Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 66

My heart do leap to see her walk, So straght do step her veet, O, My tongue is dum' to hear her talk, Her vace do sound so sweet, O.

The flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew, so good an' true.

When she do zit, then she do seem The feairest to my zight, O, Till she do stan' an' I do deem, She's feairest at her height, O.

An' she do seem 'ithin a room The feairest on a floor, O, Till I agean do zee her bloom Still feairer out o' door, O.

Where flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew, so good an' true.

An' when the deaisies be a-press'd Below her vootsteps waght, O, Do seem as if she look'd the best Ov all in walken gat, O.

Till I do zee her zit upright Behind the ho'ses neck, O, A-holden wi' the ran so tight His tossen head in check, O, Where flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew, so good an' true.

I wish I had my own free land To keep a ho'se to ride, O, I wish I had a ho'se in hand To ride en at her zide, O.

Vor if I wer as high in rank As any duke or lord, O, Or had the goold the richest bank Can shovel from his horde, O, I'd love her still, if even then She wer a leaser in a glen.

HEEDLESS O' MY LOVE.

Oh! I vu'st know'd o' my true love, As the bright moon up above, Though her brightness wer my pleasure, She wer heedless o' my love.

Tho' 'twer all ga to my eyes, Where her feair feace did arise, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts, Than the high moon in the skies.

Oh! I vu'st heard her a-zingen, As a sweet bird on a tree, Though her zingen wer my pleasure, 'Twer noo zong she zung to me.

Though her sweet vace that wer nigh, Meade my wild heart to beat high, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts, Than the birds would pa.s.sers by.

Oh! I vu'st know'd her a-weepen, As a ran-dimm'd mornen sky, Though her tear-draps dimm'd her blushes, They wer noo draps I could dry.

Ev'ry bright tear that did roll, Wer a keen pan to my soul, But noo heart's pang she did then veel, Wer vor my words to console.

But the wold times be a-vanish'd, An' my true love is my bride.

An' her kind heart have a-meade her.

As an angel at my zide; I've her best smiles that mid pla, I've her me'th when she is ga, When her tear-draps be a-rollen, I can now wipe em awa.

THE DO'SET MILITIA.

Hurrah! my lads, vor Do'set men!

A-muster'd here in red agean; All welcome to your ranks, a-spread Up zide to zide, to stand, or wheel, An' welcome to your files, to head The steady march wi' tooe to heel; Welcome to marches slow or quick!

Welcome to gath'rens thin or thick; G.o.d speed the Colonel on the hill,[D]

An' Mrs Bingham,[E] off o' drill.

When you've a-handled well your lock, An' flung about your rifle stock Vrom han' to shoulder, up an' down; When you've a-lwoaded an' a-vired, Till you do come back into town, Wi' all your loppen limbs a-tired, An you be dry an' burnen hot, Why here's your tea an' coffee pot At Mister Greenen's penny till, Wi' Mrs Bingham off o' drill.

Last year John Hinley's mother cried, "Why my bwoy John is quite my pride!

Vor he've a-been so good to-year, An' han't a-mell'd wi' any squabbles, An' han't a-drown'd his wits in beer, An' han't a-been in any hobbles.

I never thought he'd turn out bad, He always wer so good a lad; But now I'm sure he's better still, Drough Mrs Bingham, off o' drill."

Jeane Hart, that's Joey Duntley's chace, Do praise en up wi' her sweet vace, Vor he's so strait's a hollyhock (Vew hollyhocks be up so tall), An' he do come so true's the clock To Mrs Bingham's coffee-stall; An' Jeane do write, an' brag o' Joe To teake the young recruits in tow, An' try, vor all their good, to bring em, A-come from drill, to Mrs Bingham.

G.o.d speed the Colonel, toppen high, An' officers wi' sworded thigh, An' all the sargeants that do bawl All day enough to split their droats, An' all the corporals, and all The band a-plaen up their notes, An' all the men vrom vur an' near We'll gi'e em all a hearty cheer.

An' then another cheeren still Vor Mrs Bingham, off o' drill.

[Footnote D: Poundbury, Dorchester, the drill ground.]

[Footnote E: The colonel's wife, who opened a room with a coffee-stall, and entertainments for the men off drill.]

A DO'SET SALE.

WITH A MISTAKE.

(_Thomas and Mr Auctioneer._)

_T._ Well here, then, Mister auctioneer, Be thease the virs, I bought, out here?

_A._ The firs, the fir-poles, you bought? Who?

'Twas _furze_, not _firs_, I sold to you.

_T._ I bid vor _virs_, and not vor _vuzzen_, Vor vir-poles, as I thought, two dozen.

_A._ Two dozen f.a.ggots, and I took Your bidding for them. Here's the book.

_T._ I wont have what I didden buy.

I don't want _vuzzen_, now. Not I.

Why _firs_ an' _furze_ do sound the seame.

Why don't ye gi'e a thing his neame?

Aye, _firs_ and _furze_! Why, who can tell Which 'tis that you do mean to zell?

No, no, be kind enough to call Em _virs_, and _vuzzen_, then, that's all.

DON'T CEaRE.

At the feast, I do mind very well, all the vo'ks Wer a-took in a happeren storm, But we chaps took the madens, an' kept em wi' clokes Under shelter, all dry an' all warm; An' to my lot vell Jeane, that's my bride, That did t.i.tter, a-hung at my zide; Zaid her aunt, "Why the vo'k 'ull talk finely o' you,"

An', cried she, "I don't ceare if they do."

When the time o' the feast wer agean a-come round, An' the vo'k wer a-gather'd woonce mwore, Why she guess'd if she went there, she'd soon be a-vound An' a-took seafely hwome to her door.

Zaid her mother, "'Tis sure to be wet."

Zaid her cousin, "'T'ull ran by zunzet."

Zaid her aunt, "Why the clouds there do look black an' blue,"

An' zaid she, "I don't ceare if they do."

An' at last, when she own'd I mid meake her my bride, Vor to help me, an' sheare all my lot, An' wi' fathvulness keep all her life at my zide, Though my wa mid be happy or not.

Zaid her naghbours, "Why wedlock's a clog, An' a wife's a-tied up lik' a dog."