Poems, Ballads and Bucolics :: :: University of Virginia Library

I'm not of the sort as is feared o' crossin' the choorch-yard o' nights,
The man with his heäd off his showders he nivver gev' meä the frights.
I've gethered star-shot i' the fieälds, but I doan't think it fell fro' the skies,
And as fur them “fairy-rings,” it's all a parshel o' lies.
But I'll 'low that I moästlins 'ull burn the hegg-shell I've 'ed to my teä,
To prevent them howry owd witches fro' crossin' the Mablethorpe seä—
Fur tha knoäs theer wur witches of old i' the Bible, and divvils an' all,
And our parson 'e's allus a-preeächin' we ain't gotten shut o' the “Fall.”
Fwoaks talks abowt vervein and dill, and pins putten hunder the floor,

131

But “wicken” 's the thing, I'll uphowd it, fur keepin' the witch fro' the door.
I 'member our maister's owd “gaffman,”—it's gone upo' seventy year—
They wur takkin' threeä hay-loaden waggins, the Scrembleby witch wur theer,
And she crossed the rooäd wi' her stick, and two o' them waggins fell,
But the “gaffman” druv reight forrart, and the witch—soä I've heärd tell—
Wur all of a dither, and shak', and she skirled out fit to be mad,
“The divvil shall goä with the man as goäs wi' the wicken gad.”
Whoy didn't we clam the witches? they cud nivver be hodden by noä man—
Fur a witch wud chaänge to a hare, and back ageän into a woman.
My feyther wonst watched fur my laädy, and set on his owd splayed bitch,
And just as sheä popped i' the cat-hole, dog clammed the Scrembleby Witch,
Teäred a pieäce owt' 'ner an' all; when they commed to her cottage door

132

Yon hare was chaänged back to a woman, but theer wur the blood o' the floor.
Tha mun knaw, if tha nobbut draws blood fro' a witch the witches is done.
My bruther wonst scrawmed an owd witch—ay, 'e's deäd these forty year gone—
'E was amblin' one night fro' the fair, and she joomped on 'is 'erse's back,
'E 'ad gotten a reeäp hook i' hand, and 'e fetched the owd critter a whack,
And theer i' the morn o' the pillion wur blood, and blood i' the rooäd;
'E wur nivver disturbed no moor by the witch when he venter'd abrooäd.
Till we got clear shut o' the witches, the country was all of a tew,
Theer wur nivver no sureness i' baäkin, and hoffens we lost the brew,
And the wizard's wud cockle the barley, and the witches wud smut the coärn,
And blaämt if they wudn't wish ill to the babbies afore they wur boärn.
Theer wur toimes when the cows i' good milkin' wi' plenty o' gress 'ud goä dry,

133

Fwoaks laäid it to “otchen,” —I knawed wi' mysen 'twur the witch's eye.
We'd a gell o' the farm as wur witched, and she got quoite disgraäced wi' a wen,
And it wudn't not stirr thoff she went to the gallus and touched threeä men—
And the touch of a man that is hinged is as good as a king's, they saäy.
Eh, the witches wur bad sewer-ly, but the “wise uns” wur wuss ony daäy,
Fur the “wise uns,” my dear, cud wish tha, and fetch tha fro' far awaäy.
My owd man used to tell he was kiddin' o' furze upo' Hagnaby Hill,
'E wur wished, and coom reightlins hoff, and noä time to get “mittens” nor “bill,”
But he fun hissen down at the Bull, and the “wise man” gawmin' theer,
And fixed he wur all ov a moäment, and cudn't ha' rembled 'is cheëir,
Noä, not fur a thousand pounds, and the fire got scorchin' his kneeäs;
“Sit furder, tha fool,” groomped the “wise un,” and my maister sed “Yeës, if you pleeäse.”

134

But I wean't saäy the “wise uns” did nowt to addle theer daäily breäd,
Fur one they called Stainton o' Louath, he telled where they fun' a man deäd;
And but fur owd Cossit to 'vise us when Bessie with kingcough took ill,
Wes hud nivver ha' knawed o' the vally o' sow-beetles took fur a pill.
Eh, luvvy! I moind it as clearly as if it wur nobbut to-weeäk,
How I went when our threeä hogs wur stoälen fur all they 'ed gitten owr streeäk;
And the “wise man” he grooäned i' the sperit, his chimly was all of a rooär,
We sattled i' terms, and I bid 'im threeä pound, thoff he axed fur moore.
Then he showed meä the feller as stoäle 'em, and he gev me a hetherd-stoän charm,
And be hangt if it wasn't our neahbour who wukked on the next dooär farm!
Od blaäm 'im; we nivver sed nowt, but the “wise man” 'e put on 'is back
A curse fur a thousand years, till Saätan hes gotten the sack.

135

They telled meä that ivvery Lammas till the theeäf wur laäid i' the “yard,”
He wud snort like a herse round his paster, and wud plunge and gallop it hard;
Noä dowt it wur 'long o' the “wise un,” for wizards is under a curse,
They feeäl that th' owd feller has got 'em, and they luvvs to seeä other fwoaks wurse.
But the last o' the “wise uns” as died, he sent fur the parson, I red
I' the paäpers, “I've lived a wise man, and I's dyin' a fool, sir!” he sed.
Fwoaks saäy that it's dreäinin' as druv 'em, but I saäy it's along o' God's graäce,
And the nasty owd things isn't hended, they nobbut hev chaänged theer plaäce.
Fur my grand-daughter's gell, i' her missiony booäk, was a-reädin' to meä,
They're a sight o' tormentaätion to the blackamoors hoäver the seä.
Well, the Lord knaws his oän, and the divvil will cling to his oän to the last,
But I'm solidly Christian-glad that the toimes of the witches is past.

A white gelatinous fungus.

Rowan-tree.

Shrieked.

The Hedgehog.

Making faggots.

Moved.

Wood-lice.

Adder-stone, old spindle whorls used as a charm.