The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
BALLAD
[Besseys the top wench that walks on a sunday]
Besseys the top wench that walks on a sunday
To seek for a sweet heart or show a new dress
Once I lovd nelly a short stump a grundy
But soon left her off when I saw bonny bess
Bess at the moment my heart gun a stealing
I quakt like a leef when we met tother day
O lud as I passd her Id such a quere feeling
My heart turnd as cold as a nogging of clay
To seek for a sweet heart or show a new dress
Once I lovd nelly a short stump a grundy
But soon left her off when I saw bonny bess
Bess at the moment my heart gun a stealing
I quakt like a leef when we met tother day
O lud as I passd her Id such a quere feeling
My heart turnd as cold as a nogging of clay
I kept dilly dally fear shed me be scorning
Tho morts of good kindnesses beamd in her eye
So I seizd on the chance as I met her this morning
& catchd her white hand as she went to slip bye
‘How do’ said I bessey & dont ye be shanny
Say will ye be mine or Jack straws will ye be
She turnd ah as red as the cloak of her granny
John straw sed she softly is nothing to me
Tho morts of good kindnesses beamd in her eye
So I seizd on the chance as I met her this morning
& catchd her white hand as she went to slip bye
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Say will ye be mine or Jack straws will ye be
She turnd ah as red as the cloak of her granny
John straw sed she softly is nothing to me
Ah ah thinks I bessey I see how it work[s] ye
I see who your bosom esteems as the chap
Her cheek now woud crumple as red as a turkey
& then again sadden as white as her cap
She sed shed no reasons to find a fault wi me
& that were as much as she ought to confess
Well honey said I take that kiss frow yere Jemmy
& you'd tell yer mother yer his bonney bess
I see who your bosom esteems as the chap
Her cheek now woud crumple as red as a turkey
& then again sadden as white as her cap
She sed shed no reasons to find a fault wi me
& that were as much as she ought to confess
Well honey said I take that kiss frow yere Jemmy
& you'd tell yer mother yer his bonney bess
| The early poems of John Clare | |