 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
63
DREEÄMS.
Theer's dreeäms i' the Bible, my dear,
And part of the Promise was dreeäms;
But mind ya they're terrible queer
When they waäkens a body with screäms.
And part of the Promise was dreeäms;
But mind ya they're terrible queer
When they waäkens a body with screäms.
And its singlar they moastlins shud come
Wi'a bit o' bad news to their taaïl;
Mebbe just when you've setten fro' home,
And not hoaver fond o' the raaïl.
Wi'a bit o' bad news to their taaïl;
Mebbe just when you've setten fro' home,
And not hoaver fond o' the raaïl.
But thou knaws it's not Christians aloäne
As dreeäms, fur dreeäms cooms to the brute,
Howr dog dreeäms of shakkin' a boäne,
But it's worst when ya dreeäm o' Ripe Fruit.
As dreeäms, fur dreeäms cooms to the brute,
Howr dog dreeäms of shakkin' a boäne,
But it's worst when ya dreeäm o' Ripe Fruit.
I dreeämed o' Ripe Fruit tother night,
And I set oop o' hend i' the bed;
And I woake my owd man wi' my fright,
And “Ripe Fruit!” was the words that I sed.
And I set oop o' hend i' the bed;
64
And “Ripe Fruit!” was the words that I sed.
“Is it couzen or hant as is ta'en?”
And he grunted, “Git on, let ma lig”;
“Is it one of Will's waggoners slaäin?”
And he gruffed and soon snoored like a pig.
And he grunted, “Git on, let ma lig”;
“Is it one of Will's waggoners slaäin?”
And he gruffed and soon snoored like a pig.
But next mornin' as sewer as I'm here,
A “black-hedge” 'ed coomed thruff the post;
Was it hant? Was it couzen? My dear,
It was one of Will's “caulvers” wur lost!
A “black-hedge” 'ed coomed thruff the post;
Was it hant? Was it couzen? My dear,
It was one of Will's “caulvers” wur lost!
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