Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect by William Barnes. First Collection. Fourth Edition |
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HARVEST HWOME.
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 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
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.
90
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.
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |