| Il testo, in dialetto del Cumberland, della ballata originale... |
THE RECRUITED COLLIER (JENNY'S COMPLAINT) | JENNY'S COMPLAINT |
| |
O what's the matter wi' you, my lass, | O, Lass! I've fearfu' news to tell! |
And where's your dashing Jimmy? | What thinks te's come owre Jemmy? |
O, the soldier boys have ta'en him up | The sowdgers hev e'en pick'd him up |
And sent him far, far from me. | And sent him far, far frae me: |
Last payday he went off to town | To Carel he set off wi' wheat; |
And them red-coated fellows | Them ill reed-cwoated fellows |
Enticed him in and made him drunk | Suin wil'd him in, then meade him drunk-- |
And he's better gone to the gallows. | He'd better geane to th'gallows |
| |
The very sight of his cockade | The varra seet o' his cockade |
It sets us all a-crying, | It set us a' a-cryin; |
And me I nearly fainted twice. | for me I fairly fainted tweyce, |
I thought that I was dying. | Tou may think that was tryin: |
My father would have paid the smart | My fadder wad ha'e paid the smart |
And he ran for the golden guinea, | And shew'd a gowden guinea |
But the sergeant swore he'd kissed the book | But lack-a-day! He'd kiss'd the buik, |
And now they've got young Jimmy. | and that'll e'en kill Jenny |
| |
When Jimmy talks about the wars, | When Nichol talks about the wars, |
It's worse than death to hear him. | It's war than deeth to hear him; |
I have to go and hide my face | I oft steal out, to hide my tears, |
Because I cannot bear him. | And cannot, cannot bear him; |
A brigadier or grenadier | For aye he jeybes, and cracks his jwokes, |
He says they're bound to make him, | and bids me nit forsake him; |
But aye he laughs and cracks his jokes | A brigadier, or grandidier, |
And bids me not forsake him. | He says, they're sure to meake him. |
| |
As I walked ower the stubble fields | If owre the stibble fields I gang |
Below it runs the seam | I think I see him ploughin, |
I thought of Jimmy hewing there, | And ev'ry bit o' bread I eat, |
But it was all a dream. | It seems o' Jemmy's sowin'; |
He hewed the very coals we burn | He led the varra cwoals we burn, |
And when the fire I'm lighting, | And when the fire I's leetin, |
To think the coals was in his hands, | To think the peats were in his hands, |
It sets my heart to beating. | It sets my heart a beatin. |
| |
For three long years he's followed me. | What can I de? I nought can de, |
Now I must live without him. | But whinge, and think about him; |
There's nothing now that I can do | For three lang years, he follow'd me |
But weep and think about him. | Now I mun live widout him! |
So break my heart and then it's ower. | Brek, heart, at yence, and then it's owre! |
So break my heart, my dearie, | Life's nought widout yen's dearie! |
And lay me in the cold ground, | I'll suin lig in my cauld, cauld grave, |
For of single life I'm weary. | For oh! Of life I'm weary! |