JAMIE’S FROLIC.
Th’ chylt were asleep, an’ my clooas were reet; Th’ baggin’ were ready, an’ o’ lookin’ sweet; But aw’re mazy, an’ nattle, an’ fasten’t to tell What the dule it could be that’re ailin’ mysel’; An’ it made me so naught, That, o’ someheaw, aw thought, “Aw could just like a snap at eawr Mall.”
Poor lass, hoo were kinder becose aw were quare; “Come, Jamie, an’ sattle thisel in a cheer; Thae’s looked very yonderly mony a day; It’s grievin’ to see heaw thae’rt wearin’ away, An’ trailin’ abeawt, Like a hen at’s i’th meawt; Do, pritho, poo up to thi tay!
“Thae wants some new flannels; thae’s getten a cowd Thae’rt noather so ugly, my lad, nor so owd; But, thae’rt makin’ thisel’ into nought but a slave, Wi’ weighvin’, an’ thinkin’, an’ tryin’ to save;— Get summat to heyt, Or thae’ll go eawt o’ seat,— For thae’rt wortchin thisel’ into th’ grave.”
Thinks I, “Th’ lass’s reet, an’ aw houd wi’ her wit;” So aw said—for aw wanted to cheer her a bit— “Owd crayter, aw’ve noan made my mind up to dee, A frolic’ll just be the physic for me! Aw’ll see some fresh places, An’ look at fresh faces— An’ go have a bit ov a spree!”
Then, bumpin’ an’ splashin’ her kettle went deawn; “I’th name o’ good Katty, Jem, wheer arto beawn? An’ what sort o’ faces dost want—con to tell? Aw deawt thae’rt for makin’ a foo o’ thisel’,— The dule may tent th’ o’on, Iv aw go witheawt shoon, Aw’ll see where thae gwos to mysel’!”