Sarah Ann (Part 1)

Jist a bit a social histray. In the lowlans to the North hived an aul' boy's daughter named 'Sarah Ann'. I bileve that back in the day the aul' romantics of Sliabh Beagh spent much of thir tim, dramin' 'bout weemin an trin' to fin a wumman! Sarah Ann wuz a snug wee wumman - awy, no better in Tyrone! Aul' Tamson the matchmaker ventually sorted it oot, bit hir Da Robert didnae wan te let her go! Injoy this campfire stile veersion of 'Sarah Ann' in the local dialick a corse!
He'd change his way o' goin' - for his head wus gettin' grey,
He wus tormented washin' veshles - an' makin' draps a tay,
The kitchen wiz like a midden - an' the parlour like a sty,
An there wis half a fut of clabber - up on the street outby.
He'd go down agane temorra - on his ceiligh to the Cross,
For he'd haft to fin a wumman - or the place wed go to loss,
He fothered wit the kettle - an' there wus nothin' after that,
Awy, but him nockin' roun' the ashes - with the oul' Tom cat.
His ears they were a bizzin' - from the time he lit the lamp,
The place wus like a graveyard - bar the mare wed give a stamp,
So often he'ed be thinkin' - awy, an' contrivin' for a plan,
Of how to git a match - with aul' Robert's Sarah Ann.
He used to make aul' Robert's - on a Sunday afther prayers,
Sarah Ann wed fetch a tay pot - to the parlour by the stairs,
Then wance a week for sartin - awy, he'd be rappin' at te dure,
An' there wosa't wan wed open it - but her ye may be sure.
Ach awy, an then for all to gain - ayw, he axed a neibour man,
An' tuk him down to spake for him - ayw, an’ axk for Sara Ann,
Ye min' she's fir hirin' - as he'd be shoutin' thro' the fair,
"He wundred wus aul' Robert tinkin' - she cud summer anywhere."
If ye ever knew aul' Robert - well, he wus nothin' but a wart,
A near begone aul' divil - ayw, with a wee dark aul' heart,
A crooked, crabbit crathur - that bees neither well nor sick,
Grinin' in the chimley corner - or goan happin' on his stick.
But all the same, aul' Robert - he had a shap an' farm a lan',
An' ye'd think he'd do it dacent - when it came to Sarah Ann,
She bid him axk a hunder'd - an' they worked him up and down,
Wel the devil ahate he'd give her - but a cow an' twenty poun'.
They pushed for twenty more - forbye to help them build a byre,
But ye might as well be talkin' - to the stone behin' the fire,
So says he te John his neibour - "Sure we're only lossin' time,
Jist let Robert keep 'is Molly - aye, an I'll do withoot her fine."
"Jist let him keep 'is daughter - awy, the hungry lukin' nur,
There's jist as many chancy weemin - in the countryside as hir".
Then Robert let a big thravalley - an' sent them both ye know,
But Sarah busted cryin’ - ayw, for she seen, they mained to go.
Awy, she-fell-till the cryin' - for ye know she wusn't young,
She wus nearly past her market - but wus civil with her tongue',
That wus half a year ago, or thereabots - an' he wus sitin' yit,
He'd 'ave to change his way o' goin' - an do it while he's fit.
A snug wee wumman an doin' well - ach awy, no better in Tyrone,
An' down agin he'd go temorra - for he wus far-too-long alone,
That night the win’ was risin’ - an’ it wus comin’ on to sleet,
It wus spittin' down the chimley - on the gree-shig at his feet.
It wus whisslin’ at the windy - an' a roarin' roun' the barn,
He said, thre'd be a hape a snow temorra - up Narth on Mulaharn,
He wus for tacklin’ Robert's Sara Ann - no matter if the snow,
Wus everywere a blowin' - an' whateve' temorra brings he'ed go.
Awy.... maybe he is pushing to hard for Sara Ann!!! Find out in Part 2.