Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 15

At woone or two o'clock, we vound Ourzelves at Shrodon seafe an' sound, A-strutten in among the rows O' tilted stannens an' o' shows, An' girt long booths wi' little bars Chock-vull o' barrels, mugs, an' jars, An' meat a-cooken 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' bawlen merrymen did tumble; An' woone did all but want an edge To peart 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 agean so white as snow.

An' after that, he fried a fat Girt ceake inzide o' my new hat; An' yet, vor all he did en brown, He didden even zweal the crown.

SHRODON FEaR.

_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 meade least, wi' all his sheakes, An' pad the money vor the ceakes, But wer so lwoth to put it down As if a penny wer a poun'.

Then up come zidelen Sammy Heare, That's fond o' Poll, an' she can't bear, A-holden out his girt scram vist, An' ax'd her, wi' a grin an' twist, To have zome nuts; an' she, to hide Her laughen, 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-riden round Drough Okford, who d'ye think we vound But Sam agean, a-gwain vrom feair Astride his broken-winded meare.

An' zoo, a-hetten her, he tried To keep up clwose by ouer zide: But when we come to Haward-brudge, Our Poll gi'ed d.i.c.k a meanen nudge, An' wi' a little twitch our meare Flung out her lags so lights a heare, An' left poor Sammy's skin an' bwones Behind, a-kicken o' the stwones.

MARTIN'S TIDE.

Come, bring a log o' cleft wood, Jack, An' fling en on agean 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 feair, When Jeane an' I, a happy peair, Vu'st walk'd, a-keepen up the tide, Among the stan'ens, zide by zide; An' thik day twel'month, never falen, She gi'ed me at the chancel ralen A heart--though I do sound her praise-- As true as ever beat in stas.

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 pla'd In fun, to outwit chap or mad.

An' out avore the bleazen he'th, Our nasy tongues, in winter me'th, 'V a-shook the warmen-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' meade 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' f.a.ggots, till above en The fleames, arisen up so high 'S the tun, did snap, an' roar, an' ply, Lik' vier in an' oven.

An' zome wi' hissen squibs did run, To pa off zome what they'd a-done, An' let em off so loud's a gun Agean their smoken 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' d.i.c.k, that all o'm vell upon, Vound woone flap ov his cwoat-tal gone, An' tother jist a-hangen 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 gwan to market, I do zee.

Why, you be quite a-lwoaded wi' your geese.

JOHN.

Ees, Thomas, ees.

Why, I'm a-getten rid ov ev'ry goose An' goslen 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 pa twenty shillens 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 mean to teake 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 gwan 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 gra.s.s do grow.

JOHN.