  C?rsty Benn of Under-Skiddaw Leev’t on t’ land whoar he was bworn; Eight-ty yacre, lea and meedow— Forty, green-crop, seeds an’ cworn. C?rsty’ wife, a fewsome body, Brong him barnes, some nine or ten, Menseful, meat-heÀl, fat an’ ruddy;— “Whoar’s their like?” said C?rsty Benn. C?rsty hed ya mortal failin’— Whoa may say they’ve less nor that?— Rayder fond was he o’ trailin’ Off frae heÀm an’ bidin’ leÀt. Fray Kes’ick Kit was ola’s leÀtish; Hoo that com’ t’ wife gat to ken, When i’ t’ market neets she’d nwotish Signs o’ drink i’ C?rsty Benn. C?rsty’ wife was kind an’ canny, Nowder gi’en to flyte nor fret; “Weel aneÙf,” she said, “I ken he Mayn’t be cured by sulks an’ pet; But I moon’t sit by an’ see him, Gear an’ grun’ spang-hew an’ spen’, I m?n gang till Kes’ick wi’ him!” Nowte ageÀn’t said Cursty Benn. When they dadg’t away togidder, O’ row’t reet a canny bit; C?rsty, pleas’t to market wid her, Tiped his pints, but d?dn’t sit. No’but for a bit it lastit— Sooa ’t’s been afoor an’ sen! When fwoke thowte she’d wiled him past it, Tull’t ageÀn went C?rsty Benn.— Tull’t ageÀn i’t’ public-hooses, Whilk an’ C?rsty d?dn’t care; Adam Gill’s, or Mistress Boose’s, T’ Yak, t’ Queen’s Heed, or t’ Hoonds an’ Hare. Through them o’ t’ wife whiles went laitin’— Whiles, for hours an’ hours an’ en’, In their shandry sat she waitin’, Coald on t’ street, for C?rsty Benn. Ya’ fine neet when leÀt she gat him— Fairly forced to flyte, t’ poor deÀm Lowsed her tongue reet freely at him, While t’ oald yoad went stammerin’ heÀm. Whietly Kit bore her clatter, Nea back-w?rd he’d gi’en her, when T’ mÈar pu’t up aside some watter;— “Drink, g?d lass!” says C?rsty Benn. Lang she dronk, an’ lood she gr?ntit, Till a gay gud drain she’d hed; Than as t’ rwoad yance mair she fr?ntit, C?rsty’ wife t?ll C?rsty said— “Sees t’e, min! that pooar oald mÈar, When she’s full, she’s t’ sense to ken; Can’t thoo tak’ a pattren bee her— Drink an deÙn wi’t, C?rsty Benn?” “Whey!” says Kit, “but t?rn that watter Intill y?ll, wid udder yoads Sittin’ roond it—hoddin’ at her— Tellin’ her t’ time mak’s na odds— Shootin’ oot, ‘Here’s te the’, C?rsty!— (MÈars is mÈars—men’s nowte but men!)— But I d?rst lay a p?nd ’at d?rst Ee, She’d sit on—like C?rsty Benn!” NOTE.
Decoration
|
|
