Chapter I: Got Two Vields (1)

I got two vields, an' I don't ceäre
What squire mid have a bigger sheäre.
My little zummer-leäze do stratch
All down the hangèn, to a patch
O' meäd between a hedge an' rank
Ov elems, an' a river bank.
Where yollow clotes, in spreadèn beds
O' floatèn leaves, do lift their heads
By bendèn bulrushes an' zedge
A-swaÿèn at the water's edge,
Below the withy that do spread
Athirt the brook his grey-leav'd head.
An' eltrot flowers, milky white,
Do catch the slantèn evenèn light;
An' in the meäple boughs, along
The hedge, do ring the blackbird's zong;
Or in the day, a-vleèn drough
The leafy trees, the whoa'se gookoo
Do zing to mowers that do zet
Their zives on end, an' stan' to whet.
From my wold house among the trees
A leäne do goo along the leäze
O' yollow gravel, down between
Two mossy banks vor ever green.
An' trees, a-hangèn overhead,
Do hide a trinklèn gully-bed,
A-cover'd by a bridge vor hoss
Or man a-voot to come across.
Zoo wi' my hwomestead, I don't ceäre
What squire mid have a bigger sheäre!

POLLY BE-EN UPZIDES WI' TOM.

Ah! yesterday, d'ye know, I voun'
Tom Dumpy's cwoat an' smock-frock, down
Below the pollard out in groun';
An' zoo I slyly stole
An' took the smock-frock up, an' tack'd
The sleeves an' collar up, an' pack'd
Zome nice sharp stwones, all fresh a-crack'd
'Ithin each pocket-hole.

An' in the evenèn, when he shut
Off work, an' come an' donn'd his cwoat,
Their edges gi'ed en sich a cut,
How we did stan' an' laugh!
An' when the smock-frock I'd a-zow'd
Kept back his head an' hands, he drow'd
Hizzelf about, an' teäv'd, an' blow'd,
Lik' any up-tied calf.

Then in a veag away he flung
His frock, an' after me he sprung,
An' mutter'd out sich dreats, an' wrung
His vist up sich a size!
But I, a-runnèn, turn'd an' drow'd
Some doust, a-pick'd up vrom the road,
Back at en wi' the wind, that blow'd
It right into his eyes.

An' he did blink, an' vow he'd catch
Me zomehow yet, an' be my match.
But I wer nearly down to hatch
Avore he got vur on;
An' up in chammer, nearly dead
Wi' runnèn, lik' a cat I vled,
An' out o' window put my head
To zee if he wer gone.

An' there he wer, a-prowlèn roun'
Upon the green; an' I look'd down
An' told en that I hoped he voun'
He mussen think to peck
Upon a body zoo, nor whip
The meäre to drow me off, nor tip
Me out o' cart ageän, nor slip
Cut hoss-heäir down my neck.

BE'MI'STER.

Sweet Be'mi'ster, that bist a-bound
By green an' woody hills all round,
Wi' hedges, reachèn up between
A thousan' vields o' zummer green,
Where elems' lofty heads do drow
Their sheädes vor haÿ-meakers below,
An' wild hedge-flow'rs do charm the souls
O' maïdens in their evenèn strolls.

When I o' Zunday nights wi' Jeäne
Do saunter drough a vield or leäne,
Where elder-blossoms be a-spread
Above the eltrot's milk-white head,
An' flow'rs o' blackberries do blow
Upon the brembles, white as snow,
To be outdone avore my zight
By Jeän's gaÿ frock o' dazzlèn white;

Oh! then there's nothèn that's 'ithout
Thy hills that I do ho about,--
Noo bigger pleäce, noo gaÿer town,
Beyond thy sweet bells' dyèn soun',
As they do ring, or strike the hour,
At evenèn vrom thy wold red tow'r.
No: shelter still my head, an' keep
My bwones when I do vall asleep.

THATCHEN O' THE RICK.

As I wer out in meäd last week,
A-thatchèn o' my little rick,
There green young ee-grass, ankle-high,
Did sheen below the cloudless sky;
An' over hedge in tother groun',
Among the bennets dry an' brown,
My dun wold meäre, wi' neck a-freed
Vrom Zummer work, did snort an' veed;
An' in the sheäde o' leafy boughs,
My vew wold ragged-cwoated cows
Did rub their zides upon the raïls,
Or switch em wi' their heäiry taïls.

An' as the mornèn zun rose high
Above my mossy roof clwose by,
The blue smoke curreled up between
The lofty trees o' feädèn green:
A zight that's touchèn when do show
A busy wife is down below,
A-workèn hard to cheer woone's tweil
Wi' her best feäre, an' better smile.
Mid women still in wedlock's yoke
Zend up, wi' love, their own blue smoke,
An' husbands vind their bwoards a-spread
By faïthvul hands when I be dead,
An' noo good men in ouer land
Think lightly o' the weddèn band.
True happiness do bide alwone
Wi' them that ha' their own he'th-stwone
To gather wi' their childern roun',
A-smilèn at the worold's frown.

My bwoys, that brought me thatch an' spars,
Wer down a-taïtèn on the bars,
Or zot a-cuttèn wi' a knife,
Dry eltrot-roots to meäke a fife;
Or drevèn woone another round
The rick upon the grassy ground.
An', as the aïer vrom the west
Did fan my burnèn feäce an' breast,
An' hoppèn birds, wi' twitt'rèn beaks,
Did show their sheenèn spots an' streaks,
Then, wi' my heart a-vill'd wi' love
An' thankvulness to God above,
I didden think ov anything
That I begrudg'd o' lord or king;
Vor I ha' round me, vur or near,
The mwost to love an' nwone to fear,
An' zoo can walk in any pleäce,
An' look the best man in the feäce.
What good do come to eächèn heads,
O' lièn down in silken beds?
Or what's a coach, if woone do pine
To zee woone's naïghbour's twice so fine?
Contentment is a constant feäst,
He's richest that do want the leäst.

BEES A-ZWARMEN.

Avore we went a-milkèn, vive
Or six o's here wer all alive
A-teäkèn bees that zwarm'd vrom hive;
An' we'd sich work to catch
The hummèn rogues, they led us sich
A dance all over hedge an' ditch;
An' then at last where should they pitch,
But up in uncle's thatch?

Dick rung a sheep-bell in his han';
Liz beät a cannister, an' Nan
Did bang the little fryèn-pan
Wi' thick an' thumpèn blows;
An' Tom went on, a-carrèn roun'
A bee-pot up upon his crown,
Wi' all his edge a-reachèn down
Avore his eyes an' nose.

An' woone girt bee, wi' spitevul hum,
Stung Dicky's lip, an' meäde it come
All up amost so big's a plum;
An' zome, a-vleèn on,
Got all roun' Liz, an' meäde her hop
An' scream, a-twirlèn lik' a top,
An' spring away right backward, flop
Down into barken pon':

An' Nan' gi'ed Tom a roguish twitch
Upon a bank, an' meäde en pitch
Right down, head-voremost, into ditch,--
Tom coulden zee a wink.
An' when the zwarm wer seäfe an' sound
In mother's bit o' bee-pot ground,
She meäde us up a treat all round
O' sillibub to drink.

READEN OV A HEAD-STWONE.

As I wer readèn ov a stwone
In Grenley church-yard all alwone,
A little maïd ran up, wi' pride
To zee me there, an' push'd a-zide
A bunch o' bennets that did hide
A verse her father, as she zaïd,
Put up above her mother's head,
To tell how much he loved her:

The verse wer short, but very good,
I stood an' larn'd en where I stood:--
"Mid God, dear Meäry, gi'e me greäce
To vind, lik' thee, a better pleäce,
Where I woonce mwore mid zee thy feäce;
An' bring thy childern up to know
His word, that they mid come an' show
Thy soul how much I lov'd thee."

"Where's father, then," I zaid, "my chile?"
"Dead too," she answer'd wi' a smile;
"An' I an' brother Jim do bide
At Betty White's, o' tother zide
O' road." "Mid He, my chile," I cried,
"That's father to the fatherless,
Become thy father now, an' bless,
An' keep, an' leäd, an' love thee."

Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much,
Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch
Her litsome heart by day or night;
An' zoo, if we could teäke it right,
Do show He'll meäke his burdens light
To weaker souls, an' that his smile
Is sweet upon a harmless chile,
When they be dead that lov'd it.

ZUMMER EVENÈN DANCE.

Come out to the parrock, come out to the tree,
The maïdens an' chaps be a-waïtèn vor thee;
There's Jim wi' his fiddle to plaÿ us some reels,
Come out along wi' us, an' fling up thy heels.

Come, all the long grass is a-mow'd an' a-carr'd,
An' the turf is so smooth as a bwoard an' so hard;
There's a bank to zit down, when y'ave danced a reel drough,
An' a tree over head vor to keep off the dew.

There be rwoses an' honeyzucks hangèn among
The bushes, to put in thy weäst; an' the zong
O' the nightingeäle's heärd in the hedges all roun';
An' I'll get thee a glow-worm to stick in thy gown.

There's Meäry so modest, an' Jenny so smart,
An' Mag that do love a good rompse to her heart;
There's Joe at the mill that do zing funny zongs,
An' short-lagged Dick, too, a-waggèn his prongs.

Zoo come to the parrock, come out to the tree,
The maïdens an' chaps be a-waïtèn vor thee;
There's Jim wi' his fiddle to plaÿ us some reels,--
Come out along wi' us, an' fling up thy heels.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

THE VEAIRIES.

_Simon an' Samel._

SIMON.

There's what the vo'k do call a veäiry ring
Out there, lo'k zee. Why, 'tis an oddish thing.

SAMEL.

Ah! zoo do seem. I wunder how do come!
What is it that do meäke it, I do wonder?

SIMON.

Be hang'd if I can tell, I'm sure! But zome
Do zay do come by lightnèn when do thunder;
An' zome do say sich rings as thík ring there is,
Do grow in dancèn-tracks o' little veäiries,
That in the nights o' zummer or o' spring
Do come by moonlight, when noo other veet
Do tread the dewy grass, but their's, an' meet
An' dance away together in a ring.

SAMEL.

An' who d'ye think do work the fiddlestick?
A little veäiry too, or else wold Nick!

SIMON.

Why, they do zay, that at the veäiries' ball,
There's nar a fiddle that's a-heär'd at all;
But they do plaÿ upon a little pipe
A-meäde o' kexes or o' straws, dead ripe,
A-stuck in row (zome short an' longer zome)
Wi' slime o' snaïls, or bits o' plum-tree gum,
An' meäke sich music that to hear it sound,
You'd stick so still's a pollard to the ground.

SAMEL.

What do em dance? 'Tis plaïn by theäse green wheels,
They don't frisk in an' out in dree-hand reels;
Vor else, instead o' theäse here girt round O,
The'd cut us out a figure aïght (8), d'ye know.

SIMON.

Oh! they ha' jigs to fit their little veet.
They woulden dance, you know, at their fine ball,
The dree an' vow'r han' reels that we do sprawl
An' kick about in, when we men do meet.

SAMEL.

An' zoo have zome vo'k, in their midnight rambles,
A-catch'd the veäiries, then, in theäsem gambols.

SIMON.

Why, yes; but they be off lik' any shot,
So soon's a man's a-comèn near the spot

SAMEL.

But in the day-time where do veäiries hide?
Where be their hwomes, then? where do veäiries bide?

SIMON.

Oh! they do get awaÿ down under ground,
In hollow pleäzen where they can't be vound.
But still my gramfer, many years agoo,
(He liv'd at Grenley-farm, an milk'd a deäiry),
If what the wolder vo'k do tell is true,
Woone mornèn eärly vound a veäiry.

SAMEL.

An' did he stop, then, wi' the good wold bwoy?
Or did he soon contrive to slip awoy?

SIMON.

Why, when the vo'k were all asleep, a-bed,
The veäiries us'd to come, as 'tis a-zaid,
Avore the vire wer cwold, an' dance an hour
Or two at dead o' night upon the vloor;
Var they, by only utterèn a word
Or charm, can come down chimney lik' a bird;
Or draw their bodies out so long an' narrow,
That they can vlee drough keyholes lik' an arrow.
An' zoo woone midnight, when the moon did drow
His light drough window, roun' the vloor below,
An' crickets roun' the bricken he'th did zing,
They come an' danced about the hall in ring;
An' tapp'd, drough little holes noo eyes could spy,
A kag o' poor aunt's meäd a-stannèn by.
An' woone o'm drink'd so much, he coulden mind
The word he wer to zay to meäke en small;
He got a-dather'd zoo, that after all
Out tothers went an' left en back behind.
An' after he'd a-beät about his head,
Ageän the keyhole till he wer half dead,
He laid down all along upon the vloor
Till gramfer, comen down, unlocked the door:
An' then he zeed en ('twer enough to frighten èn)
Bolt out o' door, an' down the road lik' lightenèn.

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.

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.

'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.

A-HAULEN O' THE 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 o' the 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 o' the corn.

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 o' the corn.

An' up at rick, Jeäne took the flagon,
An' gi'ed 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 o' the 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.

At uncle's, I do mind, woone year,
I zeed a 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-bwoard o' planks,
Wi' uncle at the top.

An' there, in platters, big and 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, so 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.

An' zoo they munch'd their hearty cheer,
An' dipp'd their beards in frothy-beer,
An' laugh'd, an' jok'd--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.

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.

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.

An' zome did drink, an' laugh, an' roar,
An' lots o' teäles they had in store,
O' things that happen'd years avore
To them, or vo'k they know'd.
An' zome did joke, an' zome did zing,
An' meäke the girt wold kitchen ring;
Till uncle's cock, wi' flappèn wing,
Stratch'd out his neck an' crow'd.

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._

An' mid noo harm o' vire or storm
Beval the farmer or his corn;
An' ev'ry zack o' zeed gi'e back
A hunderd-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._

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 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 childern 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' guns '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._

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,' girt an' small.

An' zoo, as Jim went down along
The leäne a-whisslèn ov a zong,
The saucy Daw cried out by rote
"Girt 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 run Poll an' Tom, to zee
What all the meänèn o't mid be;
"Now who did that?" zaid Poll. "Who whurr'd
Theäse clot?" "Girt 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.

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 creepèn sheäde mid steal too soon
Upon the rwose in 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.

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.

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?

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-leävèn father in-doors, a-leinèn'
In his girt 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' 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.

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' catch'd her voot;
An' out she scream'd, O,
An' jump'd, an' seem'd, O,
A-móst to vlee to the welshnut tree.

An' when, at last, at the drashel, mother
Do call us, smilèn, in-door to rest,
Then we do cluster by woone another,
To zee 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 an' 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 ev'ry 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.

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.

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.

'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 dogs
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 Maÿ's 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.

MORNÈN.

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.

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.

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.

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.

OUT A-NUTTÈN.

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.

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.

We voun' zome bushes that did feäce
The downcast zunlight's highest pleäce,
Where clusters hung so ripe an' brown,
That some 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.

An' Nanny thought she zaw a sneäke,
An' jump'd off into zome girt 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 evenèn light did strik'
Drough yollow leaves, that still wer 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' clothes 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
So 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' there the lwoaded tree bent low,
Behung wi' apples green an' red;
An' springèn grass could hardly grow,
Drough windvalls down below his head.
An' when the maïdens come in roun'
The heavy boughs to vill their laps,
We slily 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.

An' then they carr'd our Fan all roun',
'Ithin a mawn, till zome girt stump
Upset en over on the 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

SHRODON FEÄIR.

_The vu'st Peärt._

An' zoo's the day wer warm an' bright,
An' nar a cloud wer up in zight,
We wheedled father vor the meäre
An' cart, to goo to Shrodon feäir.
An' Poll an' Nan run off up stairs,
To shift their things, as 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' girt 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.

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 han'kerchief 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
Girt ceäke inzide o' my new hat;
An' yet, vor all he did en brown,
He didden even zweal the crown.

SHRODON FEÄR.

_The rest o't._

An' after that we met wi' zome
O' 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 girt 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-gwäin vrom feäir
Astride his broken-winded meäre.
An' zoo, a-hettèn her, he tried
To keep up clwose by ouer zide:
But when we come to Haÿward-brudge,
Our Poll gi'ed Dick a meänèn nudge,
An' wi' a little twitch our meäre
Flung out her lags so lights 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 praise--
As true as ever beät in staÿs.
How vast the time do goo! Do seem
But yesterday,--'tis lik' a dream!

Ah, s[=o]'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' busy wi' the tricks we plaÿ'd
In fun, to outwit chap or 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-putten 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.

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.

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.

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.

[Gothic: 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 'ithout 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.

THOMAS.

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.

Ees, 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 leäve 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 zeäle zome veathers an' zome quills;
An' in the winter we do fat em well,
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 and 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.

[Gothic: 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.

O 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 your 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?

THOMAS.

Why ees, 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-drowd along wi' what he got.

ROBERT.

That's it. In theäse here pleäce there used to be
Eight farms avore they wer a-drowd 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 down to leäb'rèn men;
An' many leäb'rèn men, wi' empty hands,
Do live lik' drones upon the worker's 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.
But, hang it! now the farms be all so big,
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!

WINTER

THE VROST.

Come, run up hwome wi' us to night,
Athirt the vield a-vroze so white,
Where vrosty sheädes do lie below
The winter ricks a-tipp'd wi' snow,
An' lively birds, wi' waggèn taïls,
Do hop upon the icy raïls,
An' rime do whiten all the tops
O' bush an' tree in hedge an' copse,
In wind's a-cuttèn keen.

Come, maïdens, come: the groun's a-vroze
Too hard to-night to spweil your clothes.
You got noo pools to waddle drough,
Nor clay a-pullèn off your shoe:
An' we can trig ye at the zide,
To keep ye up if you do slide:
Zoo while there's neither wet nor mud,
'S the time to run an' warm your blood,
In winds a-cuttèn keen.

Vor young men's hearts an' maïden's eyes
Don't vreeze below the cwoldest skies,
While they in twice so keen a blast
Can wag their brisk lim's twice so vast!
Though vier-light, a-flick'rèn red
Drough vrosty window-peänes, do spread
Vrom wall to wall, vrom he'th to door,
Vor us to goo an' zit avore,
Vrom winds a-cuttèn keen.

A BIT O' FUN.

We thought you woulden leäve us quite
So soon as what you did last night;
Our fun jist got up to a height
As you about got hwome.
The friskèn chaps did skip about,
An' cou'se the maïdens in an' out,
A-meäkèn such a randy-rout,
You coulden hear a drum.

An' Tom, a-springèn after Bet
Blind-vwolded, whizz'd along, an' het
Poor Grammer's zide, an' overzet
Her chair, at blind-man's buff;
An' she, poor soul, as she did vall,
Did show her snags o' teeth an' squall,
An' what, she zaid, wer wo'se than all,
She shatter'd all her snuff.

An' Bet, a-hoppèn back vor fear
O' Tom, struck uncle zomewhere near,
An' meäde his han' spill all his beer
Right down her poll an' back;
An' Joe, in middle o' the din,
Slipt out a bit, an' soon come in
Wi' all below his dapper chin
A-jumpèn in a zack.

An' in a twinklèn tother chaps
Jist hung en to a crook wi' straps,
An' meäde en bear the maïdens' slaps,
An' prickens wi' a pin.
An' Jim, a-catchèn Poll, poor chap,
In back-house in the dark, vell slap
Athirt a tub o' barm,--a trap
She set to catch en in.

An' then we zot down out o' breath,
An' meäde a circle roun' the he'th,
A-keepèn up our harmless me'th,
Till supper wer a-come.
An' after we'd a-had zome prog,
All tother chaps begun to jog,
Wi' sticks to lick a thief or dog,
To zee the maïdens hwome.

FANNYS BE'TH-DAY.

How merry, wi' the cider cup,
We kept poor Fanny's be'th-day up!
An' how our busy tongues did run
An' hands did wag, a-meäkèn fun!
What plaÿsome anticks zome [=o]'s done!
An' how, a-reelèn roun' an' roun',
We beät the merry tuèn down,
While music wer a-soundèn!

The maïdens' eyes o' black an' blue
Did glisten lik' the mornèn dew;
An' while the cider-mug did stand
A-hissèn by the bleäzèn brand,
An' uncle's pipe wer in his hand,
How little he or we did think
How peäle the zettèn stars did blink
While music wer a-soundèn.

An' Fanny's last young _teen_ begun,
Poor maïd, wi' thik day's risèn zun,
An' we all wish'd her many mwore
Long years wi' happiness in store;
An' as she went an' stood avore
The vier, by her father's zide,
Her mother dropp'd a tear o' pride
While music wer a-soundèn.

An' then we did all kinds o' tricks
Wi' han'kerchiefs, an' strings, an' sticks:
An' woone did try to overmatch
Another wi' zome cunnèn catch,
While tothers slyly tried to hatch
Zome geäme; but yet, by chap an' maïd.
The dancèn wer the mwost injaÿ'd,
While music wer a-soundèn.

The briskest chap ov all the lot
Wer Tom, that danc'd hizzelf so hot,
He doff'd his cwoat an' jump'd about,
Wi' girt new shirt-sleeves all a-strout,
Among the maïdens screamèn out,
A-thinkèn, wi' his strides an' stamps,
He'd squot their veet wi' his girt clamps,
While music wer a-soundèn.

Then up jump'd uncle vrom his chair,
An' pull'd out aunt to meäke a peäir;
An' off he zet upon his tooe,
So light's the best that beät a shoe,
Wi' aunt a-crièn "Let me goo:"
While all ov us did laugh so loud,
We drown'd the tuèn o' the croud,
While music wer a-soundèn.

A-comèn out o' passage, Nan,
Wi' pipes an' cider in her han',
An' watchèn uncle up so sprack,
Vorgot her veet, an' vell down smack
Athirt the house-dog's shaggy back,
That wer in passage vor a snooze,
Beyond the reach o' dancers' shoes,
While music wer a-soundèn.

WHAT DICK AN' I DID.

Last week the Browns ax'd nearly all
The naïghbours to a randy,
An' left us out o't, girt an' small,
Vor all we liv'd so handy;
An' zoo I zaid to Dick, "We'll trudge,
When they be in their fun, min;
An' car up zome'hat to the rudge,
An' jis' stop up the tun, min."