BALLAD LXXV.

THE CODBECK WEDDIN.

TUNE," Andrew Carr."

True is my song, tho' lowly be the strain.

THEY sing of a weddin at Worton,
Where aw was feght, fratchin, and fun;
Feegh! sec a yen we've hed at CODBECK,
As niver was under the sun:

The breydegruim was weaver Joe Bewley,
He com frae about Lowthet Green*;
The breyde, Jwohnnie Dalton' lish dowter,
And BETTY was weel to be seen.

Sec patchin, and weshin, and bleachin,
And starchin, and darnin auld duds;
Some lasses thought lang to the weddin;
Unax'd, others sat i' the suds:

There were tweescore and seebem invited,
God speed tem, 'gean Cursenmass-day;
"Dobson' lads, tui, what they mun come hidder!'
I think they were better away!

Furst thing, oggle Willy, the fiddler,
Caw'd in, w' auld Jonathan Strang;
Neist stiff and stout, lang, leame and lazy,
Frae aw parts com in wi' a bang:

Frae Brocklebank*, Fuilduirs*, and Newlands*,
Frae Hesket*, Burk-heads and the Height*,
Frae Warnell*, Starnmire, Nether Welton*,
And awt' way from Eytonfield-street*.

Furst, auld Jwohnny Dawton we'll nwotish,
And Mary, his canny douse deaine;
Son Wully, and Mally, his sister;

Goffet' weyfe, Muckle Nanny by neame;

Wully Sinclair, Smith Leytle, Jwohn Aitchin,
Tom Ridley, Joe Sim, Peter Weir,
Gworge Goffet, Jwohn Bell, Miller Dyer,
Joe Head, and Ned Bulman were there.

We'd hay-cruiks, and hen-tails, and hanniels,
And nattlers that fuddle for nought;

Wi' sceape-greaces, skeybels, and scruffins,
And maffs better fed far than taught;

We'd lads that wad eat for a weager,
till bluid to the knees;

Or feght, ay,

Fell-seyders, and Sowerby riff-raff,

That deil a bum-bealie dare seize.

་་་་་་་་འ.

*Villages and odd houses in the neighbourhood.

The breyde hung her head, and luik'd sheepish, The breydegruim as wheyte as a clout;

The bairns aw gleym'd thro' the kurk windows, The parson was varra devout:

The ring was lost out of her pocket,
The breyde meade a bonny te-dee;

Cries Goffet' wife, "Mine's meade o' pinchback, "And, la ye! it fits till a tee!"

Now buckl'd, wi' fiddlers afwore them,
They gev Michael Crosby a caw;
Up spak canny Bewley the breydgruim,
"Get slocken'd, lads! fadder pays

aw."

We drank till aw seem'd blue about us,
We're aye murry deevils, tho' peer;

6

Michael' weyfe says, Widout onie leein, 'A duck mud ha'e swam on the fleer.'

Now, aw 'bacco'd owre, and hawf-drucken, The men fwok wad needs kiss the breyde; Joe Head, that's aye reckon'd best spokesman, Whop'd "guid wad the couple beteyde:"

Says Michael, "I's reet glad to see you,

66

Suppwosin I gat ne'er a plack."

Cries t' weyfe, "That'll nowther pay brewer, "Nor get bits o' sarks to yen's back."

The breyde wad dance Coddle me, Cuddy;'

A threesome then caper'd Scotch Reels; Peter Weir cleek'd up auld Mary Dalton, Leyke a cock round a hen neist he steals;

Jwohn Bell yelp'd out' Sowerby Lasses;"
Young Jwosep, a lang Country Dance,
He'd got his new pumps Smithson meade him,
And fain wad shew how he cud prance.

To march round the town, and keep swober,
The women fwok thought was but reet;"
"Be wise, dui, for yence!" says Jwohn Dyer;
The breydegruim mud reyde shouder heet:

The youngermak lurried ahint them,

Till efter them Bell neade a brek;

Tom Ridley was aw baiz'd wi' drinkin,
And plung'd off the steps i' the beck.

To Hudless's now off they sizell'd,

And there gat far mair than eneugh;
Miller Hodgon suin brunt the punch ladle,
And full'd ev'ry glass wid his leuf;

He thought he was teakin his mouter,
And deil a bit conscience has he;
They preym'd him wi' stiff punch and jollup,
'Till Sally Scott thought he wad dee.

Joe Sim rwoar'd out, "Bin, we've duin wonders !
"Our Mally's turn'd howe i' the weame!"
Wi' three strings atween them, the fiddlers
Strack up, and they reel'd towerts heame;

Meyner Leytle wad now hoist a standert,
Peer man! he cud nit daddle far,
But stuck in a pant buin the middle,
And yen tuik him heame in a car.

For dinner, we'd stew'd geuse, and haggish,
Cow'd-leady, and het bacon, pye,
Boil'd fluiks, tatey-hash, beastin puddin,
Saut salmon, aud cabbish; forby

Pork, pancakes, black puddins, sheep trotters,
And custert, and mustert, and veal,
Grey-pez keale, and lang apple dumplins:-
I wish ev'ry yen far'd as weel!

The breyde, geavin aw roun about her,
Cries, "Wuns! we forgat butter sops!"
The breydegruim fan nae time for talkin,
But wi' stanniu pye greas'd his chops.

We'd loppar'd milk, skim'd milk, and kurn'd milk,
Well watter, smaw beer, aw at yence;
"Shaff! bring yell in piggens!" rwoars Dalton,
"Deil tek them e'er cares for expence !"