Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect :: :: University of Virginia Library

No, no, why you've noo wife at hwome
Abidèn up till you do come,
Zoo leäve your hat upon the pin,
Vor I'm your waïter, here's your inn,
Wi' chair to rest, an' bed to roost;
You have but little work to do
This vrosty time at hwome in mill,
Your frozen wheel's a-stannèn still,
The sleepèn ice woont grind vor you.
No, no, you woont goo hwome to night,
Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

As I come by, to day, where stood
Wi' neäked trees, the purple wood,
The scarlet hunter's ho'ses veet
Tore up the sheäkèn ground, wind-fleet,
Wi' reachèn heads, an' pankèn hides;
The while the flat-wing'd rooks in vlock,
Did zwim a-sheenèn at their height;
But your good river, since last night,
Wer all a-vroze so still's a rock.
No, no, you woont goo hwome to night,
Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Zee how the hufflèn win' do blow,
A-whirlèn down the giddy snow:
Zee how the sky's a-weärèn dim,
Behind the elem's neäked lim'
That there do leän above the leäne;

Zoo teäke your pleäce bezide the dogs,
An' sip a drop o' hwome-brew'd eäle,
An' zing your zong or tell your teäle,
While I do baït the vire wi' logs.
No, no, you woont goo hwome to night,
Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Your meäre's in steäble wi' her hocks
In straw above her vetterlocks,
A-reachèn up her meäny neck,
An' pullèn down good haÿ vrom reck,
A-meäkèn slight o' snow an' sleet;
She don't want you upon her back,
To vall upon the slipp'ry stwones
On Holly hill, an' break your bwones,
Or miss, in snow, her hidden track.
No, no, you woont goo hwome to night,
Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Here, Jenny, come pull out your key
An' hansell wi' zome tidy tea
The zilver pot that we do owe
To your prize butter at the show,
An' put zome bread upon the bwoard.
Ah! he do smile; now that 'ill do,
He'll staÿ. Here, Polly, bring a light,
We'll have a happy hour to night,
I'm thankful we be in the lew.
No, no, he woont goo hwome to night,
Not Robin White o' Craglin mill.