Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 19

An' I do goo vor lime, an' bring Hwome cider wi' my sleek-heair'd team, An' smack my limber whip an' zing, While all their bells do galy cheeme.

An' I do always know the pleace To gi'e the hosses breath, or drug; An' ev'ry hoss do know my feace, An' mind my '_mether ho_! an' _whug_!

An' merry ha-meakers do ride Vrom vield in zummer wi' their p.r.o.ngs, In my blue waggon, zide by zide Upon the reaves, a-zingen zongs.

An' when the vrost do catch the stream, An' oves wi' icicles be hung, My panten hosses' breath do steam In white-gra.s.s'd vields, a-haulen dung.

An' mine's the waggon fit vor lwoads, An' mine be lwoads to cut a rout; An' mine's a team, in routy rwoads, To pull a lwoaded waggon out.

A zull is nothen when do come Behind their lags; an' they do teake A roller as they would a drum, An' harrow as they would a reake.

O! I be a carter, wi' my whip A-smacken loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an' down the dip, The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.

CHRIS'MAS INVITATION.

Come down to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leave thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheake a lag, an' drink a cup O' eale, to keep wold Chris'mas up.

An' let thy sister teake thy earm, The walk won't do her any harm; There's noo dirt now to spweil her frock, The ground's a-vroze so hard's a rock.

You won't meet any stranger's feace, But only naghbours o' the pleace, An' Stowe, an' Combe; an' two or dree Vrom uncle's up at Rookery.

An' thou wu'lt vind a rwosy feace, An' peair ov eyes so black as sloos, The prettiest woones in all the pleace,-- I'm sure I needen tell thee whose.

We got a back-bran', dree girt logs So much as dree ov us can car; We'll put em up athirt the dogs, An' meake a vier to the bar.

An' ev'ry woone shall tell his teale, An' ev'ry woone shall zing his zong, An' ev'ry woone wull drink his eale To love an' frien's.h.i.+p all night long.

We'll snap the tongs, we'll have a ball, We'll sheake the house, we'll lift the ruf, We'll romp an' meake the madens squall, A catchen o'm at blind-man's buff.

Zoo come to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leave thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheake a lag, an' drink a cup O' eale, to keep wold Chris'mas up.

KEEPEN UP O' CHRIS'MAS.

An' zoo you didden come athirt, To have zome fun last night: how wer't?

Vor we'd a-work'd wi' all our might To scour the iron things up bright, An' brush'd an' scrubb'd the house all drough; An' brought in vor a brand, a plock O' wood so big's an uppen-stock, An' hung a bough o' misseltoo, An' ax'd a merry friend or two, To keepen up o' Chris'mas.

An' there wer wold an' young; an' Bill, Soon after dark, stalk'd up vrom mill.

An' when he wer a-comen near, He whissled loud vor me to hear; Then roun' my head my frock I roll'd, An' stood in orcha'd like a post, To meake en think I wer a ghost.

But he wer up to't, an' did scwold To vind me stannen in the cwold, A keepen up o' Chris'mas.

We pla'd at forfeits, an' we spun The trencher roun', an' meade such fun!

An' had a geame o' dree-ceard loo, An' then begun to hunt the shoe.

An' all the wold vo'k zitten near, A-chatten roun' the vier pleace, Did smile in woone another's feace.

An' sheake right hands wi' hearty cheer, An' let their left hands spill their beer, A keepen up o' Chris'mas.

ZITTEN OUT THE WOLD YEAR.

Why, ran or sheen, or blow or snow, I zaid, if I could stand so's, I'd come, vor all a friend or foe, To sheake ye by the hand, so's; An' spend, wi' kinsvo'k near an' dear, A happy evenen, woonce a year, A-zot wi' me'th Avore the he'th To zee the new year in, so's.

There's Jim an' Tom, a-grown the size O' men, girt l.u.s.ty chaps, so's, An' f.a.n.n.y wi' her sloo-black eyes, Her mother's very dap's, so's; An' little Bill, so brown's a nut, An' Poll a gigglen little s.l.u.t, I hope will shoot Another voot The year that's comen in, so's.

An' there, upon his mother's knee, So peart do look about, so's, The little woone ov all, to zee His vu'st wold year goo out, so's An' zoo mid G.o.d bless all o's still, Gwan up or down along the hill, To meet in glee Agean to zee A happy new year in, so's.

The wold clock's han' do softly steal Up roun' the year's last hour, so's; Zoo let the han'-bells ring a peal, Lik' them a-hung in tow'r, so's.

Here, here be two vor Tom, an' two Vor f.a.n.n.y, an' a peair vor you; We'll meake em swing, An' meake em ring, The merry new year in, so's.

Tom, mind your time there; you be wrong.

Come, let your bells all sound, so's: A little clwoser, Poll; ding, dong!

There, now 'tis right all round, so's.

The clock's a-striken twelve, d'ye hear?

Ting, ting, ding, dong! Farewell, wold year!

'Tis gone, 'tis gone!-- Goo on, goo on, An' ring the new woone in, so's!

WOAK WER GOOD ENOUGH WOONCE.

Ees: now mahogany's the goo, An' good wold English woak won't do.

I wish vo'k always mid avvword Hot meals upon a woaken bwoard, As good as thik that took my cup An' trencher all my growen up.

Ah! I do mind en in the hall, A-reachen all along the wall, Wi' us at father's end, while tother Did teake the madens wi' their mother; An' while the risen steam did spread In curlen clouds up over head, Our mouths did wag, an' tongues did run, To meake the madens laugh o' fun.

A woaken bedstead, black an' bright, Did teake my weary bwones at night, Where I could stratch an' roll about Wi' little fear o' vallen out; An' up above my head a peair Ov ugly heads a-carv'd did steare, An' grin avore a bright vull moon A'most enough to frighten woone.

An' then we had, vor cwoats an' frocks, Woak cwoffers wi' their rusty locks An' neames in nals, a-left behind By kinsvo'k dead an' out o' mind; Zoo we did get on well enough Wi' things a-meade ov English stuff.

But then, you know, a woaken stick Wer cheap, vor woaken trees wer thick.

When poor wold Gramfer Green wer young, He zaid a squirrel mid a-sprung Along the dell, vrom tree to tree, Vrom Woodcomb all the way to Lea; An' woak wer all vo'k did avvword, Avore his time, vor bed or bwoard.

LULLABY.

The rook's nest do rock on the tree-top Where vew foes can stand; The martin's is high, an' is deep In the steep cliff o' zand.

But thou, love, a-sleepen where vootsteps Mid come to thy bed, Hast father an' mother to watch thee An' shelter thy head.

Lullaby, Lilybrow. Lie asleep; Blest be thy rest.