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Folk-Speech of Cumberland and Some Districts Adjacent / Being Short Stories and Rhymes in the Dialects of the West Border Counties cover

Folk-Speech of Cumberland and Some Districts Adjacent / Being Short Stories and Rhymes in the Dialects of the West Border Counties

Chapter 9: JWOHNNY, GIT OOT!
By Alexander Craig Gibson
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About This Book

A collection of short stories and rhymes rendered in the vernacular of the West Border counties, chiefly the old Norse–rooted Cumbrian dialect with additional pieces in neighboring varieties. The pieces range from comic rural anecdotes and folk tales to pastoral reminiscences and printed versions of local speech, preserving pronunciation, idiom, and regional humour. The volume pairs narrative and lyrical items with explanatory remarks and a glossary to assist readers in understanding dialect terms, offering a varied snapshot of local customs, landscape incidents, and conversational mannerisms from Cumberland, Furness, and adjacent districts.

JWOHNNY, GIT OOT!

“Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny, thou’s no’but a fash;
Thou’ll come till thou raises a desperat clash;4
Thou’s here ivery day just to put yan aboot,
An’ thou moiders yan terrably—Jwohnny, git oot!
What says t’e? I’s bonnie? Whey! That’s nowte ’at’s new.
Thou’s wantin’ a sweetheart?—Thou’s hed a gay few!
An’ thou’s cheatit them, yan efter t’ t’udder, nèa doubt;
But I’s nūt to be cheatit sèa—Jwohnny, git oot!
There’s plenty o’ lads i’ beàth Lamplugh an’ Dean
As yabble as thee, an’ as weel to be seen;
An’ I med tak’ my pick amang o’ there aboot—
Does t’é think I’d ha’e thee, than? Hut, Jwohnny, git oot!
What? Nūt yan amang them ’at likes mé sa weel?
Whey, min—there’s Dick Walker an’ Jonathan Peel
Foorsettin’ mé ola’s i’t’ lonnins aboot,
Beàth wantin’ to sweetheart mé—Jwohnny, git oot!
What?—Thou will hev a kiss?—Ah, but tak’t if thou dar!
I tell the’, I’ll squeel, if thou tries to cŭ’ nār.
Tak’ care o’ my collar—Thou byspel, I’ll shoot.
Nay, thou sha’n’t hev anudder—Noo Jwhonny, git oot!
Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny—Thou’s tew’t me reet sair;
Thou’s brocken my comb, an’ thou’s toozelt my hair.
I willn’t be kiss’t, thou unmannerly loot!
Was t’ere iver sec impidence! Jwohnny, git oot!
Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny—I tell the’, be deùn.
Does t’e think I’ll tak’ up wid Ann Dixon’s oald sheùn?
Thou ma’ gā till Ann Dixon, an’ pu’ hur aboot,
But thou s’alln’t pu’ me, sèa—Jwohnny, git oot!
Well! That’s sent him off, an’ I’s sworry it hes;
He med ken a lass niver means hoaf ’at she says.
He’s a reet canny fellow, howiver I floot,
An’ it’s growin o’ wark to say Jwohnny, git oot!”