Ballads in the Cumberland dialect by R. Anderson, with notes and a glossary, and a biographical sketch of the author |
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THE HAPPY COUPLE. |
 | Ballads in the Cumberland dialect |  |
THE HAPPY COUPLE.
Come, Mary, let's up Eden seyde,
An chat the ebemin hours away;
Tho' hard we toil, leyke millions mair,
Industrious fwok sud ay be gay;—
Far frae the slanderous noisy town,
It's sweet the murmerin streams to hear,
An share the joys o' peace an luive,
Wheyle some buy plishure far owre dear.
An chat the ebemin hours away;
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Industrious fwok sud ay be gay;—
Far frae the slanderous noisy town,
It's sweet the murmerin streams to hear,
An share the joys o' peace an luive,
Wheyle some buy plishure far owre dear.
Just mark that peer bit freetent hare,
Now neet draws on, frae heame she'll steal
The weyld burds sweet, in deyke or wood,
Now bid the sinkin sun fareweel;
They joyfu' sing the sang ov thenks,
On rock, on meedow, bush, or tree;
Nor try their partners to deceive—
O, that ilk mortal sae wad be!
Now neet draws on, frae heame she'll steal
The weyld burds sweet, in deyke or wood,
Now bid the sinkin sun fareweel;
They joyfu' sing the sang ov thenks,
On rock, on meedow, bush, or tree;
Nor try their partners to deceive—
O, that ilk mortal sae wad be!
That savage hawk, owre hill an glen,
Seeks some weak warbler to destroy;
True emblem o' the tyrant, man,
To crush the peer oft gi'es him joy:
The burds rejoice, an ha'e their toil,
Unshelter'd, blithe the blasts they beyde;
Wheyle oft, wi' plenty, man compleens,
Snug, seated by his awn fire-seyde.
Seeks some weak warbler to destroy;
True emblem o' the tyrant, man,
To crush the peer oft gi'es him joy:
The burds rejoice, an ha'e their toil,
Unshelter'd, blithe the blasts they beyde;
Wheyle oft, wi' plenty, man compleens,
Snug, seated by his awn fire-seyde.
Our sons come runnin, Dick and Ned,
Twee feyner niver went to schuil;
I'd suiner see them coffin'd low,
Than owther turn a fop or fuil.
The maister says Dick's fit for kurk;
And Ned in law peer fwok may seave:
What, judge and bishop they may sit,
When thee an me lig i' the greave.
Twee feyner niver went to schuil;
I'd suiner see them coffin'd low,
Than owther turn a fop or fuil.
The maister says Dick's fit for kurk;
And Ned in law peer fwok may seave:
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When thee an me lig i' the greave.
[illeg.]a, Mary! nowt e'er hurts mey meynd,
But when I cross the kurk-garth gang,
I think I see our aul fwok still,
For nowther wad dui onie wrang!
A helpless orphan tou was left,
An fadder, mudder, scarce e'er saw;
[illeg.]eath lost at sea—Nay, dunnet cry;
A better warl let's whop they know.
But when I cross the kurk-garth gang,
I think I see our aul fwok still,
For nowther wad dui onie wrang!
A helpless orphan tou was left,
An fadder, mudder, scarce e'er saw;
[illeg.]eath lost at sea—Nay, dunnet cry;
A better warl let's whop they know.
Sweet bloom'd aw roun, that summer mworn,
I carv'd our neames, now pleas'd we see;
Leyke us the tree was in its preyme,
But now it withers, sae mun we!
Sworn foes to streyfe, the joys of leyfe
We've shar'd sin furst I meade thee meyne;
Reet cheerfu' still, we'll bear ilk ill,
But come what will, let's ne'er repeyne!
I carv'd our neames, now pleas'd we see;
Leyke us the tree was in its preyme,
But now it withers, sae mun we!
Sworn foes to streyfe, the joys of leyfe
We've shar'd sin furst I meade thee meyne;
Reet cheerfu' still, we'll bear ilk ill,
But come what will, let's ne'er repeyne!
| Ballads in the Cumberland dialect | |