CURSTY BENN.
Cūrsty 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.
Cūrsty’ wife, a fewsome body,
Brong him barnes, some nine or ten,
Menseful, meat-heàl, fat an’ ruddy;—
“Whoar’s their like?” said Cūrsty Benn.
Cūrsty 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’ Cūrsty Benn.
Cūrsty’ 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 mūn 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;
Cūrsty, pleas’t to market wid her,
Tiped his pints, but dūdn’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 Cūrsty Benn.—
Tull’t ageàn i’t’ public-hooses,
Whilk an’ Cūrsty dūdn’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 Cūrsty 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-wūrd he’d gi’en her, when
T’ mèar pu’t up aside some watter;—
“Drink, gūd lass!” says Cūrsty Benn.
Lang she dronk, an’ lood she grūntit,
Till a gay gud drain she’d hed;
Than as t’ rwoad yance mair she frūntit,
Cūrsty’ wife tūll Cūrsty 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, Cūrsty Benn?”
“Whey!” says Kit, “but tūrn that watter
Intill yāll, wid udder yoads
Sittin’ roond it—hoddin’ at her—
Tellin’ her t’ time mak’s na odds—
Shootin’ oot, ‘Here’s te the’, Cūrsty!—
(Mèars is mèars—men’s nowte but men!)—
But I dūrst lay a pūnd ’at dūrst Ee,
She’d sit on—like Cūrsty Benn!”
NOTE.
Of this anecdote different versions are current, and various localities are assigned to it—Scotch as well as English. I take leave to think however that the Cumberland version, as given here, is the best of all that have been given.