Brit’s Foal


Do thou know about Ossy an’ Mary
Were farmin’ the crof’ Ballanad?
Aw, I laughed till me bones was all weary,
An’ me teeth rattlin’ loose in me head.
Well, Ossy, ye see, had a stable
With a roof that sloped down to a fiel’,
An’ anyone passin’ was able
To step up on the thatch without jeal.
The fiel’ at the back it was slopin’
As steep as the side of a roof—
Theer’s none of ye h’ard it, I’m hopin’;
If so, ye can take to ye hoof.
Well, Ossy an’ Mary was keepin’
A meer called Brit in the stall;
An’ nawthin’ but ’atin an’ sleepin’
Was poor oul’ Brit doin’, for all.
Too oul’ for cartin’ an’ labour,
She was p’acefully endin’ her days.
But the fiel’ belonged to a neighbour,
An’ he’d purra young horse out to graze.
The thatch of the stable was sproutin’
With patches of mighty fine grass,
Sol the hoss as he seen it bethought him
To tas’e as he happened to pass.
So up on the roof he goes aisy
As if he was still on the groun’;
But he wasn’ so light as a daisy,
For his weight was too h’avy, he foun’.
So he went through the thatch jus’ lek thunder,
Or a cartload of Kirk Mickle bricks
On poor Brit who was munchin’ jus’ under—
My goy, but they were in a fix!
Well, Ossy was sat at the table
When he h’ard all the thunderin’ row,
An’ he sez to himself, “Goy, the stable!
What’s happened to poor oul’ Brit now?
So he ups an’ he claps on his jackad
An’ out to the stable he goes
To see what was causin’ the rackad
When Brit should be havin’ a doze.
An’ when he got roun’ to the gable
An’ up to the door in a stew,
He seen – aw, my gogh! – in the stable,
Instead of one hoss theer was two.
“Come, Mary”, he yells in a flurry,
“Come, Mary, come quick, theer’s a soul!
Come see what has happened; come, hurry.
Our Brit she hev gorra new foal!”