1804 Poem, James Orr, 'Address to Mr. A —, Carrickfergus'
Author: James Orr
Date: 1804
Source: Poem: ‘Address to Mr. A —, Carrickfergus, written after a severe illness’, from Poems, on Various Subjects, by James Orr (Belfast: Printed by Smyth & Lyons, 1804).
Comments: James Orr (1770-1816), a weaver from Ballycarry in East Antrim, is sometimes regarded as the best Ulster-Scots ‘rhyming weaver’ of his generation. A close friend and associate of Samuel Thomson, he penned over 150 poems in his lifetime and became firmly established as the Bard of the common people. An account of his life and poetry can be found in the ‘Introduction’ to The Country Rhymes of James Orr by Philip Robinson (Belfast, 1992).
Doc. ref. no.: USLS/TB/Poetry/1800-1899/002
ADDRESS TO MR. A********, CARRICKFERGUS
Written after a severe illness
This rhyme I sen’ to own I’m debtor
To Sandy for his frien’ly letter;
An’ certes, had I not grown better
Before this time,
I wad been makin’ scraps o’ metre
In some strange clime.
Twad mak’ an humbler body vain,
To think the burial I wad haen:
Sae monie brethren in a train
Wad gart ye won’er;
But faith! I’m fander to remain
An’ want the honour.
L—d help the Crock wham ailments master,
He meets wi’ monie a droll disaster:
Whae’er cam’ in prescrib’d some sluister,
An’ I must drink it;
I coupt it up, an’ gi’ed a gluister,
An grue’t, an’ winket.
This while my sea has been sae rough,
That at your jokes I wadna leugh;
My head was reft wi’ ilka cough,
My breast was strain’d.
Ay when I rav’d, or cry’d och! och!
My mither gran’d.
Ay when approch’t by lasses lo’esome,
I fand some easement in my bosom,
That cring’t wi’ fear when carlin’s gruesome
Discours’t o’ Nick:
Deel rive their jaws! what can dispose ’em
To scare the sick.
But Sandy, first in my esteem ay,
I’m pleased, an’ proud, ye cam’ to see me,
Gif folk like you, think something o’ me,
’Twill never pain me,
Tho’ a’ the grunters, grave an’ gloomy,
Quote texts again’ me.
Tell that fine chiel wha mens auld watches,
An’ him wha doctors crazy clatches,
To see ye a’ I’se lift your latches,
An’ tak’ a can,
Whene’er health men’s, wi’ braider patches,
My inner man.
