The Pitman's Courtship

Quite soft blew the wind frae the West,
An'the sun faintly shone i' the sky,
When Lukey and' Betty sat courtin'
As walking I chanc'd for to spy;
Unheeded, I stole close beside them;
To hear their discoursee was my plan--
I listen'd each word they were saying,
When Lukey his courtship began;--

"Last hoppin' thou wun up my fancy
Wi' thy fine silken jacket o' blue;
An' smash! if thor Newcassel lyeddies
Coul'd marra the curls o' thy brow;
That day aw whiles danc't wi' lang Nancy--
She cou'dn't like thou lift her heel;
May granny likes spice singin' hinnies,
Maw comely, aw like thou as weel.

Thou knaws, ever since we wor little
Thegither we've trodg'd through the woods,
An' at neet hand in hand toddled hyem,
Varry oft wi' howl kites an' torn duds;
But noo we can talk aboot mairridge,
An' lang syne for wor weddin' day;
When mairried we'll keep a bit shop
An' sell things iv a huiksterry way.

To get us a canny bit leevin',
A' kind of fine sweetmeats we'll sell,
Reed-harrin, broon-syep, an' mint-candy,
Black-pepper, dye-sand, an' sma' yell;
Spice-hunters, pick-shafts, farden candles,
Wax-dollies wi' reed leather shoes,
Chalk pussy-cats, fine corly-greens,
Paper-skyetts, penny-pies, an' Yule-doos.

A w'll help thou' to tie up the shuggar,
At neets, when frae wark aw get lowse,
An' wor Dick 'at leeves ower High Whickham,
'll myek us broom buzzoms for nowse.
Like an image tho'll stand owre the counter,
Wi thy fine muslin, cambricker goon,
An' to let the folk see thou's a lyeddy,
On a cuddy thou's ride to the Toon.

There'll be matches, pipe-clay, an 'broon dishes,
Canary-seed, raisins, and fegs;
An' to please the pit-laddies at Easter,
A dishful o' gily pyest-eggs.
For wor neybors that's snuffers an' smoakers,
For wor snuff an' baccy they'll seek;
An' to show them we deal wi' Newcassel,
Twee Blackeys sall mense the door-cheek.

Sae, noo for Tim Bodkin aw'll send,
For to darn my silk breeks at the knee,
Thy ruffles an' frills mun get ready--
Next Whissunday married we'll be.
Aw think it's boot time we waur steppin',
We've sitten till aw's aboot lyemm."
So, then--wirth a kis and a cuddle
These lovers they toddelt off hyem.

-by William Mitford; to the tune, "The Night before Larry was stretch'd or. "The Irish Drops o' Brandy.",  Source A Beuk o' Newcassel Sangs.
Joseph Cawhall,
1888