Constant lovers, or, Jemmy and Nancy of Yarmouth (1)/Daft Watty's ramble to Carlisle
DAFT WATTY’S RAMBLE TO CARLISLE.
If you ax me where I come frae, I say the fell syde.
Where fadder and mudder, and honest fwok beyde,
And my sweetheart, O bless her! she thought nyen like me,
For when she shuik’ hands, the tears gush’d frae her e’e,
Says I “I mun e’en get a spot if I can,
But whatever betide me, I’ll think o’ thee. Nan!”
Nan was a perfect beauty, wi’ twee cheeks like codlin blossoms; the verra sect on her made my mouth a’ water, “Fares-te-weel, Watty!” says she; “tou’s a wag amang lasses, and I’ll see thee nae mair!”—Nay, dunnet growl, Nan, says I—
“For, mappen, er lang, I’se be maister mysel’
Sae we buss’d, and I tuik a last luik at the fell;
On I whussl’d and wander’d: my bundle I flung
O’er my shoulder, when Cowley he after me sprung,
And howl’d, silly fellow! and fawn’d at my fit,
As if to say, Watty, we munnet part yet!
At Carel I stuid wi’ a strae i’ my mouth,
And they tuik me, nae doubt, for a promising youth;—
The weyves com round me in clusters—“What weage due te ax, canny lad?” says yen. “Wey, three pun and a crown; wunnet beate a hair o’ my beard.” “What can to dui?” says anudder. “ Dul—wey I cun plough, sow, mow, shear, thresh, dike, milk, kurn, muck a byer, sing a psalm, mend cargear, dance a whornpype, nick a nag’s tail, hunt a brock, or feight iver a yen o’ my weight in aw Croglin parish.”
An auld bearded hussy suin caw’d me her man;
But that day, I may say’t, aw my sorrow began.
Furst, Cowley, peur fellow! they hang’d i’ the street,
And skinn’d, God forgie them! for shoon to their feet,
I cry’d, and they caw’d me poor half-witted clown,
And banter’d and follow’d me all up and down;
Neist my deam she e’en starv’d me that ever liv’d weel,
Her hard words and luiks wad hae freeten’d the de’il.
She had a lang beard, for aw t’warl’ like a billygoat, wi’ a kiln-dried frosty face, and then the smawest leg o’ mutton in aw Carel market sarved the cat, me and her for a week. The bairns meade see gam on us, and thundered at the rapper, as if to waken a corp; when I opened the duir, they threw stour i’ my e’en, and caw’d me daft Watty;
Sae I pack’d up my duds when my quarter was out,
And, wi’ weage i’ my pocket, I saunter’d about.
Suin my reet hand breek pocket they pick’d in a fray,
And wi’ fifteen white shillings they slipp d clean away,
Forby my twee letters frae mudder and Nan,
Where they said Carel lasses wad Watty trapan;
Ay, there were some forgery chaps had me just sign my neame. “Nay,” says I, “you’ve gotten a wrang pig by the lug, for I cannot write!”, Then a fellow like a lobster, aw leac’d and feathered, ax’t me, “Watty, wull te list? thou’s either be a general or gomeral.” Nay, I winnet, that’s plain; I’s content wi’ a cwot a’ mudder’s spinnin;"
Now, wi’ twee groats and tuppence, I’ll e’en toddle heame,
But ne’er be a swodger, while Watty’s my neame,
Now my mudder ’ll gowel, and my fadder ’ll stare,
When I tell them poor Cowley they’ll never see mair;
Then they’ll bring me a stail; as for Nan she’ll be fain,
To seo I’m return’d to my friends yence again;—
The barn and the byer, and the auld hollow tree,
Will just seem like cronies yen’s fidgin to see:
The shoep aw ken Watty’s voice now. The peat-stack we used to lake round ’ill be burnt ere this! As for Nan, she’ll be owther married or broken-hearted ere now. An’ aw be weel, we’ll hae sic fun, sic fiddlin, dancin, drinkin, singin, and smeukin, till aw’s blue with us—
Amang aw our neybors see wonders I'll tell.
And never mair leave my auld friends or the fell.
THE END.