SANNTER, BELLA!

Sannter, Bella!—Bliss the’, sannter,

Th’u’ll be seun aneuf at heàm;

Gā’n frae t’ chūrch at sec a cannter,

Fwoke ’ll sweer th’u’s thinkin’ shām’—

Shām’ ’at I sud woak aside the’!

Does t’e, Bella, shām’ o’ me?

Whey than, bide the’, dar it, bide the’!—

Few’s sa leet o’ t’ feut as thee.

Si’s t’e, Bella, nay but, si’s t’e,

Hoo th’u’s makin’ t’ ne’bours laugh;

Th’u’s a taistrel fair ’at is t’e,

But I like thee weel——Hŭt, shaff!—

Whoa can tell his stwory rūnnin?—

Whoa can coort an’ win a reàce?—

If th’u’s flay’t I’s foase, or fūnnin’,

Stop, an’ leuk me fair i’ t’ feàce!

Leuk, an’ see if I wad cheat the’—

Leuk, I tell the’, glimes wont dee!

Whativer wrang’t the’, I wad reet the’,

Whoa-iver fails the’, trust i’ me.

Wait! Nay, tak’ mair time, I pray the’—

Shūttin’ frae yan like a dart—

Nowte for nowte I’s axin’ frae the’—

Nowte for nowte, but heart for heart.

Sannter, than! Nay, Bella, sannter!

I’ll nūt say ya wūrd ’at’s wrang,

But th’u’s a wannter!—I’s a wannter!

An’ nowder sud be wannters lang.

Thoo kens what sec a heàm I’ve gitten—

Ken’s o’ ’s reet, an’ straight, an’ square—

Ken’s o’ wad fit the’ like a mitten;

What the hangment wad t’e mair?

Sannter! sannter!! sannter, Bella!!!

Gi’ me time to tell my teàl;

’Tis n’t kind to mak’ a fellow

T’ laughin-stock of hoaf o’ t’ deàl.

Does t’e think o’ ’s nūt fairation?

Hes t’e any foat to finnd?

Nay! Whey than, ther’s nèa ’casion—

Hŭh—By jing, I’s oot o’ wind!

’Beàt thy speed! Dar sonn, I’ll ho’d the’!

Ho’d the’ till I’ve said my say—

Till my heart’s ya wish I’ve shew’d the’,

Gittin’ back for ’t ey or nay.

Wil’t’e than, say, wil’t’e wed me?

Ah! Thou wadn’t still say—no!

Faith! a bonnie dance th’u’s led me,

But that lāl squeeze mak’s up for o’!—

T’ squeeze frae thy smo’ fing-ers, Bella!

Trimlin’ here i’ my rough hand;

It’s queer a touch sa leet can tell a

Teàl sa plain to understand;

It’s queerer thoo sūd be sa freeten’t,—

Flay’t when nowte at o’ ’s amiss.

Loavin! How thy feàce has breeten’t,

Reedenin’ up at t’ furst fair kiss.

BRANTHET NEUK BOGGLE.
(A TEAL FOR A WINTER NEEGHT.)

’At Marron Beck’s a bonnie beck, what mazelin wad deny?

An’ what compares wi’ Branthet Neùk ’at Marron Beck gā’s by?

Wid hoozes white, an’ worchets green, an’ Marron runnin’ clear,

Eigh! Branthet Neùk’s a heartsome spot i’ t’ sūnny time o’ year!

But loave! it is a dowly pleàce when winter neeghts growe lang;

For t’ lwoan ligs dark atween it’s banks,—- a flaysome rwoad to gang

When t’ wind rwoars wild in t’ trees abeùn, an’ Marron rwoars below,—

An’ Branthet Neuk’s a hantit spot, as I’ve some reeght to know.

They say a heidless woman woaks at sartin neeghts o’ t’ year,

An’ greàns an’ yewls at sec a rate as freeghtens fwoke to hear;

I wadn’t mind sec teàls, but yance I gat a freeght me-sel’

I’ Branthet Neùk, an’ hoo it was, just lissen an’ I’ll tell.

Yā neeght, lang sen, at Cursmass time, wid Cursmass mak’ o’ wedder,

A lock on us at Branthet met, to hev a glass togidder;

We crack’t, an’ jwok’t, an’ drank, an’ smeuk’t, while hoaf o’ t’ neeght went by,

For Isbel Simon’ drink was gud, an’ we war rayder dry!

’Twas lownd an’ leàt—past yan o’clock—wid nūt a spark o’ moon:

An’ like a clood o’ cardit woo’, thick snow keep’t sinkin’ doon,

When reeght up t’ Neùk three Jwohn’s an’ me went wādin’ heàm through t’ snow—

Jwohn Suntan, an’ Jwohn Bell o’ t’ Rayes, an’ Jwohn o’ Craypless Ho’.

We’d gitten hoaf o’ t’ way up t’ lwoan,—nār Edward Beeby’ yat,

An’ theear we stopp’t, for marcy me! a parlish freeght we gat,

Lood greàns we heard—lang hollow beels, ’at shak’t oor varra beàns,

“For God-seàk, lads, mak on,” sez yan, “them’s t’ heidless woman’ greàns!”

“But nay,” sez I, “if wantin’ t’ heid, she raises sec a rout,

I’d like to see what way she taks to fetch sec haybays oot;

They say yan stops a woman’s noise when yan taks off her heid,

But this, by gock! wad mak yan sweer they’re noisy whick or deid.”

It’s Burns ’at sez Jwohn Barleycworn can mak yan bold as brass;

An’ Isbel’ drink meàd me quite keen this greànin’ thing to feàce.

We shootit Edward Beeby up an’ meàd ‘im git a leeght—

He grummel’t sair to be disturb’t at sec a time o’ neeght,

But brong yan oot;—an’, led bee t’ lugs, we follow’t efter t’ soond,

While clwose t’ swine-hull dooar we com, an’ stopt, an’ gedder’t roond.

“By gockers, lads!” Jwohn Suntan said, “It’s no’but Edward’ swine!”

“Nay, nay,” sez Edward, “mine’s i’ soat—it’s nèa pig o’ mine!”

“Well, I’ll gā in, an’ see,” sez I. O’ t’ rest steud leukin on

As in I creept wid t’ leeght, an’ fund greit lang Joe Nicholson

Hoaf cover’t up wid mucky strea,—soond asleep,—and snworin’,

As if o’ t’ bulls o’ Dean war theear, an’ ivery bull was rwoarin’.

We trail’t him oot, an’ prop’t him up ageàn t’ oald swine-hull wo’—

An’ dazet wid coald he glower’t aboot, an’ dadder’t like to fo’—

We help’t ‘im in, an’ hap’t ‘im weel, on t’ squab aback o’ t’ dooar,

He said his wife had barr’t ‘im oot, as oft she’d deun afooar.

Sez Jwohn o’ t’ Rayes, “If iv’ry neeght he maks sa gurt a din,

It’s rayder queer a wife like his sud iver let ‘im in;

It’s varra weel we hārd ‘im though, he med ha’ dee’t o’ coald!

Come, let’s git yam!”—an’ laughin’ loud, we lonter’t oot o’ t’ foald.

Jwohn Suntan’s rwoad left oor’s gay seun, an’ sooa dud Jwohn Bell’s,

An’ Jwohn o’ Craypless Ho’ an’ me went poapin’ on oorsells,

An’ no’but slow, for t’ snow was thick, an’ meàd it bad to woke,

Sooa mid-leg deep we striddel’t on, but offen steud to toke.

Jwohn hed a faymish crack in ‘,—his fadder hed afooar ‘,—

At teàls an’ sangs, an’ sec like fun not many cud cum ower ‘;

An’ theàr an’ than, dud Jwohn set on, at t’ furst gud rist we teuk,

To tell me hoo ther com to be a ghost i’ Branthet Neùk.

Sez Jwohn, sez he, “I’ Branthet Neùk, as varra weel thoo knows,

’Tween t’ beck an’ Edward Beeby’ hoose ther stands some brocken wo’s;

Lang sen, when they hed roofs on them, yance, leàtish on i’ t’ year,

Some tinkler fwoke gat leave fray t’ lword, an’ com to winter theear.

“Two oald fwoke, wid a scrowe o’ barns, an’ yā son, jūst a man,—

A handy chap to shap’ a speun, or cloot a pot or pan,—

An’ this chap hed a bonnie wife, ’at dūdn’t leuk like t’ rest,

But fair, clean-skinn’t, an’ leàdy-like, an’ ol’as nicely drest.

‘An’ hoo she com to be wid them was niver reeghtly known,

But nebbers so’ she wasn’t used as if she’d been ther oan;

For t’ oald fwoke soas’t her neet an’ day,—her man—a dūrty tike!—

Wad bray her wid a besom-stick, a thyvel, or sec like;

“Tull yance a nebber teùk her in, when t’ tinklers flang her oot,

An’ she let fo’ a wūrd or two ’at brong a change aboot;

She telt o’ sūm stown geese an’ sheep, an’ whoar they hed them hidden;

Of mutton up on t’ sleeping loft, an’ skins anonder t’ midden.

“It wasn’t many wūrds she said,—but wūrds she said anew

To bring t’ oald tinkler and her man tull what was weel ther due;

For lang i’ Cārel jail they laid, an’ when t’ assize com on,

T’ Jūdge let t’ oald waistrel lowce ageàn, but hang’t his whopeful son.

“An’ back frae Cārel t’ tinkler com, to Branthet reeght away,

An’ ’ticet t’ poor lass frae t’ nebber’s hoose whoar she’d beep fain to stay;

He promish’t fair to treat her weel, and dūd while t’ seckint neeght,

An’ than, (reeght pleas’t was Branthet fwok,) he meàd a moonleeght fleeght.

“An’ days went by an’ neàbody went nār to t’ tinkler’s dooar,

At last some barns peep’t in an’ so’ some huller’t bleùd on t’ flooar,

An’ than t’ hoose dooar was drūven in, an’ sec a seeght was theer,

’At sūm ’at so ’t went reid wid reàge, an’ sūm went white wid fear.

“Squeez’t up intull a dūrty neùk, an’ bleùdy, stark, an’ deid,

They fūnd that nice young lass’s corp, bit niver fūnd her heid;

T’ oald tinkler hoond hed hagg’t it off afooar he meàd a fleeght on ’t,

An’ teàn it wid him, fwoke suppwos’t, to gud his-sel’ wid t’ seet on’t.

“An’ nin o’ t’ clan at efter that i’ t’ country side was seen.

But iver sen a hantit spot hes that Neùk-lonning been,

For t’ mūrder’t woman wokes aboot, an’ greàns, for o’ she’s deid,

As lood as what we hārd to-neeght,—they say she laits her heid!”

“Wey, weel deùn, Jwohn!” to Jwohn sez I, “an’ thenks ta for thy teàl,

It’s meàd me hoaf forgit hoo t’ snow maks o’ my teeàs geàl;

Th’u’s just at heàm,—gud neeght, my lad, but fūrst hear this fray me,

If iv’ry teàl ’at’s telt be true, thy stwory’s neà lee!”