Poem by Robert Anderson

Carel Fair

My neame's Jurry Jurden, frae Threlket;
Just swat down, and lissen my sang:
I'll mappen affword some divarsion,
An tell ye how monie things gang.

Some threep, et the teymes 'll git better;
An laugh to see onie repeyne:
I's nae pollytishin, that's sarten,
But Englan seems in a decleyne!

I ruse afwore three, tudder mwornin,
An went owre to see Carel Fair;
I'd heard monie teales o' thur dandies--
Odswinge! how they mek the fwok stare!

But, shaf o' sec odd trinkum--trankums!
Thur hawf--witted varmen bang aw:
They'd freeten aul Nick, sud tey meet him--
A dandy's just fit for a show!

I neist tuik a glowr 'mang the boutchers,
An gleymt at ther lumps o' fat meat;
They've aw maks the gully can dive at--
It meks peer fwok hungry to see't.

Wheyle peer fwok wer starin about tem,
Up hobbles an aul chap, an begs--
Oh' wad our girt heeds o' the nayshen
Just set the peer fwok on their legs!

An odd seet I saw, 'twas t'naig market,
Whoar aw wer as busy as bees;
Sec lurryan, an trotten, an scamprin--
Lord help tem!--they're meade up o' lees!

What aw trades are bad as horse--cowpers;
They mek the best bargain they can:
Fwok say, it's the seame in aw countries--
Man leykes to draw kelter frae man!

Neist daunderen down to the Cow Fair,
A famish rough rumpes I saw;
For Rickergeate lwoses her charter,
Sud theer be nae feghtin at aw.

Shem o' them! thur peer country hanniels,
That slink into Carel to feght!
Deil bin them! when free frae hard labour,
True plishure sud be their deleyte.

Ther was geapin an starin, 'mang aw maks--
``Aa! gies ty fist, Ellik! how's tou?''
``Wey, aw bais'd, an bluitert, an queerish;
We'll tek a drop gud mountain dew.''

Then peer bits o' hawf--broken farmers
In leggins, were struttin about;
Wer teymes gud, they'd aw become dandies--
We'll ne'er leeve to see that, I doubt!

Sec screapin, an squeekin, 'mang t' fiddlers;
I crap up the stairs, to be seer;
But suin trottet down by the waiter,
For deil a bit cap'rin was theer.

Sae we link'd, an we laugh'd, an we chatter'd;
Few husseys, leyke Jenny, ye'll see:
O hed we but taen off to Gratena,
Nin wad been sae happy as we!

We went thro' the big kurk, an cassel;
An neist tuik a rammel thro' t' streets:
What, Carel's the pleace for feyne houses,
But monie a peer body yen meets!

Thro' leyfe, we hev aw maks amang us;
Sad changes ilk body mun share:
To--day we're just puzzen'd wi' plishure;
To--mworn we're bent double wi' care! 

1. Epitaph on Maria of the Cottage
2. Feckless Wully
3. Mad Margery
4. Song 1. A Lassie and a Gill
5. Epistle the First

Print

1510 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version