University of Virginia Library

II. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR JOHN JOBSON AND HARRY HOMESPUN;

OCCASIONED BY THE MARCH OF THE HIGHLANDERS INTO LANCASHIRE IN THE YEAR 1745.

Sir John.
Was ye not sadly frighten'd, honest Harry,
To see those Highland Fellows?

Harry.
Not I, marry.

Sir J.
No? How comes that?

H.
Whoy, Sur, I conno' see
What theer wur in 'um that shid freeten me.

Sir J.
So many armèd Ruffians as came here,—
Was there not cause enough for all to fear?

H.
Aw whoa, Sur John? It, happen, mit be so
Wi' sich foine loardly Gentlemen as yo;
But we poor Foke—

Sir J.
Why, prithee, poor or rich,
Is it not much the same?

H.
Nou; not so mich.
We warken hard, as't iz, for meeat and clooas,
And connot eem to be so feert, God knooas.

Sir J.
But, Harry, to see Fire and Sword advance!
To have such Enemies as Rome and France!
Should not this move alike both Rich and Poor,
To drive impending Ruin from their Door?

H.
As for the Rich, Sur John, I conno' tell;
But for the Poor, I'll onser for mysel.
If Fire shid come, I ha' nout for it to brun,
Nor wark to find for oather “Swooard” or Gun;
For “France and Rome” my feering is no greater:
They lyen, I think, o'th' tother Side o'th' Weater.

Sir J.
You don't consider what may be the End
Of such a strange Indifference, my Friend.
Pray, whether you have more or less to lose,
Would you not guard your Country from its Foes?

H.
“My Country,” Sur? I have, yo' understond,
In aw the Country not one Inch o' Lond.
They that wood'n feight, and ha' Mon's Blood be spilt,
May, if they win;—but whoy mun I be kilt?

Sir J.
Your Country, Friend, is not the Ground alone;
There is the King that sits upon the Throne;
The Protestant Succession lies at Stake
That bloody-minded Papists want to shake.
Now, you have some Religion left, I hope,
And would not tamely give it to the Pope.

H.
He wou'd no' have it, happen, if I wou'd;
Th' oud Mon beloike mit think his ooan as gud;
And true Religion, Sur, if I have onny,
No Mon i'th' Ward con tak it fro' me, con he?

Sir J.
If you but knew, Friend Harry, what a Scene
Of Mischiefs happen'd in King James's Reign:
How, but for Orange's immortal Prince,
The Protestants had all been kill'd long since;
If I should tell you—

H.
Nay, we aw, Sur John,
Known weel enough that yo're a larnìd Mon;
So was my Gronfayther, and ore his Ale
Monny a Toime has toud another Tale;
And I darr say mi Gronfayther toud true;
For, lukko me, th' oud Felly wus no Foo,
Nor Rebbil noather,—

Sir J.
And what was't he toud?

H.
Whoy, moor a deeal than my Brainpon con houd.
Its like yo known as haoo, Sur, th' Oliverians
Cut off th' King's Hyead?

Sir J.
Yes.

H.
And haoo th' Presbyterians
Turnt aoot his Son, and maden a Rebelution?

Sir J.
They did it, Man, to save the Constitution;
'Twas Churchmen too that brought King William in
As well as they—

H.
Whoy, be they whoa they win,
One Egg, he sed, wus ne'er moor loike another
Than thooas two mak o' Foke wurn loike tone tother:
They wurn at aw toimes En'mies to th' blood Royal,
And naoo woud'n ha' it that none but hom are loyal:
Haoo con that be, Sur?

Sir J.
Why, I'll tell thee how—

H.
Nay, but yo connot.

Sir J.
Well, but hear me now,
Our Kings are Stewards—

H.
Sur, yo meean they wurn;
For Things, yo known, han tan another Turn:
The Stuarts' Race is—

Sir J.
Poh! thou takes me wrong.

H.
Haoo mun I tak o'reet?

Sir J.
I say, so long
As Kings are our Protectors,—

H.
Luk ye theer!
Oud Oliver agen—

Sir J.
Nay, prithee, hear,
And keep thy Nonsense in, till I have done,—

H.
Weel, Weel; I'zt hear yoars first then, if I mun.

Sir J.
The People, Harry, when they all agree—

H.
Aw, Sur?

Sir J.
Be quiet!—choose them a Trustee,
And call him King. Now, if he break his Trust,
They have a Right to turn him out, and must,
Unless they would be ruin'd: dost thou think
For one Man's swimming all the rest should sink?

H.
Yo lov'n a King, Sur, waintly; sink or swim,
No Mon, I foind, is to be draoont but him.
This chozzen King mit, happen, draoon yo furst;
Then yo mit sink him after, an yo durst.
If Folks may tak whot Kings they han a Moind,
Whot Faut wi' all theese Scotchmen con yo foind?

Sir J.
Hang 'em all!—Have they not a King already
That keeps his Contract with the People steady?
Rebels!

H.
Whoy, ay, that's reet, for they wur byetten;
They lost the Feight; but, haoo, if they had getten,
Wou'd yo ha' lik't it, Sur, if an Heelonder
Had toud oo,' Sauce for th' Goose wur Sauce for th' Gonder?

Sir J.
Thou'rt a sly Tyke; I'll talk with thee no more.

H.
Whoy, if yo pleeasen, then, Sur, ween give ore,
Wishing that e'ry Mon may have his Reet,
Feight as feight winn;—and so, Sur John, good Neet!

Sir J.
Thou'lt look, I find, to thy own Carcass still.

H.
Yoi, Sur, as lung as ere I con, I will.