Ballads in the Cumberland dialect by R. Anderson, with notes and a glossary, and a biographical sketch of the author |
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PEGGY PEN. |
 | Ballads in the Cumberland dialect |  |
155
PEGGY PEN.
The muin shone breet, the tudder neet;
The kye were milk't, aw wark was duin;
I shav'd mysel, en cwom't my hair,
Threw off the clogs, pat on greas'd shoon;
The clock strack eight, as out I stule;
The rwode I tuik, reet weel I ken;
An crosst the watter, clam the hill,
I whops to meet wi' Peggy Pen.
The kye were milk't, aw wark was duin;
I shav'd mysel, en cwom't my hair,
Threw off the clogs, pat on greas'd shoon;
156
The rwode I tuik, reet weel I ken;
An crosst the watter, clam the hill,
I whops to meet wi' Peggy Pen.
When i' the wood, I hard some talk;
They cuttert on, but varra low;
I hid mysel ahint a yek,
An Peggy wid a chap suin saw:
He smakt her lips, she criet, “give owre!
We lasses aw er pleaguet wi' men,”
I trimlin stuid, but dursent speak;
Tho' fain wad coddelt Peggy Pen!
They cuttert on, but varra low;
I hid mysel ahint a yek,
An Peggy wid a chap suin saw:
He smakt her lips, she criet, “give owre!
We lasses aw er pleaguet wi' men,”
I trimlin stuid, but dursent speak;
Tho' fain wad coddelt Peggy Pen!
He cawt her Marget, sometymes Miss;
He spak queyte feyne, an kisst her han;
He braggt ov aw his fadder hed—
I seeght; for we've na house er lan:
Said he, “My dear, I've watch'd you oft,
And seen you link through wood and glen,
With one George Moor, a rustic poor,
Not fit to wait on sweet Miss Pen!”
He spak queyte feyne, an kisst her han;
He braggt ov aw his fadder hed—
I seeght; for we've na house er lan:
Said he, “My dear, I've watch'd you oft,
And seen you link through wood and glen,
With one George Moor, a rustic poor,
Not fit to wait on sweet Miss Pen!”
She drew her han, and turn'd her roun;
“Let's hae nae mair sec tawk,” says she;
“Tho' Gwordie Muir be nobbet puir,
He's dearer nor a prince to me!
Mey fadder scauls, mworn, nuin, and neet;
Mey mudder fratches sair, what then?
Aw this warl's gear cud niver buy
Frae Gworge, the luive o' Peggy Pen,”
“Let's hae nae mair sec tawk,” says she;
“Tho' Gwordie Muir be nobbet puir,
He's dearer nor a prince to me!
Mey fadder scauls, mworn, nuin, and neet;
Mey mudder fratches sair, what then?
Aw this warl's gear cud niver buy
Frae Gworge, the luive o' Peggy Pen,”
157
“O Miss!” says he, “forget such fools;
Nor heed the awkward stupid clown;
If such a creetcher spoke to me,
I'd quickly knock the booby down!”
“Come on!” says I, “thy strength een try;
An heed owre heels sec chaps I'd sen;
Lug off thy cwoat; I'll feight aw neet,
Wi' three, leyke thee, for Peggy Pen!”
Nor heed the awkward stupid clown;
If such a creetcher spoke to me,
I'd quickly knock the booby down!”
“Come on!” says I, “thy strength een try;
An heed owre heels sec chaps I'd sen;
Lug off thy cwoat; I'll feight aw neet,
Wi' three, leyke thee, for Peggy Pen!”
Now off he flew; my airms I threw
About her weast; away we went;
I ax'd her, if she durst be meyne;
She squeez'd my han, an gev consent:
We tawkt and jwokt, as lovers sud;
We partet at their awn byre en;
An ere anudder month be owre,
She'll change, to Muir, frae Peggy Pen!
About her weast; away we went;
I ax'd her, if she durst be meyne;
She squeez'd my han, an gev consent:
We tawkt and jwokt, as lovers sud;
We partet at their awn byre en;
An ere anudder month be owre,
She'll change, to Muir, frae Peggy Pen!
| Ballads in the Cumberland dialect | |