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The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland."

Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale; With a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell
  

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BARLEY BROTH.
  
  
  
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BARLEY BROTH.

[_]

Air—Crowdy.

If tempers were put up to seale,
Our Jwohn's wad bear a duced preyce;
He vow'd 'twas barley i' the broth,—
Upon my word, says I, it's reyce.
“I mek nea faut,” our Jwohnny says,
“The broth is guid and varra neyce;
I only say—it's barley broth.”
Tou says what's wrang, says I, it's reyce.
“Did ever mortal hear the leyke!
As if I hadn't sense to tell!
Tou may think reyce the better thing,
But barley broth dis just as well.”

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“And sae it mud, if it was there;
The deil a grain is i' the pot;
But tou mun ayways threep yen down,—
I've drawn the deevil of a lot!”
“And what's the lot that I have drawn?
Pervarsion is a woman's neame!
Sae fares-te-weel! I'll sarve my king,
And never, never mair come heame.”
Now Jenny frets frae mworn to neet;
The Sunday cap's nae langer neyce;
She aye puts barley i' the broth,
And hates the varra neame o' reyce.
Thus treyfles vex, and treyfles please,
And treyfles mek the sum o' leyfe;
And treyfles mek a bonny lass
A wretched or a happy weyfe!