The Recruited Collier (Jenny's Complaint)

Anne Briggs

Originale	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!