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Robert Anderson (Роберт Андерсон)


Sally Gray


Come, Deavie, I'll tell thee a secret,
But tou mun lock't up i' thee breast,
I wadden't for aw Dalston Parish
It com to the ears o' the rest;
Now I'll hod te a bit of a weager,
A groat to thy tuppens I'll lay,
Tou cannot guess whee I's in luive wi',
And nobbet keep off Sally Gray.


There's Cumwhitton, Cumwhinton, Cumranton,
Cumrangen, Cumrew, and Cumcatch,
And mony mair cum's i' the county,
But nin wi' Cumdivock can match;
It's sae neyce to luik owre the black pasture,
Wi' the fells abuin aw, far away-
There is nee sec pleace, nit in England,
For there lives the Sweet Sally Gray!


I was sebenteen last Collop-Monday,
And she's just the varra seame yage;
For ae kiss o' the sweet lips o' Sally,
I'd freely give up a year's wage;
For in lang winter neets when she's spinnin,
And singin about Jemmy Gay,
I keek by the hay stack, and lissen,
For fain wad I see Sally Gray.


Had tou seen her at kurk, man, last Sunday,
Tou coudn't ha'e thought o' the text;
But she sat neist to Tom o' the Lonnin,
Tou may think that meade me quite vext;
Then I pass'd her gawn owre the lang meedow,
Says I, 'Here's a canny wet day!'
I wad ha'e said mair, but how cou'd e,
When luikin at sweet Sally Gray!


I caw'd to sup cruds wi' Dick Miller,
And hear aw his cracks and his jwokes;
The dumb weyfe was tellin their fortunes,
What! I mud be like other fwokes!
Wi' chawk, on a pair of auld bellows,
Twee letters she meade in her way-
S means Sally, the wide warl owre,
And G stands for nought else but Gray.


O was I but lword o' the manor,
A nabob, or parliament man,
What thousands on thousands I'd gi' her,
Wad she nobbet gi' me her han!
A cwoach and six horses I'd buy her,
And gar fwok stan out o' the way,
Then I'd lowp up behint like a footman-
Oh! the warl for my sweet Sally Gray!


They may brag o' their feyne Carel lasses,
Their feathers, their durtment, and leace;
God help them! peer deeth-luikin bodies,
Widout a bit reed i' their feace!
But Sally's just like allyblaster,
Her cheeks are twee rwose-buds in May-
O lad! I cou'd sit here for ever,
And talk about sweet Sally Gray!



Robert Anderson's other poems:
  1. Epistle the Tenth
  2. Dick Watters
  3. Epitaph on Maria of the Cottage
  4. Enigma the First
  5. Lines to a Redbreast


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