 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
86
FALL
CORN A-TURNEN YOLLOW.
The windless copse ha' sheädy boughs,
Wi' blackbirds' evenèn whistles;
The hills ha' sheep upon their brows,
The zummerleäze ha' thistles:
The meäds be gaÿ in grassy Maÿ,
But, oh! vrom hill to hollow,
Let me look down upon a groun'
O' corn a-turnèn yollow.
Wi' blackbirds' evenèn whistles;
The hills ha' sheep upon their brows,
The zummerleäze ha' thistles:
The meäds be gaÿ in grassy Maÿ,
But, oh! vrom hill to hollow,
Let me look down upon a groun'
O' corn a-turnèn yollow.
An' pease do grow in tangled beds,
An' beäns be sweet to snuff, O;
The teäper woats do bend their heads,
The barley's beard is rough, O.
The turnip green is fresh between
The corn in hill or hollow,
But I'd look down upon a groun'
O' wheat a-turnèn yollow.
An' beäns be sweet to snuff, O;
The teäper woats do bend their heads,
The barley's beard is rough, O.
The turnip green is fresh between
The corn in hill or hollow,
But I'd look down upon a groun'
O' wheat a-turnèn yollow.
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'Tis merry when the brawny men
Do come to reap it down, O,
Where glossy red the poppy head
'S among the stalks so brown, O.
'Tis merry while the wheat's in hile,
Or when, by hill or hollow,
The leäzers thick do stoop to pick
The ears so ripe an' yollow.
Do come to reap it down, O,
Where glossy red the poppy head
'S among the stalks so brown, O.
'Tis merry while the wheat's in hile,
Or when, by hill or hollow,
The leäzers thick do stoop to pick
The ears so ripe an' yollow.
A-HAULEN CORN.
Ah! yesterday, you know, we carr'd
The piece o' corn in Zidelèn Plot,
An' work'd about it pretty hard,
An' vound the weather pretty hot.
'Twer all a-tied an' zet upright
In tidy hile o' Monday night;
Zoo yesterday in afternoon
We zet, in eärnest, ev'ry woone
A-haulèn corn.
The piece o' corn in Zidelèn Plot,
An' work'd about it pretty hard,
An' vound the weather pretty hot.
'Twer all a-tied an' zet upright
In tidy hile o' Monday night;
Zoo yesterday in afternoon
We zet, in eärnest, ev'ry woone
A-haulèn corn.
The hosses, wi' the het an' lwoad,
Did froth, an' zwang vrom zide to zide,
A-gwaïn along the dousty road,
An' seem'd as if they would a-died.
An' wi' my collar all undone,
An' neck a-burnèn wi' the zun,
I got, wi' work, an' doust, an' het,
So dry at last, I coulden spet,
A-haulèn corn.
Did froth, an' zwang vrom zide to zide,
A-gwaïn along the dousty road,
An' seem'd as if they would a-died.
An' wi' my collar all undone,
An' neck a-burnèn wi' the zun,
I got, wi' work, an' doust, an' het,
So dry at last, I coulden spet,
A-haulèn corn.
88
At uncle's orcha'd, gwaïn along,
I begged some apples, vor to quench
My drith, o' Poll that wer among
The trees: but she, a saucy wench,
Toss'd over hedge some crabs vor fun.
I squaïl'd her, though, an' meäde her run;
An' zoo she gie'd me, vor a treat,
A lot o' stubberds vor to eat,
A-haulèn corn.
I begged some apples, vor to quench
My drith, o' Poll that wer among
The trees: but she, a saucy wench,
Toss'd over hedge some crabs vor fun.
I squaïl'd her, though, an' meäde her run;
An' zoo she gie'd me, vor a treat,
A lot o' stubberds vor to eat,
A-haulèn corn.
An' up at rick, Jeäne took the flagon,
An' gie'd us out zome eäle; an' then
I carr'd her out upon the waggon,
Wi' bread an' cheese to gi'e the men.
An' there, vor fun, we dress'd her head
Wi' noddèn poppies bright an' red,
As we wer catchèn vrom our laps,
Below a woak, our bits an' draps,
A-haulèn corn.
An' gie'd us out zome eäle; an' then
I carr'd her out upon the waggon,
Wi' bread an' cheese to gi'e the men.
An' there, vor fun, we dress'd her head
Wi' noddèn poppies bright an' red,
As we wer catchèn vrom our laps,
Below a woak, our bits an' draps,
A-haulèn corn.
HARVEST HWOME.
The vu'st peärt. The Supper.
Since we wer striplèns naïghbour John,
The good wold merry times be gone:
But we do like to think upon
What we've a-zeed an' done.
When I wer up a hardish lad,
At harvest hwome the work-vo'k had
Sich suppers, they wer jumpèn mad
Wi' feästèn an' wi' fun.
The good wold merry times be gone:
But we do like to think upon
What we've a-zeed an' done.
89
At harvest hwome the work-vo'k had
Sich suppers, they wer jumpèn mad
Wi' feästèn an' wi' fun.
At uncle's, I do mind, woone year,
I zeed to vill o' hearty cheer;
Fat beef an' puddèn, eäle an' beer,
Vor ev'ry workman's crop
An' after they'd a-gie'd God thanks,
They all zot down, in two long ranks,
Along a teäble meäde o' planks,
Wi' uncle at the top.
I zeed to vill o' hearty cheer;
Fat beef an' puddèn, eäle an' beer,
Vor ev'ry workman's crop
An' after they'd a-gie'd God thanks,
They all zot down, in two long ranks,
Along a teäble meäde o' planks,
Wi' uncle at the top.
An' there, in platters, big an' brown,
Wer red fat beäcon, an' a roun'
O' beef wi' gravy that would drown
A little rwoastèn pig;
Wi' beäns an' teäties vull a zack,
An' cabbage that would meäke a stack,
An' puddèns brown, a-speckled black
Wi' figs, as big's my wig.
Wer red fat beäcon, an' a roun'
O' beef wi' gravy that would drown
A little rwoastèn pig;
Wi' beäns an' teäties vull a zack,
An' cabbage that would meäke a stack,
An' puddèns brown, a-speckled black
Wi' figs, as big's my wig.
An' uncle, wi' his elbows out,
Did carve, an' meäke the gravy spout;
An' aunt did gi'e the mugs about
A-frothèn to the brim.
Pleätes werden then ov e'then ware,
They ate off pewter, that would bear
A knock; or wooden trenchers, square,
Wi' zalt-holes at the rim.
Did carve, an' meäke the gravy spout;
An' aunt did gi'e the mugs about
A-frothèn to the brim.
Pleätes werden then ov e'then ware,
They ate off pewter, that would bear
A knock; or wooden trenchers, square,
Wi' zalt-holes at the rim.
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An' zoo they munch'd their hearty cheer,
An' dipp'd their beards in frothy beer,
An' laugh'd, an' joked,—they couldden hear
What woone another zaid.
An' all o'm drink'd, wi' woone accword,
The wold vo'k's health; an' beät the bwoard,
An' swung their eärms about, an' roar'd,
Enough to crack woone's head.
An' dipp'd their beards in frothy beer,
An' laugh'd, an' joked,—they couldden hear
What woone another zaid.
An' all o'm drink'd, wi' woone accword,
The wold vo'k's health; an' beät the bwoard,
An' swung their eärms about, an' roar'd,
Enough to crack woone's head.
HARVEST HWOME.
Second Peärt. What they did after Supper.
Zoo after supper wer a-done,
They clear'd the teäbles, an' begun
To have a little bit o' fun,
As long as they mid stop.
The wold woones took their pipes to smoke,
An' tell their teäles, an' laugh an' joke,
A-lookèn at the younger vo'k,
That got up vor a hop.
They clear'd the teäbles, an' begun
To have a little bit o' fun,
As long as they mid stop.
The wold woones took their pipes to smoke,
An' tell their teäles, an' laugh an' joke,
A-lookèn at the younger vo'k,
That got up vor a hop.
Woone screäp'd away, wi' merry grin,
A fiddle stuck below his chin;
An' woone o'm took the rollèn pin,
An' beät the fryèn-pan.
An' tothers, dancèn to the soun',
Went in an' out, an' droo an' roun',
An' kick'd, an' beät the tuèn down,
A-laughèn, maïd an' man.
A fiddle stuck below his chin;
An' woone o'm took the rollèn pin,
An' beät the fryèn-pan.
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Went in an' out, an' droo an' roun',
An' kick'd, an' beät the tuèn down,
A-laughèn, maïd an' man.
An' then a maïd, all up tip-tooe,
Vell down; an' woone o'm wi' his shoe
Slit down her pocket-hole in two,
Vrom top a-most to bottom.
An' when they had a-danc'd enough,
They got a-plaÿèn blindman's buff,
An' sard the maïdens pretty rough,
When woonce they had a-got em.
Vell down; an' woone o'm wi' his shoe
Slit down her pocket-hole in two,
Vrom top a-most to bottom.
An' when they had a-danc'd enough,
They got a-plaÿèn blindman's buff,
An' sard the maïdens pretty rough,
When woonce they had a-got em.
An' zome did drink, an' laugh, an' roar,
At lots o' teäles they had in store,
O' things that happen'd years avore
To them, or vo'k they knew.
An' zome did joke, an' zome did zing,
An' meäke the gre't wold kitchen ring;
Till uncle's cock, wi' flappèn wing,
Stratch'd out his neck an' crew.
At lots o' teäles they had in store,
O' things that happen'd years avore
To them, or vo'k they knew.
An' zome did joke, an' zome did zing,
An' meäke the gre't wold kitchen ring;
Till uncle's cock, wi' flappèn wing,
Stratch'd out his neck an' crew.
A ZONG OV HARVEST HWOME.
The ground is clear. There's nar a ear
O' stannèn corn a-left out now,
Vor win' to blow or raïn to drow;
'Tis all up seäfe in barn or mow.
Here's health to them that plough'd an' zow'd;
Here's health to them that reap'd an' mow'd,
An' them that had to pitch an' lwoad,
Or tip the rick at Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
O' stannèn corn a-left out now,
Vor win' to blow or raïn to drow;
'Tis all up seäfe in barn or mow.
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Here's health to them that reap'd an' mow'd,
An' them that had to pitch an' lwoad,
Or tip the rick at Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
An' mid noo harm o' vire or storm
Beval the farmer or his corn;
An' ev'ry zack o' zeed gi'e back
A hundred-vwold so much in barn.
An' mid his Meäker bless his store,
His wife an' all that she've a-bore,
An' keep all evil out o' door,
Vrom Harvest Hwome to Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
Beval the farmer or his corn;
An' ev'ry zack o' zeed gi'e back
A hundred-vwold so much in barn.
An' mid his Meäker bless his store,
His wife an' all that she've a-bore,
An' keep all evil out o' door,
Vrom Harvest Hwome to Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
Mid nothèn ill betide the mill,
As day by day the Miller's wheel
Do dreve his clacks, an' heist his zacks,
An' vill his bins wi' show'rèn meal:
Mid's water never overflow
His dousty mill, nor zink too low,
Vrom now till wheat ageän do grow,
An' we've another Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
As day by day the Miller's wheel
Do dreve his clacks, an' heist his zacks,
An' vill his bins wi' show'rèn meal:
Mid's water never overflow
His dousty mill, nor zink too low,
Vrom now till wheat ageän do grow,
An' we've another Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
Drough cisterns wet an' malt-kil's het,
Mid barley paÿ the malter's païns;
An' mid noo hurt bevall the wort,
A-bweilèn vrom the brewer's graïns.
Mid all his beer keep out o' harm
Vrom bu'sted hoop or thunder storm,
That we mid have a mug to warm
Our merry hearts nex' Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
Mid barley paÿ the malter's païns;
An' mid noo hurt bevall the wort,
A-bweilèn vrom the brewer's graïns.
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Vrom bu'sted hoop or thunder storm,
That we mid have a mug to warm
Our merry hearts nex' Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
Mid luck an' jaÿ the beäker paÿ,
As he do hear his vier roar,
Or nimbly catch his hot white batch,
A-reekèn vrom the oven door.
An' mid it never be too high
Vor our vew zixpences to buy,
When we do hear our children cry
Vor bread, avore nex' Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
As he do hear his vier roar,
Or nimbly catch his hot white batch,
A-reekèn vrom the oven door.
An' mid it never be too high
Vor our vew zixpences to buy,
When we do hear our children cry
Vor bread, avore nex' Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
Wi' jaÿ o' heart mid shooters start
The whirrèn pa'tridges in vlocks;
While shots do vlee drough bush an' tree,
An' dogs do stan' so still as stocks.
An' let em ramble round the farms
Wi' gun's 'ithin their bended eärms,
In goolden zunsheen free o' storms,
Rejaïcèn vor the Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
The whirrèn pa'tridges in vlocks;
While shots do vlee drough bush an' tree,
An' dogs do stan' so still as stocks.
An' let em ramble round the farms
Wi' gun's 'ithin their bended eärms,
In goolden zunsheen free o' storms,
Rejaïcèn vor the Harvest Hwome.
The happy zight,—the merry night,
The men's delight,—the Harvest Hwome.
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POLL'S JACK-DAW.
Ah! Jimmy vow'd he'd have the law
Ov ouer cousin Poll's Jack-daw,
That had by day his withy jaïl
A-hangèn up upon a naïl,
Ageän the elem tree, avore
The house, jist over-right the door,
An' twitted vo'k a-passèn by
A-most so plaïn as you or I;
Vor hardly any day did pass
'Ithout Tom's teachèn o'm zome sa'ce;
Till by-an-by he call'd em all
‘Soft-polls’ an' ‘gawkeys,’ gre't an' small.
Ov ouer cousin Poll's Jack-daw,
That had by day his withy jaïl
A-hangèn up upon a naïl,
Ageän the elem tree, avore
The house, jist over-right the door,
An' twitted vo'k a-passèn by
A-most so plaïn as you or I;
Vor hardly any day did pass
'Ithout Tom's teachèn o'm zome sa'ce;
Till by-an-by he call'd em all
‘Soft-polls’ an' ‘gawkeys,’ gre't an' small.
An' zoo, as Jim went down along
The leäne a-whisslèn ov a zong,
The saucy Daw cried out by rote
“Gre't Soft-poll!” lik' to split his droat.
Jim stopp'd an' grabbled up a clot,
An' zent en at en lik' a shot;
An' down went Daw an' cage avore
The clot, up thump ageän the door.
Zoo out ran Poll an' Tom, to zee
What all the meänèn o't mid be;
“Now who did that?” zaid Poll. “Who whurr'd
Theäse clot?” “Gre't Soft-poll!” cried the bird.
The leäne a-whisslèn ov a zong,
The saucy Daw cried out by rote
“Gre't Soft-poll!” lik' to split his droat.
Jim stopp'd an' grabbled up a clot,
An' zent en at en lik' a shot;
An' down went Daw an' cage avore
The clot, up thump ageän the door.
Zoo out ran Poll an' Tom, to zee
What all the meänèn o't mid be;
“Now who did that?” zaid Poll. “Who whurr'd
Theäse clot?” “Gre't Soft-poll!” cried the bird.
An' when Tom catch'd a glimpse o' Jim,
A-lookèn all so red an' slim,
An' slinkèn on, he vled red hot,
Down leäne to catch en, lik' a shot
But Jim, that thought he'd better trust
To lags than vistes, tried em vu'st.
An' Poll, that zeed Tom woulden catch
En, stood a-smilèn at the hatch.
An' zoo he vollow'd en for two
Or dree stwones' drows, an' let en goo.
A-lookèn all so red an' slim,
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Down leäne to catch en, lik' a shot
But Jim, that thought he'd better trust
To lags than vistes, tried em vu'st.
An' Poll, that zeed Tom woulden catch
En, stood a-smilèn at the hatch.
An' zoo he vollow'd en for two
Or dree stwones' drows, an' let en goo.
THE IVY.
Upon theäse knap I'd sooner be
The ivy that do climb the tree,
Than bloom the gaÿest rwose a-tied
An' trimm'd upon the house's zide.
The rwose mid be the maïdens' pride,
But still the ivy's wild an' free;
An' what is all that life can gi'e,
'Ithout a free light heart, John?
The ivy that do climb the tree,
Than bloom the gaÿest rwose a-tied
An' trimm'd upon the house's zide.
The rwose mid be the maïdens' pride,
But still the ivy's wild an' free;
An' what is all that life can gi'e,
'Ithout a free light heart, John?
The creepèn sheäde mid steal too soon
Upon the rwose i' afternoon;
But here the zun do drow his het
Vrom when do rise till when do zet,
To dry the leaves the raïn do wet,
An' evenèn aïr do bring along
The merry deäiry-maïden's zong,
The zong of free light hearts, John.
Upon the rwose i' afternoon;
But here the zun do drow his het
Vrom when do rise till when do zet,
To dry the leaves the raïn do wet,
An' evenèn aïr do bring along
The merry deäiry-maïden's zong,
The zong of free light hearts, John.
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Oh! why do vo'k so often chaïn
Their pinèn minds vor love o' gaïn,
An' gi'e their innocence to rise
A little in the worold's eyes?
If pride could lift us to the skies,
What man do value God do slight,
An' all is nothèn in his zight
'Ithout an honest heart, John.
Their pinèn minds vor love o' gaïn,
An' gi'e their innocence to rise
A little in the worold's eyes?
If pride could lift us to the skies,
What man do value God do slight,
An' all is nothèn in his zight
'Ithout an honest heart, John.
An ugly feäce can't bribe the brooks
To show it back young han'some looks,
Nor crooked vo'k intice the light
To cast their zummer sheädes upright:
Noo goold can blind our Meäker's zight.
An' what's the odds what cloth do hide
The bosom that do hold inside
A free an' honest heart, John?
To show it back young han'some looks,
Nor crooked vo'k intice the light
To cast their zummer sheädes upright:
Noo goold can blind our Meäker's zight.
An' what's the odds what cloth do hide
The bosom that do hold inside
A free an' honest heart, John?
THE WELSHNUT TREE.
When in the evenèn the zun's a-zinkèn,
A-drowèn sheädes vrom the yollow west,
An' mother, weary, 's a-zot a-thinkèn,
Wi' vwolded eärms by the vire at rest,
Then we do zwarm, O,
Wi' such a charm, O,
So vull o' glee by the welshnut tree.
A-drowèn sheädes vrom the yollow west,
An' mother, weary, 's a-zot a-thinkèn,
Wi' vwolded eärms by the vire at rest,
Then we do zwarm, O,
Wi' such a charm, O,
So vull o' glee by the welshnut tree.
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A-leävèn father in-doors, a-leinèn
In his gre't chair in his easy shoes,
Or in the settle so high behine en,
While down bezide en the dog do snooze,
Our tongues do run, O,
Enough to stun, O,
Your head wi' glee by the welshnut tree.
In his gre't chair in his easy shoes,
Or in the settle so high behine en,
While down bezide en the dog do snooze,
Our tongues do run, O,
Enough to stun, O,
Your head wi' glee by the welshnut tree.
There we do plaÿ ‘thread the woman's needle.’
An' slap the maïdens a-dartèn drough;
Or try who'll ax em the hardest riddle,
Or soonest tell woone a-put us, true;
Or zit an' ring, O,
The bells, ding, ding, O,
Upon our knee by the welshnut tree.
An' slap the maïdens a-dartèn drough;
Or try who'll ax em the hardest riddle,
Or soonest tell woone a-put us, true;
Or zit an' ring, O,
The bells, ding, ding, O,
Upon our knee by the welshnut tree.
An' zome do goo out, an' hide in orcha't,
An' tothers, slily a-stealèn by,
Where there's a dark cunnèn pleäce, do sarch it,
Till they do zee em an' cry, “I spy,”
An' thik a-vound, O,
Do gi'e a bound, O,
To get off free to the welshnut tree.
An' tothers, slily a-stealèn by,
Where there's a dark cunnèn pleäce, do sarch it,
Till they do zee em an' cry, “I spy,”
An' thik a-vound, O,
Do gi'e a bound, O,
To get off free to the welshnut tree.
Poll went woone night, that we midden vind her,
Inzide a woak wi' a hollow moot,
An' drough a hole near the groun' behind her,
I pok'd a stick in, an' catched her voot;
An' out she scream'd, O,
An' jumped, an' seem'd O,
A-móst to vlee to the welshnut tree.
Inzide a woak wi' a hollow moot,
An' drough a hole near the groun' behind her,
I pok'd a stick in, an' catched her voot;
An' out she scream'd, O,
An' jumped, an' seem'd O,
A-móst to vlee to the welshnut tree.
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An' when, at last, at the drashel, mother
Do call us, smilèn, in-door to rest,
Then we do cluster by woone another,
To see hwome them we do love the best:
An' then do sound, O,
“Good night,” all round, O,
To end our glee by the welshnut tree.
Do call us, smilèn, in-door to rest,
Then we do cluster by woone another,
To see hwome them we do love the best:
An' then do sound, O,
“Good night,” all round, O,
To end our glee by the welshnut tree.
JENNY OUT VROM HWOME.
O wild-reävèn west winds! as you do roar on,
The elems do rock and the poplars do ply,
An' weäve do dreve weäve in the dark-water'd pon',—
Oh! where do ye rise vrom, an' where do ye die?
The elems do rock and the poplars do ply,
An' weäve do dreve weäve in the dark-water'd pon',—
Oh! where do ye rise vrom, an' where do ye die?
O wild-reävèn winds I do wish I could vlee
Wi' you, lik' a bird o' the clouds, up above
The ridge o' the hill an' the top o' the tree,
To where I do long vor, an' vo'k I do love.
Wi' you, lik' a bird o' the clouds, up above
The ridge o' the hill an' the top o' the tree,
To where I do long vor, an' vo'k I do love.
Or else that in under theäse rock I could hear,
In the soft-zwellèn sounds you do leäve in your road,
Zome words you mid bring me, vrom tongues that be dear,
Vrom friends that do love me, all scatter'd abrode.
In the soft-zwellèn sounds you do leäve in your road,
Zome words you mid bring me, vrom tongues that be dear,
Vrom friends that do love me, all scatter'd abrode.
O wild-reävèn winds! if you ever do roar
By the house an' the elems vrom where I'm a-come,
Breathe up at the window, or call at the door,
An' tell you've a-voun' me a-thinkèn o' hwome.
By the house an' the elems vrom where I'm a-come,
Breathe up at the window, or call at the door,
An' tell you've a-voun' me a-thinkèn o' hwome.
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GRENLEY WATER.
The sheädeless darkness o' the night
Can never blind my mem'ry's zight;
An' in the storm, my fancy's eyes
Can look upon their own blue skies.
The laggèn moon mid faïl to rise,
But when the daylight's blue an' green
Be gone, my fancy's zun do sheen
At hwome at Grenley Water.
Can never blind my mem'ry's zight;
An' in the storm, my fancy's eyes
Can look upon their own blue skies.
The laggèn moon mid faïl to rise,
But when the daylight's blue an' green
Be gone, my fancy's zun do sheen
At hwome at Grenley Water.
As when the work-vo'k us'd to ride
In waggon, by the hedge's zide,
Drough evenèn sheädes that trees cast down
Vrom lofty stems athirt the groun';
An' in at house the mug went roun',
While every merry man praïs'd up
The pretty maïd that vill'd his cup,
The maïd o' Grenley Water.
In waggon, by the hedge's zide,
Drough evenèn sheädes that trees cast down
Vrom lofty stems athirt the groun';
An' in at house the mug went roun',
While every merry man praïs'd up
The pretty maïd that vill'd his cup,
The maïd o' Grenley Water.
There I do seem ageän to ride
The hosses to the water-zide,
An' zee the visher fling his hook
Below the withies by the brook;
Or Fanny, wi' her blushèn look,
Car on her païl, or come to dip
Wi' ceäreful step, her pitcher's lip
Down into Grenley Water.
The hosses to the water-zide,
An' zee the visher fling his hook
Below the withies by the brook;
Or Fanny, wi' her blushèn look,
Car on her païl, or come to dip
Wi' ceäreful step, her pitcher's lip
Down into Grenley Water.
If I'd a farm wi' vower ploughs,
An' vor my deäiry fifty cows;
If Grenley water winded down
Drough two good miles o' my own groun';
If half ov Ashknowle Hill wer brown
Wi' my own corn,—noo growèn pride
Should ever meäke me cast azide
The maïd o' Grenley Water.
An' vor my deäiry fifty cows;
100
Drough two good miles o' my own groun';
If half ov Ashknowle Hill wer brown
Wi' my own corn,—noo growèn pride
Should ever meäke me cast azide
The maïd o' Grenley Water.
THE VEAIRY VEET THAT I DO MEET.
When dewy fall's red leaves do vlee
Along the grass below the tree,
Or lie in yollow beds a-shook
Upon the shallow-water'd brook,
Or drove 'ithin a sheädy nook;
Then softly, in the evenèn, down
The knap do steal along the groun'
The veäiry veet that I do meet
Below the row o' beech trees.
Along the grass below the tree,
Or lie in yollow beds a-shook
Upon the shallow-water'd brook,
Or drove 'ithin a sheädy nook;
Then softly, in the evenèn, down
The knap do steal along the groun'
The veäiry veet that I do meet
Below the row o' beech trees.
'Tis jist avore the candle-light
Do redden windows up at night,
An' peäler stars do light the vogs
A-risèn vrom the brooks an' bogs,
An' when in barkens yoppèn dog,
Do bark at vo'k a-comèn near,
Or growl a-lis'enèn to hear
The veäiry veet that I do meet
Below the row o' beech trees.
Do redden windows up at night,
An' peäler stars do light the vogs
A-risèn vrom the brooks an' bogs,
An' when in barkens yoppèn dog,
Do bark at vo'k a-comèn near,
Or growl a-lis'enèn to hear
The veäiry veet that I do meet
Below the row o' beech trees.
Dree times a-year do bless the road
O' womanhood a-gwaïn abrode:
When vu'st her litty veet do tread
The eärly Maÿs white deäisy bed:
When leaves be all a-scattered dead;
An' when the winter's vrozen grass
Do glissen in the zun lik' glass
Vor veäiry veet that I do meet
Below the row o' beech trees.
O' womanhood a-gwaïn abrode:
101
The eärly Maÿs white deäisy bed:
When leaves be all a-scattered dead;
An' when the winter's vrozen grass
Do glissen in the zun lik' glass
Vor veäiry veet that I do meet
Below the row o' beech trees.
MORNEN.
When vu'st the breakèn day is red,
An' grass is dewy wet,
An' roun' the blackberry's a-spread
The spider's gliss'nèn net,
Then I do dreve the cows across
The brook that's in a vog,
While they do trot, an' bleäre, an' toss
Their heads to hook the dog;
Vor the cock do gi'e me warnèn,
An' light or dark,
So brisk's a lark,
I'm up at break o' mornèn.
An' grass is dewy wet,
An' roun' the blackberry's a-spread
The spider's gliss'nèn net,
Then I do dreve the cows across
The brook that's in a vog,
While they do trot, an' bleäre, an' toss
Their heads to hook the dog;
Vor the cock do gi'e me warnèn,
An' light or dark,
So brisk's a lark,
I'm up at break o' mornèn.
Avore the maïden's sleep's a-broke
By window-strikèn zun,
Avore the busy wife's vu'st smoke
Do curl above the tun,
My day's begun. An' when the zun
'S a-zinkèn in the west,
The work the mornèn brought's a-done,
An' I do goo to rest,
Till the cock do gi'e me warnèn;
An' light or dark,
So brisk's a lark,
I'm up ageän nex' mornèn.
By window-strikèn zun,
Avore the busy wife's vu'st smoke
Do curl above the tun,
My day's begun. An' when the zun
'S a-zinkèn in the west,
The work the mornèn brought's a-done,
102
Till the cock do gi'e me warnèn;
An' light or dark,
So brisk's a lark,
I'm up ageän nex' mornèn.
We can't keep back the daily zun,
The wind is never still,
An' never ha' the streams a-done
A-runnèn down at hill.
Zoo they that ha' their work to do,
Should do't so soon's they can;
Vor time an' tide will come an' goo,
An' never waït vor man,
As the cock do gi'e me warnèn;
When, light or dark,
So brisk's a lark,
I'm up so rathe in mornèn.
The wind is never still,
An' never ha' the streams a-done
A-runnèn down at hill.
Zoo they that ha' their work to do,
Should do't so soon's they can;
Vor time an' tide will come an' goo,
An' never waït vor man,
As the cock do gi'e me warnèn;
When, light or dark,
So brisk's a lark,
I'm up so rathe in mornèn.
We've leäzes where the aïr do blow,
An' meäds wi' deäiry cows,
An' copse wi' lewth an' sheäde below
The overhangèn boughs.
An' when the zun, noo time can tire,
'S a-quench'd below the west,
Then we've, avore the bleäzèn vire,
A settle vor to rest,—
To be up ageän nex' mornèn
So brisk's a lark,
When, light or dark,
The cock do gi'e us warnèn.
An' meäds wi' deäiry cows,
An' copse wi' lewth an' sheäde below
The overhangèn boughs.
An' when the zun, noo time can tire,
'S a-quench'd below the west,
Then we've, avore the bleäzèn vire,
A settle vor to rest,—
To be up ageän nex' mornèn
So brisk's a lark,
When, light or dark,
The cock do gi'e us warnèn.
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OUT A-NUTTEN.
Last week, when we'd a haul'd the crops,
We went a-nuttèn out in copse,
Wi' nuttèn-bags to bring hwome vull,
An' beaky nuttèn-crooks to pull
The bushes down; an' all o's wore
Wold clothes that wer in rags avore,
An' look'd, as we did skip an' zing,
Lik' merry gipsies in a string,
A-gwaïn a-nuttèn.
We went a-nuttèn out in copse,
Wi' nuttèn-bags to bring hwome vull,
An' beaky nuttèn-crooks to pull
The bushes down; an' all o's wore
Wold clothes that wer in rags avore,
An' look'd, as we did skip an' zing,
Lik' merry gipsies in a string,
A-gwaïn a-nuttèn.
Zoo drough the stubble, over rudge
An' vurrow, we begun to trudge;
An' Sal an' Nan agreed to pick
Along wi' me, an' Poll wi' Dick;
An' they went where the wold wood, high
An' thick, did meet an' hide the sky;
But we thought we mid vind zome good
Ripe nuts among the shorter wood,
The best vor nuttèn.
An' vurrow, we begun to trudge;
An' Sal an' Nan agreed to pick
Along wi' me, an' Poll wi' Dick;
An' they went where the wold wood, high
An' thick, did meet an' hide the sky;
But we thought we mid vind zome good
Ripe nuts among the shorter wood,
The best vor nuttèn.
We voun' zome bushes that did feäce
The downcast zunlight's highest pleäce,
Where clusters hung so ripe an' brown,
That zome slipp'd shell an' vell to groun'.
But Sal wi' me zoo hitch'd her lag
In brembles, that she coulden wag;
While Poll kept clwose to Dick, an' stole
The nuts vrom's hinder pocket-hole,
While he did nutty.
The downcast zunlight's highest pleäce,
Where clusters hung so ripe an' brown,
That zome slipp'd shell an' vell to groun'.
But Sal wi' me zoo hitch'd her lag
In brembles, that she coulden wag;
While Poll kept clwose to Dick, an' stole
The nuts vrom's hinder pocket-hole,
While he did nutty.
104
An' Nanny thought she zaw a sneäke,
An' jump'd off into zome gre't breäke,
An' tore the bag where she'd a-put
Her sheäre, an' shatter'd ev'ry nut.
An' out in vield we all zot roun'
A white-stemm'd woak upon the groun',
Where yollor evenen light did strik'
Drough yollow leaves, that still were thick
In time o' nuttèn.
An' jump'd off into zome gre't breäke,
An' tore the bag where she'd a-put
Her sheäre, an' shatter'd ev'ry nut.
An' out in vield we all zot roun'
A white-stemm'd woak upon the groun',
Where yollor evenen light did strik'
Drough yollow leaves, that still were thick
In time o' nuttèn.
An' twold ov all the luck we had
Among the bushes, good an' bad;
Till all the maïdens left the bwoys,
An' skipp'd about the leäze all woys
Vor musherooms, to car back zome,
A treat vor father in at hwome.
Zoo off we trudg'd wi' cloths in slents
An' libbets, jis' lik' Jack-o'-lents,
Vrom copse a-nuttèn.
Among the bushes, good an' bad;
Till all the maïdens left the bwoys,
An' skipp'd about the leäze all woys
Vor musherooms, to car back zome,
A treat vor father in at hwome.
Zoo off we trudg'd wi' cloths in slents
An' libbets, jis' lik' Jack-o'-lents,
Vrom copse a-nuttèn.
TEAKEN IN APPLES.
We took the apples in last week,
An' got, by night zome eächèn backs
A-stoopèn down all day to pick
Soo many up in mawns an' zacks.
An' there wer Liz so proud an' prim,
An' dumpy Nan, an' Poll so sly;
An' dapper Tom, an' loppèn Jim,
An' little Dick an' Fan, an' I.
An' got, by night zome eächèn backs
A-stoopèn down all day to pick
Soo many up in mawns an' zacks.
An' there wer Liz so proud an' prim,
An' dumpy Nan, an' Poll so sly;
An' dapper Tom, an' loppèn Jim,
An' little Dick an' Fan, an' I.
105
An' there the lwoaded tree bent low,
Behung wi' apples green an' red;
An' springèn grass could hardly grow,
Drough windfalls down below his head.
An' when the maïdens come in roun'
The heavy boughs to vill their laps,
We slyly shook the apples down
Lik' haïl, an' gi'ed their backs some raps.
Behung wi' apples green an' red;
An' springèn grass could hardly grow,
Drough windfalls down below his head.
An' when the maïdens come in roun'
The heavy boughs to vill their laps,
We slyly shook the apples down
Lik' haïl, an' gi'ed their backs some raps.
An' zome big apple, Jimmy flung
To squaïl me, gi'ed me sich a crack;
But very shortly his ear rung,
Wi' woone I zent to paÿ en back.
An' after we'd a-had our squaïls,
Poor Tom, a-jumpèn in a bag,
Wer pinch'd by all the maïden's naïls,
An' rolled down into hwome-groun' quag.
To squaïl me, gi'ed me sich a crack;
But very shortly his ear rung,
Wi' woone I zent to paÿ en back.
An' after we'd a-had our squaïls,
Poor Tom, a-jumpèn in a bag,
Wer pinch'd by all the maïden's naïls,
An' rolled down into hwome-groun' quag.
An' then they carr'd our Fan all roun',
'Ithin a mawn, till zome gre't stump
Upset en, strickèn out o' groun',
An' drow'd her out along-straïght, plump.
An' in the cider-house we zot
Upon the windlass Poll an' Nan,
An' spun em roun' till they wer got
So giddy that they coulden stan'.
'Ithin a mawn, till zome gre't stump
Upset en, strickèn out o' groun',
An' drow'd her out along-straïght, plump.
An' in the cider-house we zot
Upon the windlass Poll an' Nan,
An' spun em roun' till they wer got
So giddy that they coulden stan'.
MEAPLE LEAVES BE YOLLOW.
Come, let's stroll down so vur's the poun',
Avore the sparklèn zun is down:
The zummer's gone, an' days so feäir
As theäse be now a-gettèn reäre.
The night, wi' mwore than daylight's sheäre
O' wat'ry sky, do wet wi' dew
The ee-grass up above woone's shoe,
An' meäple leaves be yollow.
Avore the sparklèn zun is down:
106
As theäse be now a-gettèn reäre.
The night, wi' mwore than daylight's sheäre
O' wat'ry sky, do wet wi' dew
The ee-grass up above woone's shoe,
An' meäple leaves be yollow.
The last hot doust, above the road,
An' vu'st dead leaves ha' been a-blow'd
By plaÿsome win's where spring did spread
The blossoms that the zummer shed;
An' near blue sloos an' conkers red
The evenèn zun, a zettèn soon,
Do leäve a-quiv'rèn to the moon,
The meäple leaves so yollow.
An' vu'st dead leaves ha' been a-blow'd
By plaÿsome win's where spring did spread
The blossoms that the zummer shed;
An' near blue sloos an' conkers red
The evenèn zun, a zettèn soon,
Do leäve a-quiv'rèn to the moon,
The meäple leaves so yollow.
Zoo come along, an' let's injaÿ
The last fine weather while do staÿ;
While thou canst hang, wi' ribbons slack,
Thy bonnet down upon thy back,
Avore the winter, cwold an' black,
Do kill thy flowers, an' avore
Thy bird-cage is a-took in door,
Though meäple leaves be yollow.
The last fine weather while do staÿ;
While thou canst hang, wi' ribbons slack,
Thy bonnet down upon thy back,
Avore the winter, cwold an' black,
Do kill thy flowers, an' avore
Thy bird-cage is a-took in door,
Though meäple leaves be yollow.
NIGHT A-ZETTEN IN.
When leäzers wi' their laps o' corn
Noo longer be a-stoopèn,
An' in the stubble, all vorlorn,
Noo poppies be a-droopèn;
When theäse young harvest-moon do weäne,
That now've his horns so thin, O,
We'll leäve off walkèn in the leäne,
While night's a zettèn in, O.
Noo longer be a-stoopèn,
An' in the stubble, all vorlorn,
Noo poppies be a-droopèn;
107
That now've his horns so thin, O,
We'll leäve off walkèn in the leäne,
While night's a zettèn in, O.
When zummer doust is all a-laid
Below our litty shoes, O;
When all the raïn-chill'd flow'rs be dead,
That now do drink the dews, O;
When beauty's neck, that's now a-show'd,
'S a-muffled to the chin, O;
We'll leäve off walkèn in the road,
When night's a-zettèn in, O.
Below our litty shoes, O;
When all the raïn-chill'd flow'rs be dead,
That now do drink the dews, O;
When beauty's neck, that's now a-show'd,
'S a-muffled to the chin, O;
We'll leäve off walkèn in the road,
When night's a-zettèn in, O.
But now, while barley by the road
Do hang upon the bough, O,
A-pull'd by branches off the lwoad
A-ridèn hwome to mow, O;
While spiders roun' the flower-stalks
Ha' cobwebs yet to spin, O,
We'll cool ourzelves in out-door walks,
When night's a-zettèn in, O.
Do hang upon the bough, O,
A-pull'd by branches off the lwoad
A-ridèn hwome to mow, O;
While spiders roun' the flower-stalks
Ha' cobwebs yet to spin, O,
We'll cool ourzelves in out-door walks,
When night's a-zettèn in, O.
While down at vword the brook so small,
That leätely wer so high, O,
Wi' little tinklèn sounds do vall
In roun' the stwones half dry, O;
While twilight ha' sich aïr in store,
To cool our zunburnt skin, O,
We'll have a ramble out o' door,
When night's a-zettèn in, O.
That leätely wer so high, O,
Wi' little tinklèn sounds do vall
In roun' the stwones half dry, O;
While twilight ha' sich aïr in store,
To cool our zunburnt skin, O,
We'll have a ramble out o' door,
When night's a-zettèn in, O.
108
THE WEATHER-BEATEN TREE.
The woaken tree, a-beät at night
By stormy winds wi' all their spite,
Mid toss his lim's, an' ply, an' mwoan,
Wi' unknown struggles all alwone;
An' when the day do show his head,
A-stripp'd by winds at last a-laid,
How vew mid think that didden zee,
How night-time had a-tried thik tree
By stormy winds wi' all their spite,
Mid toss his lim's, an' ply, an' mwoan,
Wi' unknown struggles all alwone;
An' when the day do show his head,
A-stripp'd by winds at last a-laid,
How vew mid think that didden zee,
How night-time had a-tried thik tree
An' happy vo'k do seldom know
How hard our unknown storms do blow,
The while our heads do slowly bend
Below the trials God do zend,
Like shiv'rèn bennets, beäre to all
The drevèn winds o' dark'nèn fall.
An' zoo in tryèn hardships we
Be lik' the weather-beäten tree.
How hard our unknown storms do blow,
The while our heads do slowly bend
Below the trials God do zend,
Like shiv'rèn bennets, beäre to all
The drevèn winds o' dark'nèn fall.
An' zoo in tryèn hardships we
Be lik' the weather-beäten tree.
But He will never meäke our sheäre
O' sorrow mwore than we can bear,
But meäke us zee, if 'tis His will,
That he can bring us good vrom ill;
As after winter He do bring,
In His good time, the zunny spring,
An' leaves, an' young vo'k vull o' glee
A-dancèn roun' the woaken tree.
O' sorrow mwore than we can bear,
But meäke us zee, if 'tis His will,
That he can bring us good vrom ill;
As after winter He do bring,
In His good time, the zunny spring,
An' leaves, an' young vo'k vull o' glee
A-dancèn roun' the woaken tree.
True love's the ivy that do twine
Unwith'rèn roun' his mossy rine,
When winter's zickly zun do sheen
Upon its leaves o' glossy green,
So patiently a-holdèn vast
Till storms an' cwold be all a-past,
An' only livèn vor to be
A-meäted to the woaken tree.
Unwith'rèn roun' his mossy rine,
109
Upon its leaves o' glossy green,
So patiently a-holdèn vast
Till storms an' cwold be all a-past,
An' only livèn vor to be
A-meäted to the woaken tree.
SHRODON FEAIR.
The vu'st Peärt.
An' zoo's the day wer warm an' bright,
An' nar a cloud wer up in zight,
We wheedled father for the meäre
An' cart, to goo to Shrodon feäir.
An' Poll an' Nan ran off up stairs,
To shift their things, so wild as heäres;
An' pull'd out, each o'm vrom her box,
Their snow-white leäce an' newest frocks,
An' put their bonnets on, a-lined
Wi' blue. an' sashes tied behind;
An' turn'd avore the glass their feäce
An' back, to zee their things in pleäce;
While Dick an' I did brush our hats
An' cwoats, an' cleän ourzelves lik' cats.
At woone or two o'clock, we vound
Ourzelves at Shrodon seäfe an' sound,
A-struttèn in among the rows
O' tilted stannèns an' o' shows,
An' gre't long booths wi' little bars
Chock-vull o' barrels, mugs, an' jars,
An' meat a-cookèn out avore
The vier at the upper door;
Where zellers bwold to buyers shy
Did hollow round us “What d'ye buy?”
An' scores o' merry tongues did speak
At woonce, an' childern's pipes did squeak,
An' horns did blow, an' drums did rumble,
An' bawlèn merrymen did tumble;
An' woone did all but want an' edge
To peärt the crowd wi', lik' a wedge.
An' nar a cloud wer up in zight,
We wheedled father for the meäre
An' cart, to goo to Shrodon feäir.
An' Poll an' Nan ran off up stairs,
To shift their things, so wild as heäres;
An' pull'd out, each o'm vrom her box,
Their snow-white leäce an' newest frocks,
An' put their bonnets on, a-lined
Wi' blue. an' sashes tied behind;
An' turn'd avore the glass their feäce
An' back, to zee their things in pleäce;
While Dick an' I did brush our hats
An' cwoats, an' cleän ourzelves lik' cats.
At woone or two o'clock, we vound
Ourzelves at Shrodon seäfe an' sound,
A-struttèn in among the rows
O' tilted stannèns an' o' shows,
110
Chock-vull o' barrels, mugs, an' jars,
An' meat a-cookèn out avore
The vier at the upper door;
Where zellers bwold to buyers shy
Did hollow round us “What d'ye buy?”
An' scores o' merry tongues did speak
At woonce, an' childern's pipes did squeak,
An' horns did blow, an' drums did rumble,
An' bawlèn merrymen did tumble;
An' woone did all but want an' edge
To peärt the crowd wi', lik' a wedge.
We zaw the dancers in a show
Dance up an' down, an' to an' fro,
Upon a rwope, wi' chalky zoles,
So light as magpies up on poles;
An' tumblers, wi' their streaks an' spots,
That all but tied theirzelves in knots.
An' then a conjurer burn'd off
Poll's hankerchief so black's a snoff,
An' het en, wi' a single blow,
Right back ageän so white as snow.
An' after that, he fried a fat
Gre't ceäke inzide o' my new hat;
An' yet, vor all he did en brown,
He didden even zweal the crown.
Dance up an' down, an' to an' fro,
Upon a rwope, wi' chalky zoles,
So light as magpies up on poles;
An' tumblers, wi' their streaks an' spots,
That all but tied theirzelves in knots.
An' then a conjurer burn'd off
Poll's hankerchief so black's a snoff,
An' het en, wi' a single blow,
Right back ageän so white as snow.
An' after that, he fried a fat
Gre't ceäke inzide o' my new hat;
An' yet, vor all he did en brown,
He didden even zweal the crown.
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SHRODON FEAIR.
The rest o't.
An' after that we met wi' zomeO' Mans'on vo'k, but jist a-come,
An' had a raffle vor a treat
All roun', o' gingerbread to eat;
An' Tom meäde leäst, wi' all his sheäkes,
An' païd the money vor the ceäkes,
But wer so lwoth to put it down
As if a penny wer a poun'.
Then up come zidelèn Sammy Heäre,
That's fond o' Poll, an' she can't bear,
A-holdèn out his gre't scram vist,
An' ax'd her, wi' a grin an' twist,
To have zome nuts; an' she, to hide
Her laughèn, turn'd her head azide,
An' answer'd that she'd rather not,
But Nancy mid. An' Nan, so hot
As vier, zaid 'twer quite enough
Vor Poll to answer vor herzuf:
She had a tongue, she zaid, an' wit
Enough to use en, when 'twer fit.
An' in the dusk, a-ridèn round
Drough Okford, who d'ye think we vound
But Sam ageän, a-gwaïn vrom feäir
Astride his broken-winded meäre.
An' zoo, a-hettèn her, he tried
To keep up clwose by ouer zide;
112
Our Poll gi'ed Dick a meänèn nudge,
An' wi' a little twitch our meäre
Flung out her lags so light's a heäre,
An' left poor Sammy's skin an' bwones
Behind, a-kickèn o' the stwones.
MARTIN'S TIDE.
Come, bring a log o' cleft wood, Jack,
An' fling en on ageän the back,
An' zee the outside door is vast,—
The win' do blow a cwoldish blast.
Come, so's! come, pull your chairs in roun'
Avore the vire; an' let's zit down,
An' keep up Martin's-tide, vor I
Shall keep it up till I do die.
'Twer Martinmas, and ouer feäir,
When Jeäne an' I, a happy peäir,
Vu'st walk'd, a-keepèn up the tide,
Among the stan'ens, zide by zide;
An' thik day twel'month, never faïlèn,
She gi'ed me at the chancel raïlèn
A heart—though I do sound her praïse—
As true as ever beat in staÿs.
How vast the time do goo! do seem
But yesterday,—'tis lik' a dream!
An' fling en on ageän the back,
An' zee the outside door is vast,—
The win' do blow a cwoldish blast.
Come, so's! come, pull your chairs in roun'
Avore the vire; an' let's zit down,
An' keep up Martin's-tide, vor I
Shall keep it up till I do die.
'Twer Martinmas, and ouer feäir,
When Jeäne an' I, a happy peäir,
Vu'st walk'd, a-keepèn up the tide,
Among the stan'ens, zide by zide;
An' thik day twel'month, never faïlèn,
She gi'ed me at the chancel raïlèn
A heart—though I do sound her praïse—
As true as ever beat in staÿs.
How vast the time do goo! do seem
But yesterday,—'tis lik' a dream!
Ah, sō's! 'tis now zome years agoo
You vu'st knew me, an' I knew you;
An' we've a-had zome bits o' fun,
By winter vire an' zummer zun.
Aye; we've a-prowl'd an' rigg'd about
Lik' cats, in harm's way mwore than out,
An' scores o' tricks have we a-plaÿd
To outwit chaps or plague a maïd.
An' out avore the bleäzèn he'th,
Our naïsy tongues, in winter me'th,
'V a-shook the warmèn-pan, a-hung
Bezide us, till his cover rung.
There, 'twer but tother day thik chap,
Our Robert, wer a child in lap;
An' Poll's two little lags hung down
Vrom thik wold chair a span vrom groun',
An' now the saucy wench do stride
About wi' steps o' dree veet wide.
How time do goo! A life do seem
As 'twer a year; 'tis lik' a dream!
You vu'st knew me, an' I knew you;
113
By winter vire an' zummer zun.
Aye; we've a-prowl'd an' rigg'd about
Lik' cats, in harm's way mwore than out,
An' scores o' tricks have we a-plaÿd
To outwit chaps or plague a maïd.
An' out avore the bleäzèn he'th,
Our naïsy tongues, in winter me'th,
'V a-shook the warmèn-pan, a-hung
Bezide us, till his cover rung.
There, 'twer but tother day thik chap,
Our Robert, wer a child in lap;
An' Poll's two little lags hung down
Vrom thik wold chair a span vrom groun',
An' now the saucy wench do stride
About wi' steps o' dree veet wide.
How time do goo! A life do seem
As 'twer a year; 'tis lik' a dream!
GUY FAUX'S NIGHT.
Guy Faux's night, dost know, we chaps,
A-puttèn on our woldest traps,
Went up the highest o' the knaps,
An' meäde up such a vier!
An' thou an' Tom wer all we miss'd,
Vor if a sarpent had a-hiss'd
Among the rest in thy sprack vist,
Our fun 'd a-been the higher.
A-puttèn on our woldest traps,
Went up the highest o' the knaps,
An' meäde up such a vier!
An' thou an' Tom wer all we miss'd,
Vor if a sarpent had a-hiss'd
Among the rest in thy sprack vist,
Our fun 'd a-been the higher.
114
We chaps at hwome, an' Will our cousin,
Took up a half a lwoad o' vuzzen;
An' burn'd a barrel wi' a dozen
O' faggots, till above en
The fleämes, arisèn up so high
'S the tun, did snap, an' roar an' ply,
Lik' vier in an' oven.
Took up a half a lwoad o' vuzzen;
An' burn'd a barrel wi' a dozen
O' faggots, till above en
The fleämes, arisèn up so high
'S the tun, did snap, an' roar an' ply,
Lik' vier in an' oven.
An' zome wi' hissèn squibs did run,
To paÿ off zome what they'd a-done,
An' let em off so loud's a gun
Ageän their smokèn polls;
An' zome did stir their nimble pags
Wi' crackers in between their lags,
While zome did burn their cwoats to rags,
Or wes'cots out in holes.
To paÿ off zome what they'd a-done,
An' let em off so loud's a gun
Ageän their smokèn polls;
An' zome did stir their nimble pags
Wi' crackers in between their lags,
While zome did burn their cwoats to rags,
Or wes'cots out in holes.
An' zome o'm's heads lost half their locks
An' zome o'm got their white smock-frocks
Jist fit to vill the tinder-box,
Wi' half the backs o'm off;
An' Dick, that all o'm vell upon,
Vound woone flap ov his cwoat-taïl gone,
An' tother jist a-hangèn on,
A-zweal'd so black's a snoff.
An' zome o'm got their white smock-frocks
Jist fit to vill the tinder-box,
Wi' half the backs o'm off;
An' Dick, that all o'm vell upon,
Vound woone flap ov his cwoat-taïl gone,
An' tother jist a-hangèn on,
A-zweal'd so black's a snoff.
115
Eclogue.
THE COMMON A-TOOK IN.
Thomas an' John.
THOMAS.Good morn t'ye, John. How b'ye? how b'ye?
Zoo you be gwaïn to market, I do zee.
Why, you be quite a-lwoaded wi' your geese.
JOHN.
Ees, Thomas, ees.
Why, I'm a-gettèn rid ov ev'ry goose
An' goslèn I've a-got; an' what is woose
I fear that I must zell my little cow.
THOMAS.
How zoo, then, John? Why, what's the matter now?
What can't ye get along? B'ye run a-ground?
An' can't paÿ twenty shillèns vor a pound?
What can't ye put a lwoaf on shelf?
JOHN.
Ees, now;
But I do fear I shan't i'thout my cow.
No; they do mëan to teäke the moor in, I do hear,
An' 'twill be soon begun upon;
Zoo I must zell my bit o' stock to-year,
Because they woon't have any groun' to run upon.
116
Why, what d'ye tell o'? I be very zorry
To hear what they be gwaïn about;
But yet I s'pose there 'll be a 'lotment vor ye,
When they do come to mark it out.
JOHN.
No; not vor me, I fear. An' if there should,
Why 'twoulden be so handy as 'tis now;
Vor 'tis the common that do do me good,
The run for my vew geese, or vor my cow.
THOMAS.
Yes, that's the job; why 'tis a handy thing
To have a bit o' common, I do know,
To put a little cow upon in spring,
The while woone's bit ov orcha'd grass do grow.
JOHN.
Aye, that's the thing, you zee. Now I do mow
My bit o' grass, an' meäke a little rick;
An' in the zummer, while do grow,
My cow do run in common vor to pick
A bleäde or two o' grass, if she can vind em,
Vor tother cattle don't leave much behind em.
Zoo in the evenèn, we do put a lock
O' nice fresh grass avore the wicket;
An' she do come at vive or zix o'clock,
As constant as the zun, to pick it.
An' then, bezides the cow, why we do let
Our geese run out among the emmet hills;
An' then when we do pluck em, we do get
Vor seäle zome veathers an' zome quills;
117
An' car em to the market vor to zell
To gentlevo'ks, vor we don't oft avvword
To put a goose a-top ov ouer bwoard;
But we do get our feäst,—vor we be eäble
To clap the giblets up a-top o' teäble.
THOMAS.
An' I don't know o' many better things,
Than geese's heads an' gizzards, lags an' wings.
JOHN.
An' then, when I ha' nothèn else to do,
Why I can teäke my hook an' gloves, an' goo
To cut a lot o' vuzz and briars
Vor hetèn ovens, or vor lightèn viers,
An' when the childern be too young to eärn
A penny, they can g'out in zunny weather,
An' run about, an' get together
A bag o' cow-dung vor to burn.
THOMAS.
'Tis handy to live near a common;
But I've a-zeed an' I've a-zaid,
That if a poor man got a bit o' bread,
They'll try to teäke it vrom en.
But I wer twold back tother day,
That they be got into a way
O' lettèn bits o' groun' out to the poor.
JOHN.
Well, I do hope 'tis true, I'm sure;
An' I do hope that they will do it here,
Or I must goo to workhouse, I do fear.
118
Eclogue.
TWO FARMS IN WOONE.
Robert an' Thomas.
ROBERT.You'll lose your meäster soon, then, I do vind;
He's gwaïn to leäve his farm, as I do larn,
At Miëlmas; an' I be zorry vor'n.
What, is he then a little bit behind?
THOMAS.
Oh! no; at Miëlmas his time is up,
An' thik there sly wold fellow, Farmer Tup,
A-fearèn that he'd get a bit o' bread,
'V a-been an' took his farm here over's head.
ROBERT.
How come the Squire to treat you meäster zoo?
THOMAS.
Why, he an' meäster had a word or two.
ROBERT.
Is Farmer Tup a-gwaïn to leäve his farm?
He han't a-got noo young woones vor to zwarm.
Poor over-reachèn man! why to be sure
He don't want all the farms in parish, do er?
119
Why yes, all ever he can come across,
Last year, you know, he got away the eäcre
Or two o' ground a-rented by the beäker,
An' what the butcher had to keep his hoss;
An vo'k do beänhan' now that meäster's lot
Will be a-drown along wi' what he got.
ROBERT.
That's it. In theäse here pleäce there used to be
Eight farms avore they wer a-drown together,
An' eight farm-housen. Now how many be there
Why after this, you know there'll be but dree.
THOMAS.
An' now they don't imploy so many men
Upon the land as work'd upon it then,
Vor all they midden crop it worse, nor stock it.
The lan'lord, to be sure, is into pocket;
Vor half the housen beën down 'tis clear,
Don't cost so much to keep em up, a-near.
But then the jobs o' work in wood an' morter
Do come I 'spose, you know, a little shorter;
An' many that wer little farmers then,
Be now a-come all a-down to leäb'rèn men;
An' many leäb'rèn men wi' empty hands,
Do live lik' drones upon the workers' lands.
ROBERT.
Aye, if a young chap, woonce, had any wit
To try an' scrape together zome vew pound,
To buy some cows an' teäke a bit o' ground,
He mid become a farmer, bit by bit.
120
An' bits o' groun' so skeä'ce, woone got no scope;
If woone could seäve a poun', woone couldden hope
To keep noo live stock but a little pig.
THOMAS.
Why here wer vourteen men, zome years agoo,
A-kept a-drashèn half the winter drough;
An' now, woone's drashels be'n't a bit o' good.
They got machines to drashy wi', plague teäke em!
An' he that vu'st vound out the way to meäke em,
I'd drash his busy zides vor'n if I could!
Avore they took away our work, they ought
To meäke us up the bread our leäbour bought.
ROBERT.
They hadden need meäke poor men's leäbour less,
Vor work a'ready is uncommon skeä'ce.
THOMAS.
Ah! Robert! times be badish vor the poor;
An' worse will come, I be a-fear'd, if Moore
In theäse year's almanick do tell us right.
ROBERT.
Why then we sartainly must starve. Good night!
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |