Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect by William Barnes. First Collection. Fourth Edition |
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WOODCOM' FEAST. |
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 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
12
WOODCOM' FEAST.
Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
'Tis Woodcom' feäst, good now! to-night.
Come! think noo mwore, you silly maïd,
O' chickèn drown'd, or ducks a-straÿ'd;
Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's taïl
A-tore by hitchèn in a naïl;
Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide,
A-thinkèn o' thy lam' that died.
The flag's a-vleèn wide an' high,
An' ringèn bells do sheäke the sky;
The fifes do plaÿ, the horns do roar,
An' boughs be up at ev'ry door:
They 'll be a-dancèn soon,—the drum
'S a-rumblèn now. Come, Fanny, come!
Why father's gone, an' mother too.
Thy went up leäne an hour agoo;
An' at the green the young and wold
Do stan' so thick as sheep in vwold:
The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,—
Come out you mwopèn wench, come out,
An' go wi' me, an' show at leäst
Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feäst.
'Tis Woodcom' feäst, good now! to-night.
Come! think noo mwore, you silly maïd,
O' chickèn drown'd, or ducks a-straÿ'd;
Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's taïl
A-tore by hitchèn in a naïl;
Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide,
A-thinkèn o' thy lam' that died.
The flag's a-vleèn wide an' high,
An' ringèn bells do sheäke the sky;
The fifes do plaÿ, the horns do roar,
An' boughs be up at ev'ry door:
They 'll be a-dancèn soon,—the drum
'S a-rumblèn now. Come, Fanny, come!
Why father's gone, an' mother too.
Thy went up leäne an hour agoo;
An' at the green the young and wold
Do stan' so thick as sheep in vwold:
The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,—
Come out you mwopèn wench, come out,
An' go wi' me, an' show at leäst
Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feäst.
Come, let's goo out, an' fling our heels
About in jigs an' vow'r-han' reels;
While all the stiff-lagg'd wolder vo'k,
A-zittèn roun', do talk an' joke
An' smile to zee their own wold rigs.
A-shown by our wild geämes an' jigs,
Vor ever since the vwold church speer
Vu'st prick'd the clouds, vrom year to year,
When grass in meäd did reach woone's knees,
An' blooth did kern in apple-trees,
Zome merry day 'v' a-broke to sheen
Above the dance at Woodcom' green,
An' all o' they that now do lie
So low all roun' the speer so high,
Woonce, vrom the biggest to the leäst,
Had merry hearts at Woodcom' feast.
About in jigs an' vow'r-han' reels;
While all the stiff-lagg'd wolder vo'k,
A-zittèn roun', do talk an' joke
An' smile to zee their own wold rigs.
A-shown by our wild geämes an' jigs,
13
Vu'st prick'd the clouds, vrom year to year,
When grass in meäd did reach woone's knees,
An' blooth did kern in apple-trees,
Zome merry day 'v' a-broke to sheen
Above the dance at Woodcom' green,
An' all o' they that now do lie
So low all roun' the speer so high,
Woonce, vrom the biggest to the leäst,
Had merry hearts at Woodcom' feast.
Zoo keep it up, an' gi'e it on
To other wo'k when we be gone.
Come out; vor when the zettèn zun
Do leäve in sheäde our harmless fun,
The moon a-risèn in the east
Do gi'e us light at Woodcom, feäst.
Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
'Tis merry Woodcom' feäst to night:
There's nothèn vor to mwope about,—
Come out, you leäzy jeäde, come out!
An' thou wult be, to woo ne at leäst,
The prettiest maïd at Woodcom' feäst.
To other wo'k when we be gone.
Come out; vor when the zettèn zun
Do leäve in sheäde our harmless fun,
The moon a-risèn in the east
Do gi'e us light at Woodcom, feäst.
Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
'Tis merry Woodcom' feäst to night:
There's nothèn vor to mwope about,—
Come out, you leäzy jeäde, come out!
An' thou wult be, to woo ne at leäst,
The prettiest maïd at Woodcom' feäst.
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |