The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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I'LL GANG AND SEE PHEMIE |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
I'LL GANG AND SEE PHEMIE
I'll gang and see Phemie she's fair and she's asy
She's as trim as new pins & as bright as a daisy
Her love's born to charm & never to fraze ye
So I'll gang and see Phemie the Irishmans joy
Och! her gown is the slate color Paddy my dear
I'll love her my honey through all the long year
Its with her my fancy I jist like to employ
And I'll set myself down as her tight Irish boy
She's as trim as new pins & as bright as a daisy
Her love's born to charm & never to fraze ye
So I'll gang and see Phemie the Irishmans joy
Och! her gown is the slate color Paddy my dear
I'll love her my honey through all the long year
Its with her my fancy I jist like to employ
And I'll set myself down as her tight Irish boy
So I laid down my hoe by the side o the praters
The sun had gone down in the best o' good natures
In the fold lay the sheep purty innocent craturs
And Phemie's the same to an Irishmans eye
I got to her cabin—Say's I, Phemie my dear
I'm that same that is standing a waiting here
Come in says she Paddy and dont look so quere
In I went I belave ye a light Irish boy—
The sun had gone down in the best o' good natures
In the fold lay the sheep purty innocent craturs
And Phemie's the same to an Irishmans eye
I got to her cabin—Say's I, Phemie my dear
I'm that same that is standing a waiting here
Come in says she Paddy and dont look so quere
In I went I belave ye a light Irish boy—
Sure Phemie says I, I'm in love wi the name o' ye
If I be'nt its loves truth they're all crying shame o' ye
I'm come to make love to ye, now don't make game o' me
Ye been my own blood & skin the whole of the year
Arrah Paddy says Phemie ye's are surely a dreaming
Why don't ye sit as'y its bothered yer seeming
The same as when Donny brook races yer leaving
When you gave me an orange Paddy my dear
If I be'nt its loves truth they're all crying shame o' ye
I'm come to make love to ye, now don't make game o' me
Ye been my own blood & skin the whole of the year
1010
Why don't ye sit as'y its bothered yer seeming
The same as when Donny brook races yer leaving
When you gave me an orange Paddy my dear
So make yerself asy my young bothered starling
Youre seated & welcome if Phemie's yer darling
So I gave her a kiss wi'out snicking or snarling
And fondly I took to my arms my own dear
I said my dear Phemie better see the Priest sent for
The truth o' that same was all that I went for
And the Priest wi his book leaves me nought to repent for
Her names on my heart & I'll keep it here—
Youre seated & welcome if Phemie's yer darling
So I gave her a kiss wi'out snicking or snarling
And fondly I took to my arms my own dear
I said my dear Phemie better see the Priest sent for
The truth o' that same was all that I went for
And the Priest wi his book leaves me nought to repent for
Her names on my heart & I'll keep it here—
| The later poems of John Clare | |