WEY, NED, MAN! Susanna Blamire Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Blamire, Susanna, 1747-1794. The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire “The muse of Cumberland.” Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale, M.D. with a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell, ... Edinburgh John Menzies, 61 Princes Street; R. Tyas, London; D. Robertson, Glasgow; and C. Thurnam, Carlisle. MDCCCXLII. 1842 pp. 208-210.

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WEY , NED , MAN ! Air , — Ranting , roaring Willie .

The subject of this song was actually overheard .

WEY , Ned , man ! thou luiks sae down-hearted , Yen wad swear aw thy kindred were dead ; For sixpence , thy Jean and thee's parted , — What then , man , ne'er bodder thy head ! There's lasses enow , I'll uphod te , And tou may be suin as weel match'd ; Tou knows there's still fish i' the river As guld as has ever been catch'd . Nay , Joe ! tou kens nought o' the matter , Sae let's hae nae mair o' thy jeer ; Auld England's gown's worn till a tatter , And they'll nit new don her , I fear . True liberty never can flourish , Till man in his reets is a king , — Till we tek a tithe pig frae the bishop , As he's duin frae us , is the thing . What , Ned ! and is this aw that ails thee ? Mess , lad ! tou deserves maist to hang ! What ! tek a bit lan frae its owner ! — Is this then thy fine Reets o' Man ? Tou ploughs , and tou sows , and tou reaps , man , Tou cums , and tou gangs , where tou will ; Nowther king , lword , nor bishop , dar touch thee , Sae lang as tou dis fwok nae ill ! How can tou say sae , Joe ! tou kens , now , If hares were as plenty as hops , I durstn't fell yen for my life , man , Nor tek't out o' auld Cwoley's chops : While girt fwok they ride down my hedges , And spang o'er my fields o' new wheat , Nought but ill words I get for my damage ; — Can ony man tell me that's reet ? Why , there I mun own the shoe pinches , Just there to find faut is nae shame ; Ne'er ak ! there's nae hard laws in England , Except this bit thing about game : Man , were we aw equal at mwornin , We coudn't remain sae till neet ; Some arms are fur stranger than others , And some heads will tek in mair leet . Tou coudn't mend laws an' tou wad , man ; 'Tis for other-guess noddles than thine ; Lord help te ! sud beggars yence rule us , They'd tek off baith thy cwoat an' mine . What is't then but law that stands by us , While we stand by country and king ? And as to being parfet and parfet , I tell thee , there is nae sec thing . This song is still very popular in Cumberland , and is frequently sung in Castle-Sowerby . The subject was actually overheard by Miss Blamire .