Ballads in the Cumberland dialect :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lal Stephen was bworn at Kurkbanton,
Just five feet three inches was he;
But at plowing, or mowing, or shearin,
His match you but seldom cud see;
Then at dancin, O he was a capper!
He'd shuffle and lowp till he sweat;
And for singin he ne'er hed a marrow,
I just think I hear his voice yet.

And then wid a sleate and a pencil,
He capp'd aw our larned young lairds;
And played on twee jew-trumps together,
And aye come off winner at cards:
At huntin a brock or an otter,
At trackin a foumert or hare,
At pittin a cock or at shootin,
Nae lad cud wi' Stephen compare.

And then he wad feight like a fury,
And count fast as hops aw the stars,
And read aw the news i' the paper,
And talk about weddins and wars;
And then he wad drink like a Briton,
And spend the last penny he had,
And aw the peer lasses about him,
For Stephen were runnin stark mad.

Our Jenny she writ him a letter,
And monie a feyne thing she said—
But my fadder he just gat a gliff on't,
And faith a rare durdem he meade;
Then Debby, that leev'd at Drumleenin,
She wad hev him aw till hersel,
For ae neet when he stuil owre to see her,
Wi' sugar she sweetened his keale.

Then Judy she darned aw his stockins,
And Sally she meade him a sark,
And Lizzy, the laird's youngest dowter,
Kens weel whe she met efter dark;
Aunt Ann, o' the wrang seyde o' fifty,
E'en thowt him the flower o' the flock—
Nay, to count yen by yen aw his sweethearts,
Wad tek a full hour by the clock.

O! but I was vext to hear tell on't,
When Nichol the teydens he brought,
That Stephen was geane for a soldier—
Our Jenny she gowled, ay, like ought:

Sin' that we've nae spwort efter supper,
We nowther get sang or a crack;
Our lasses sit beytin their fingers,
Aw wishin for Stephen seafe back.

November 15, 1802.