"This dog he runs wi' his tail to the south,
But co' on the landlord, an' he'll gi' mouth."
Once when his landlady, at the Dog, had urged him to clear off a long score, which he had run up at the house, he gave her the following promissory note, which was accepted:—
"I, John Oldland,
Befoar I gang hence,
Owe Betty Woodburn
Just six and two pence.
An', Thursday come sennet,
I'll pay off the auld scoar,
An' wha knas but I may
Spend twice as mich moar."
The smartest of John's rhymes was made on the occasion of his being put to trouble (as it is properly termed in the provincial dialect) by a lawyer, for some debt which he had incurred at Ulverston; a proof that not only poets, but all who meddle with rhyme, are poor. John repeated with emphasis—
"God mead men,
An' men mead money;
God mead bees,
An' bees mead honey;
But the D—l mead lawyers an' tornies,
An' pleac'd 'em at U'ston and Daltan i' Forness."
We shall only have room to notice another of these "rustic bards." He too was a Crosthwaite man, but of a more recent date. We do not intend to insinuate that there is any predisposing cause about Crosthwaite, that inclines the inhabitants to rhyme, but it happens that we remember these two at the present moment; by an association of ideas, the one has probably conjured up the other.
Jamie Muckelt was undoubtedly the best rhymer in that part of the country; and, consequently his rhymes have been more carefully preserved than those of any other. We have room, however, for only a few specimens.
Jamie was a farmer; and once, returning from the market he had overset, or, as he called it, capsized the cart. His wife was angry, and eagerly inquired the cause of such an accident. Jamie, with that sang froid for which he was so remarkable, only replied,
"Caerlessly, thou may depend—
Pooin' away at t' helter end."