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Lancashire Songs

Chapter 22: BONNY NAN.
By Edwin Waugh
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Poetry

About This Book

A collection of short songs and ballads written in a regional northern dialect that captures everyday rural and working-class life through domestic scenes, courtship, local characters, celebrations, and moments of hardship. The verse mixes humor and sentiment, employing conversational rhythms, refrains, and vivid local idiom to render communal ties, seasonal chores, and small pleasures. Arranged as brief lyric pieces, the poems alternate playful storytelling, moral reflection, and musical choruses that evoke the sounds and social routines of village life.

BONNY NAN.

Heigh, Ned, owd mon, aw feel as fain As ony brid ’at sings i’ May; Come, sit tho deawn, aw’ll spend a creawn, We’n have a roozin’ rant to-day; Let’s doance an’ sing; aw’ve bought a ring, For bonny Nan i’th Owler dale; Then heigh for fun; my mopin’s done! An’ neaw aw’m brisk as bottle’t ale! Oh, guess, owd brid, What’s beawn to be; For I like Nan,— An’ hoo likes me!
Twelve months i’ weeds, when Robin deed, Hoo look’d so deawn, wi’ ne’er a smile Aw couldn’t find i’ heart or mind To cheep o’ weddin’ for a while; Aw thought aw’d bide; but still aw sighed For th’ mournin’ cleawd to clear away; Aw watched her e’en groo breet again,— A layrock tootin’ eawt for day! Neaw, guess, owd brid, What’s beawn to be; For I like Nan,— An’ hoo likes me!
Oh, Nanny’s fair, an’ trim, an’ rare; A modest lass, an’ sweet to see; Her e’en are blue, her heart it’s true,— But Nanny’s hardly twenty-three; An’ life it’s strung, when folk are yung; An’ waitin’ lunger wouldno do; For, th’ moor-end lads, hoo turns their yeds,— Hoo’s bin a widow lung enoo! Then guess, owd brid, What’s beawn to be; For I like Nan,— An’ hoo likes me!
Aw’ve sin, at neet, abeawt a leet, A midge keep buzzin’ to an’ fro, Then dart at th’ shine, ’at looked so fine, An’ brun his wings at th’ end ov o’; That midge’s me, it’s plain to see, My wings are brunt, an’ yet aw’m fain, For, wheer aw leet, aw find so sweet, Aw’s never want to fly again. Then guess, owd brid, What’s beawn to be; For I like Nan,— An’ hoo likes me!