
He'd ha' been at him pretty soon
Wi' worser words nor mine was—theer!
But, lass, I did feel precious queer,
Forced to give up a honest place
Only for blacking o' my face
To save mysel' a worse disgrace
Nor any soot or grime could be.
Still, it was lucky; for ye see
It wasna long afore I come
To have this kitchen for my home,
An' you my fellow-servant, Bess.
Theer's better homes nor this—oh yes;
But theer's a many not so good:
An' what for work, an' what for food,
An' two good masters, an' no missis,
I reckon it's a rare un, this is.
Aye, an' I'll keep it till I wed:
For Mr. John, you know, he said
(When I was telling him o' Jack,
An' how I reckon'd he'd be back
An' over here by Wissuntide,
An' may I ax him, sir), he sigh'd,
Did Mr. John, I dunno why,
An' says, “Why, Susan, certainly!
An' when thou's fix'd thy wedding day,”
Says he, “I'll give the bride away,
An' her shall have a wedding gown
An' wedding dinner, all her own,
In this here house,” says Mr. John.
That's what I call a proper mon,
Free-handed like, an' fit to be
A master over you an' me!
But Betsy, what was that theer knock?
Just go, lass, an' undo the lock—
It's maybe Jack! An' here I are,
Rough apron, an' my arms all bare,
An' ne'er a glass to see me in,
Short of our attic! What a din
His knuckles makes! Run quick, an' do it—
Tell him as I are chopping suet,
An' he'll believe you. Then you'll see
If Jack have got a kiss for me.