Writing class
The Last Sark (The last shirt)
Gude (God) guide me, are you hame again, an’ ha’e ye got nae wark?
We’ve naething noo tae put awa’ (pawn) unless yer auld blue sark;
My head is rinnin’ roon about far lichter than a flee –
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
Our merchants an’ mill masters they wad never want a meal,
Though a’ the banks in Scotland wad for a twelve month fail;
For some o’ them have far mair goud (gold) than ony ane can see –
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
This is a funny warld, John, for it’s no divided fair,
And while I think some o’ the rich have got the puir folk’s share,
Tae see us starving here the nicht wi’ no ae bless’d bawbee (halfpenny)–
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
Oor hoose ance (once) bean an’ cosey, John; oor beds ance snug an warm
Feels unco cauld an’ dismal noo, an’ empty as a barn;
The weans sit greeting (weeping) in oor face, and we ha’e noucht to gie –
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
It is the puir man’s hard-won toil that fills the rich man’s purse;
I’m sure his gouden coffers they are het wi’ mony a curse;
Were it no for the working men what wad the rich men be?
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
My head is licht, my heart is weak, my een are growing blin’;
The bairn is faen’ aff my knee – oh! John, catch haud 0’ him,
You ken I hinna tasted meat for days far mair than three;
Were it no for my helpless bairns I wadna care to dee.
(The Last Sark by Ellen Johnston (aka The factory girl. 1800s). Submitted by Sue Petty
Gude (God) guide me, are you hame again, an’ ha’e ye got nae wark?
We’ve naething noo tae put awa’ (pawn) unless yer auld blue sark;
My head is rinnin’ roon about far lichter than a flee –
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
Our merchants an’ mill masters they wad never want a meal,
Though a’ the banks in Scotland wad for a twelve month fail;
For some o’ them have far mair goud (gold) than ony ane can see –
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
This is a funny warld, John, for it’s no divided fair,
And while I think some o’ the rich have got the puir folk’s share,
Tae see us starving here the nicht wi’ no ae bless’d bawbee (halfpenny)–
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
Oor hoose ance (once) bean an’ cosey, John; oor beds ance snug an warm
Feels unco cauld an’ dismal noo, an’ empty as a barn;
The weans sit greeting (weeping) in oor face, and we ha’e noucht to gie –
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
It is the puir man’s hard-won toil that fills the rich man’s purse;
I’m sure his gouden coffers they are het wi’ mony a curse;
Were it no for the working men what wad the rich men be?
What care some gentry if they’re weel though a’ the puir wad dee!
My head is licht, my heart is weak, my een are growing blin’;
The bairn is faen’ aff my knee – oh! John, catch haud 0’ him,
You ken I hinna tasted meat for days far mair than three;
Were it no for my helpless bairns I wadna care to dee.
(The Last Sark by Ellen Johnston (aka The factory girl. 1800s). Submitted by Sue Petty
