BORROWDALE JWOHNY.

AIR: "I am a young fellow."

I's Borrowdale Jwohny, just cumt up to Lunnon,
Nay, girn nit at me, for fear I laugh at you;
I've seen knaves donn'd i' silks, and guid men gang
in tatters,

The truth we sud tell, and gie auld Nick his due. Nan Watt pruiv'd wi' bairn-what, they caw'd me the fadder;

Thinks I, shekum filthy! be off in a tryce! Nine Carel bank nwotes mudder slipt i' my pocket, And fadder neist gev me reet holesome adveyce.

Says he, "keep frae t' lasses! and ne'er luik ahint thee."

"We're deep as the best o' them, fadder," says I. They pack'd up ae sark, Sunday weastcwoat, twea neckcloths,

Wot bannock, cauld dumplin, and top stannin pie: I mounted black filly, bade God bless the auld fwok, Cries fadder, "Tou's larn'd, Jwohn, and hes

nought to fear;

Caw and see cousin Jacop! he's got aw the money; He'll git thee sum guverment pleace, to be seer!"

I stopp'd on the fell, tuik a lang luik at Skiddaw,

And neist at the schuil-house amang the esh trees; Last thing saw the smuik rising up frae our chimley,

And fun' aw quite queer, wid a heart ill at ease:

But summet within me cried, Pou up thy spirits!

There's luck, says auld Lizzy, in feacin the sun; Tou's young, lish, and cliver, may wed a feyne leady, And come heame a Nabob-aye, sure as a gun!

Knowing manners, what, I doff'd my hat to aw strangers,

Wid a spur on my heel, a yek siplin in han', It tuik me nine days and six hours comin up-bank, At the Whorns-aye, 'twas Highget, a chap bad

me stan':

Says he, "How's all friends in the North, honest Johnny?"

Odswunters! I says, what, ye divent ken me! I paid twea wheyte shillins, and fain was to see him, Nit thinkin on't rwoad onie 'quaintance to see.

Neist thing, what big kurks, gilded cwoaches, hee houses,

And fwok runnin thro' other, leyke Carel fair; I ax'd a smart chap where to fin' cousin Jacep, Says he, "Clown, go look!" "Friend," says I, "tell me where?"

Fadder's letter to Jacep hed got nae subscription, Sae, when I was glowrin and siz❜lin about,

A wheyte-feac'd young lass, aw dress'd out leyke a leady,

Cried, "Pray, Sir, step in!" but I wish I'd kept

out.

She pou'd at a bell, leyke our kurk-bell it sounded,
In com a sarvant lass and she order'd some wine;
Says I, I's nit dry, sae, pray Madam, excuse me ;
Nay, what she insisted I sud stop and dine.
She meade varra free-'twas a shem and a byzen!
I thought her in luive wi' my parson, for sure;
And promis'd to caw agean;-as for black filly,
(Wad onie believ't) she was stown frae the duir!

Od dang't! waur than that-when I greap'd my breek pocket,

I fan fadder' watch, and the nwotes were aw gaene; It was neet, and I luik'd lang and sair for kent

feaces,

But Borrowdale fwok I cou'd niver see neane. I slept on the flags, just ahint the kurk-corner, A chap wid a girt stick and lantern com by, He caw'd me peace-breaker-says I, tou's a learIn a pleace leyke a saller they fworc'd me to lie.

Nae caff bed or blanket for silly pilgarlic;

Deil a wink cou'd I sleep, nay, nor yet see a

steyme;

Neist day I was ta'en to the Narration Offish,

When a man in a wig said, I'd duin a sad creyme. Then ane ax'd my neame, and he pat on his speckets, Says I, "Jwohny Cruckdeyke-I's Borrowdale

bworn;"

Whea think ye it pruiv'd but me awn cousin Jacep,

He seav'd me frae t' gallows, ay that varra mworn.

He spak to my lword, some hard words quite outlandish,

Then caw'd for his cwoach, and away we rode

heame;

He ax'd varra kind efter fadder and mudder,

I said they were bravely, and neist saw his deame; She's aw puff and powder; as for cousin Jacep,

He's got owre much gear to teake nwotish o' me; But if onie amang ye sud want a lish sarvant,

Just bid me a weage-I'll uphod ye, we's 'gree. January, 1807.

THE LAST NEW SHOON OUR BETTY GAT.

AIR: "Tak your auld cloak about ye."

The last new shoon our Betty gat,

They pinch her feet, the deil may care!
What, she mud hae them leady like,
Tho' she hes corns for evermair!
Nae black gairn stockins will she wear,
They mun be white, and cotton feyne!
This meks me think o' other teymes,
The happy days o' auld lang seyne!
Our dowter, tui, a palace* bought,

A guid reed cloak she cannot wear;
And stays, she says, spoil leady's sheps-
Oh! it wad mek a parson swear.

* Pelisse.

Nit ae han's turn o' wark she'll dui,

She'll nowther milk nor sarra t' sweyneThe country's puzzen'd round wi' preyde,

For lasses work'd reet hard lang seyne!

We've three guid rooms in our clay house,
Just big eneugh for sec as we;
They'd hev a parlour built wi' bricks,
I mud submit-what cou'd I dee?
The sattle neist was thrown aseyde,
It meeght hae sarra'd me and mine;
My mudder thought it mens'd a house-
But we think shem o' auld lang seyne!

We us'd to gae to bed at dark,

And rose agean at four or five;

The mworn's the only time for wark,

If fwok are only healthy and wad thrive :

Now we get up-nay, God kens when !
And nuin's owre suin for us to deyne;

I's hungry or the pot's hawf boil'd,

And wish for teymes leyke auld lang seyne.

Deuce tek the fuil-invented tea!

For tweyce a-day we that mun have: Then taxes get so monstrous hee,

The deil a plack yen now can seave! There's been nae luck throughout the lan', Sin' fwok mud like their betters sheyne; French fashions mek us parfet fuils;

We're caff and san' to auld lang seyne!