Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 69

JOHN BLOOM IN LON'ON.

(_All true._)

John Bloom he wer a jolly soul, A grinder o' the best o' meal, Bezide a river that did roll, Vrom week to week, to push his wheel.

His flour wer all a-meade o' wheat; An' fit for bread that vo'k mid eat; Vor he would starve avore he'd cheat.

"'Tis pure," woone woman cried; "Aye, sure," woone mwore replied; "You'll vind it nice. Buy woonce, buy twice,"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

Athirt the chest he wer so wide As two or dree ov me or you.

An' wider still vrom zide to zide, An' I do think still thicker drough.

Vall down, he coulden, he did lie When he wer up on-zide so high As up on-end or perty nigh.

"Meake room," woone naghbour cried; "'Tis Bloom," woone mwore replied; "Good morn t'ye all, bwoth girt an' small,"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

Noo stings o' conscience ever broke His rest, a-twiten o'n wi' wrong, Zoo he did sleep till mornen broke, An' birds did call en wi' their zong.

But he did love a harmless joke, An' love his evenen whiff o' smoke, A-zitten in his cheair o' woak.

"Your cup," his daughter cried; "Vill'd up," his wife replied; "Aye, aye; a drap avore my nap,"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

When Lon'on vok did meake a show O' their girt gla.s.sen house woone year, An' people went, bwoth high an' low, To zee the zight, vrom vur an' near, "O well," cried Bloom, "why I've a right So well's the rest to zee the zight; I'll goo, an' teake the ral outright."

"Your feare," the booker cried; "There, there," good Bloom replied; "Why this June het do meake woone zweat,"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller,

Then up the guard did whissle sh'ill, An' then the engine pank'd a-blast, An' rottled on so loud's a mill, Avore the tran, vrom slow to vast.

An' oh! at last how they did spank By cutten deep, an' high-cast bank The while their iron ho'se did pank.

"Do whizzy," woone o'm cried; "I'm dizzy," woone replied; "Aye, here's the road to hawl a lwoad,"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

In Lon'on John zent out to call A tidy trap, that he mid ride To zee the gla.s.sen house, an' all The lot o' things a-stow'd inside.

"Here, Boots, come here," cried he, "I'll dab A sixpence in your han' to nab Down street a tidy little cab."

"A feare," the boots then cried; "I'm there," the man replied.

"The gla.s.sen pleace, your quickest peace,"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

The steps went down wi' rottlen slap, The zwingen door went open wide: Wide? no; vor when the worthy chap Stepp'd up to teake his pleace inside, Breast-foremost, he wer twice too wide Vor thik there door. An' then he tried To edge in woone an' tother zide.

"'Twont do," the drever cried; "Can't goo," good Bloom replied; "That you should bring thease vooty thing!"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

"Come," cried the drever. "Pay your feare You'll teake up all my time, good man."

"Well," answer'd Bloom, "to meake that square, You teake up me, then, if you can."

"I come at call," the man did nod.

"What then?" cried Bloom, "I han't a-rod, An' can't in thik there hodmadod."

"Girt lump," the drever cried; "Small stump," good Bloom replied; "A little mite, to meake so light, O' jolly Bloom the miller."

"You'd best be off now perty quick,"

Cried Bloom. "an' vind a lighter lwoad, Or else I'll vetch my voot, an' kick The vooty thing athirt the road."

"Who is the man?" they cried, "meake room,"

"A halfstarv'd Do'set man," cried Bloom; "You be?" another cried; "Hee! Hee!" woone mwore replied.

"Aye, shrunk so thin, to bwone an' skin,"

Cried worthy Bloom the miller.

A LOT O' MADENS A-RUNNeN THE VIELDS.[F]

"Come on. Be sprack, a-laggen back."

"Oh! be there any cows to hook?"

"Lauk she's afrad, a silly mad,"

Cows? No, the cows be down by brook.

"O here then, oh! here is a lot."

"A lot o' what? what is it? what?"

"Why blackberries, as thick As ever they can stick."

"I've dewberries, oh! twice As good as they; so nice."

"Look here. Thease boughs be all but blue Wi' snags."

"Oh! gi'e me down a vew."

"Come here, oh! do but look."

"What's that? what is it now?"

"Why nuts a-slippen sh.e.l.l."

"Hee! hee! pull down the bough."

"I wish I had a crook."

"There zome o'm be a-vell."

(_One sings_) "I wish I was on Bimport Hill I would zit down and cry my vill."

"Hee! hee! there's Jenny zomewhere nigh, A-zingen that she'd like to cry."

(_Jenny sings_) "I would zit down and cry my vill Until my tears would dreve a mill."

"Oh! here's an ugly crawlen thing, A sneake." "A slooworm; he wont sting."

"Hee! hee! how she did squal an' hop, A-spinnen roun' so quick's a top."

"Look here, oh! quick, be quick."

"What is it? what then? where?"

"A rabbit." "No, a heare."

"Ooh! ooh! the thorns do p.r.i.c.k,"

"How he did scote along the ground As if he wer avore a hound."

"Now mind the thistles." "Hee, hee, hee, Why they be knapweeds."

"No." "They be."

"I've zome'hat in my shoe."

"Zit down, an' sheake it out."

"Oh! emmets, oh! ooh, ooh, A-crawlen all about."

"What bird is that, O harken, hush.

How sweetly he do zing."

"A nightingeale." "La! no, a drush."

"Oh! here's a funny thing."

"Oh! how the bull do hook, An' bleare, an' fling the dirt."

"Oh! wont he come athirt?"

"No, he's beyond the brook."

"O lauk! a hornet rose Up clwose avore my nose."