THE CUMBERLAND SCOLD. Susanna Blamire Catherine Gilpin 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. 211-213.

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THE CUMBERLAND SCOLD . This war of words was actually overheard by Miss Blamire and Miss Gilpin ; the two ladies immediately wrote the song — Miss G. contributing the larger part . — Mrs Brown . Air — Jack o' Latten . OUR Dick's sae cross — but what o' that ! I'll tell ye aw the matter ; Pou up yer heads ; ay , deil may cure , Say , women-fwok mun chatter . And sae they may ; they've much to say , But little are they meynded ; OBEY ! is sec a fearfu' word , An' that the married find it . Our Dick came in , and said it rain'd , Says I , it meks nae matter ; " Ay , but it dis , tou silly fuil ! — But women-fwok mun clatter : They're here an' there , an' ev'ry where , And meakin sec a rumble , Wi' te-te-te , an' te-te-te , An' grumble , grumble , grumble ! " " Says I to Dick , to Dick , says I , There's nought i' life can match thee ! Thy temper's ayways bursting out , And nought I say can patch thee . I's ass , and fuil , and silly snuil , I's naething but a noodle ; I's ayways wrang , and never reet , And doodle , doodle , doodle . " " Deil bin ! " says Dick , " if what I say Is nit as true as beyble ! And gin I put te into print , The fwok wad caw't a reyble : For deil a clout can tou set on , In ony form or fashion , Or dui or say a single thing To keep yen out o' passion . " " Tou is a bonny guest , indeed ! Tou is a toppin fellow ! I think thy breast is meade o' brass , Tou dis sae rwoar and bellow : I nobbet wish that I were deef , There's ayways sec a dingin ; I never ken what I's about , There's sec a ring , ring , ringing . " " Whea ever kens what tou's about ? Tou's ayways in a ponder ; Ay geavin wi' thy open mouth , And wonder , wonder , wonder ! But of aw the wonders i' this warl , I wonder we e'er married ; It wad hae been a bonny thing Had that breet thout miscarried . " " But , hark ye , Dick ! I'll tell ye what , — 'Twas I that meade the blunder ; That I tuik up wi' leyke o' thee , Was far the greetest wonder ! For tou was nowther guid nor rich , And tempert leyke auld Scratchum ! The deil a day gangs owre my head , But , fratchum , fratchum , fratchum ! "