The Daughter Of Gypsy Nan

There’s a dance to-night at the Institute.
For the young men there I don’t care a hoot;
They look like pups with their silly tails tied
With old tin cans. Not one can I bide.

Some will dance and others play whist,
Some will be armed and others be kissed,
The hall will be crowded and full of sweat,
And later on there'll be plenty to eat.

My auntie says, 'Wear thi white and pink
An' thi garnet pendant.' (I don't think!)
'Remember thi faither's a well-to-do man . . .'
(Ay, but my mother was Gypsy Nan).

'There's no better farmer in Silver Garsdale
Than thi faither. Aa! Luve, thoo looks a bit pale. .
I've no use for my Sunday best
Or my hair be-ribboned like all the rest.

When they are gone, I'll borrow the mare
With three white feet. How she will tear
Over the intake, up to the heather
Where the clouds and moon are dancing together.

Happen I'll find, ere night has passed,
Some of my kith and kin at last,
And meet a man with a heart as wild
As that of Gypsy Nan's lone child.