Part 12

TOM.

Ah! we won't look to that; we'll have our right,— If not by feaeir meaens, then we wull by might. We'll meaeke times better vor us; we'll be free Ov other vo'k an' others' charity.

JOHN.

Ah! I do think you mid as well be quiet; You'll meaeke things wo'se, i'-ma'-be, by a riot. You'll get into a mess, Tom, I'm afeaerd; You'll goo vor wool, an' then come hwome a-sheaer'd.

POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.

SECOND COLLECTION.

BLACKMWORE MAIDENS.

The primrwose in the sheaede do blow, The cowslip in the zun, The thyme upon the down do grow, The clote where streams do run; An' where do pretty maidens grow An' blow, but where the tow'r Do rise among the bricken tuns, In Blackmwore by the Stour.

If you could zee their comely gait, An' pretty feaeces' smiles, A-trippen on so light o' waight, An' steppen off the stiles; A-gwain to church, as bells do swing An' ring 'ithin the tow'r, You'd own the pretty maidens' pleaece Is Blackmwore by the Stour.

If you vrom Wimborne took your road, To Stower or Paladore, An' all the farmers' housen show'd Their daughters at the door; You'd cry to bachelors at hwome— "Here, come: 'ithin an hour You'll vind ten maidens to your mind, In Blackmwore by the Stour."

An' if you look'd 'ithin their door, To zee em in their pleaece, A-doen housework up avore Their smilen mother's feaece; You'd cry—"Why, if a man would wive An' thrive, 'ithout a dow'r, Then let en look en out a wife In Blackmwore by the Stour."

As I upon my road did pass A school-house back in May, There out upon the beaeten grass Wer maidens at their play; An' as the pretty souls did tweil An' smile, I cried, "The flow'r O' beauty, then, is still in bud In Blackmwore by the Stour."

MY ORCHA'D IN LINDEN LEA.

'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaeded, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleaedes, timber-sheaeded, Now do quiver under voot; An' birds do whissle over head, An' water's bubblen in its bed, An' there vor me the apple tree Do leaen down low in Linden Lea.

When leaves that leaetely wer a-springen Now do feaede 'ithin the copse, An' painted birds do hush their zingen Up upon the timber's tops; An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnen red, In cloudless zunsheen, over head, Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree Do leaen down low in Linden Lea.

Let other vo'k meaeke money vaster In the air o' dark-room'd towns, I don't dread a peevish meaester; Though noo man do heed my frowns, I be free to goo abrode, Or teaeke ageaen my hwomeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do leaen down low in Linden Lea.

BISHOP'S CAUNDLE.

At peace day, who but we should goo To Caundle vor an' hour or two: As gay a day as ever broke Above the heads o' Caundle vo'k, Vor peace, a-come vor all, did come To them wi' two new friends at hwome. Zoo while we kept, wi' nimble peaece, The wold dun tow'r avore our feaece, The air, at last, begun to come Wi' drubbens ov a beaeten drum; An' then we heaerd the horns' loud droats Play off a tuen's upper notes; An' then ageaen a-risen cheaerm Vrom tongues o' people in a zwarm: An' zoo, at last, we stood among The merry feaeces o' the drong. An' there, wi' garlands all a-tied In wreaths an' bows on every zide, An' color'd flags, a fluttren high An' bright avore the sheenen sky, The very guide-post wer a-drest Wi' posies on his eaerms an' breast. At last, the vo'k zwarm'd in by scores An' hundreds droo the high barn-doors, To dine on English feaere, in ranks, A-zot on chairs, or stools, or planks, By bwoards a-reachen, row an' row, Wi' cloths so white as driven snow. An' while they took, wi' merry cheer, Their pleaeces at the meat an' beer, The band did blow an' beaet aloud Their merry tuens to the crowd; An' slowly-zwingen flags did spread Their hangen colors over head. An' then the vo'k, wi' jay an' pride, Stood up in stillness, zide by zide, Wi' downcast heads, the while their friend Rose up avore the teaeble's end, An' zaid a timely greaece, an' blest The welcome meat to every guest. An' then arose a mingled naise O' knives an' pleaetes, an' cups an' trays, An' tongues wi' merry tongues a-drown'd Below a deaf'nen storm o' sound. An' zoo, at last, their worthy host Stood up to gi'e em all a twoast, That they did drink, wi' shouts o' glee, An' whirlen eaerms to dree times dree. An' when the bwoards at last wer beaere Ov all the cloths an' goodly feaere, An' froth noo longer rose to zwim Within the beer-mugs sheenen rim, The vo'k, a-streamen drough the door, Went out to geaemes they had in store An' on the blue-reaev'd waggon's bed, Above his vower wheels o' red, Musicians zot in rows, an' play'd Their tuens up to chap an' maid, That beaet, wi' playsome tooes an' heels, The level ground in nimble reels. An' zome ageaen, a-zet in line, An' starten at a given sign, Wi' outreach'd breast, a-breathen quick Droo op'nen lips, did nearly kick Their polls, a-runnen sich a peaece, Wi' streamen heaeir, to win the reaece. An' in the house, an' on the green, An' in the shrubb'ry's leafy screen, On ev'ry zide we met sich lots O' smilen friends in happy knots, That I do think, that drough the feaest In Caundle, vor a day at leaest, You woudden vind a scowlen feaece Or dumpy heart in all the pleaece.

HAY MEAKEN—NUNCHEN TIME.

Anne an' John a-ta'ken o't.

A. Back here, but now, the jobber John Come by, an' cried, "Well done, zing on, I thought as I come down the hill, An' heaerd your zongs a-ringen sh'ill, Who woudden like to come, an' fling A peaeir o' prongs where you did zing?"

J. Aye, aye, he woudden vind it play, To work all day a-meaeken hay, Or pitchen o't, to eaerms a-spread By lwoaders, yards above his head, 'T'ud meaeke en wipe his drippen brow.

A. Or else a-reaeken after plow.

J. Or worken, wi' his nimble pick, A-stiffled wi' the hay, at rick.

A. Our Company would suit en best, When we do teaeke our bit o' rest, At nunch, a-gather'd here below The sheaede theaese wide-bough'd woak do drow, Where hissen froth mid rise, an' float In horns o' eaele, to wet his droat.

J. Aye, if his zwellen han' could drag A meat-slice vrom his dinner bag. 'T'ud meaeke the busy little chap Look rather glum, to zee his lap Wi' all his meal ov woone dry croust, An' vinny cheese so dry as doust.

A. Well, I don't grumble at my food, 'Tis wholesome, John, an' zoo 'tis good.

J. Whose reaeke is that a-lyen there? Do look a bit the woo'se vor wear.

A. Oh! I mus' get the man to meaeke A tooth or two vor thik wold reaeke, 'Tis leaebour lost to strik a stroke Wi' him, wi' half his teeth a-broke.

J. I should ha' thought your han' too fine To break your reaeke, if I broke mine.

A. The ramsclaws thin'd his wooden gum O' two teeth here, an' here were zome That broke when I did reaeke a patch O' groun' wi' Jimmy, vor a match: An' here's a gap ov woone or two A-broke by Simon's clumsy shoe, An' when I gi'ed his poll a poke, Vor better luck, another broke. In what a veag have you a-swung Your pick, though, John? His stem's a-sprung.

J. When I an' Simon had a het O' pooken, yonder, vor a bet, The prongs o'n gi'ed a tump a poke, An' then I vound the stem a-broke, But they do meaeke the stems o' picks O' stuff so brittle as a kicks.

A. There's poor wold Jeaene, wi' wrinkled skin, A-tellen, wi' her peaked chin, Zome teaele ov her young days, poor soul. Do meaeke the young-woones smile. 'Tis droll. What is it? Stop, an' let's goo near. I do like theaese wold teaeles. Let's hear.

A FATHER OUT, AN' MOTHER HWOME.

The snow-white clouds did float on high In shoals avore the sheenen sky, An' runnen weaeves in pon' did cheaese Each other on the water's feaece, As hufflen win' did blow between The new-leav'd boughs o' sheenen green. An' there, the while I walked along The path, drough leaeze, above the drong, A little maid, wi' bloomen feaece, Went on up hill wi' nimble peaece, A-leaenen to the right-han' zide, To car a basket that did ride, A-hangen down, wi' all his heft, Upon her elbow at her left. An' yet she hardly seem'd to bruise The grass-bleaedes wi' her tiny shoes, That pass'd each other, left an' right. In steps a'most too quick vor zight. But she'd a-left her mother's door A-bearen vrom her little store Her father's welcome bit o' food, Where he wer out at work in wood; An' she wer bless'd wi' mwore than zwome— A father out, an' mother hwome.

An' there, a-vell'd 'ithin the copse, Below the timber's new-leav'd tops, Wer ashen poles, a-casten straight, On primrwose beds, their langthy waight; Below the yollow light, a-shed Drough boughs upon the vi'let's head, By climen ivy, that did reach, A sheenen roun' the dead-leav'd beech. An' there her father zot, an' meaede His hwomely meal bezide a gleaede; While she, a-croopen down to ground, Did pull the flowers, where she vound The droopen vi'let out in blooth, Or yollow primrwose in the lewth, That she mid car em proudly back, An' zet em on her mother's tack; Vor she wer bless'd wi' mwore than zwome— A father out, an' mother hwome. A father out, an' mother hwome, Be blessens soon a-lost by zome; A-lost by me, an' zoo I pray'd They mid be speaer'd the little maid.

RIDDLES.

Anne an' Joey a-ta'ken.

A. A plague! theaese cow wont stand a bit, Noo sooner do she zee me zit Ageaen her, than she's in a trot, A-runnen to zome other spot.

J. Why 'tis the dog do sceaere the cow, He worried her a-vield benow.

A. Goo in, Ah! Liplap, where's your tail!

J. He's off, then up athirt the rail. Your cow there, Anne's a-come to hand A goodish milcher. A. If she'd stand, But then she'll steaere an' start wi' fright To zee a dumbledore in flight. Last week she het the pail a flought, An' flung my meal o' milk half out.

J. Ha! Ha! But Anny, here, what lout Broke half your small pail's bottom out?

A. What lout indeed! What, do ye own The neaeme? What dropp'd en on a stwone?

J. Hee! Hee! Well now he's out o' trim Wi' only half a bottom to en; Could you still vill en' to the brim An' yit not let the milk run drough en?

A. Aye, as for nonsense, Joe, your head Do hold it all so tight's a blather, But if 'tis any good, do shed It all so leaeky as a lather. Could you vill pails 'ithout a bottom, Yourself that be so deeply skill'd?

J. Well, ees, I could, if I'd a-got em Inside o' bigger woones a-vill'd.

A. La! that is zome'hat vor to hatch! Here answer me theaese little catch. Down under water an' o' top o't I went, an' didden touch a drop o't,

J. Not when at mowen time I took An' pull'd ye out o' Longmeaed brook, Where you'd a-slidder'd down the edge An' zunk knee-deep bezide the zedge, A-tryen to reaeke out a clote.

A. Aye I do hear your chucklen droat When I athirt the brudge did bring Zome water on my head vrom spring. Then under water an' o' top o't, Wer I an' didden touch a drop o't.

J. O Lauk! What thik wold riddle still, Why that's as wold as Duncliffe Hill; "A two-lagg'd thing do run avore An' run behind a man, An' never run upon his lags Though on his lags do stan'." What's that? I don't think you do know. There idden sich a thing to show. Not know? Why yonder by the stall 'S a wheel-barrow bezide the wall, Don't he stand on his lags so trim, An' run on nothen but his wheels wold rim.

A. There's horn vor Goodman's eye-zight seaeke; There's horn vor Goodman's mouth to teaeke; There's horn vor Goodman's ears, as well As horn vor Goodman's nose to smell— What horns be they, then? Do your hat Hold wit enough to tell us that?

J. Oh! horns! but no, I'll tell ye what, My cow is hornless, an' she's knot.

A. Horn vor the mouth's a hornen cup.

J. An' eaele's good stuff to vill en up.

A. An' horn vor eyes is horn vor light, Vrom Goodman's lantern after night; Horn vor the ears is woone to sound Vor hunters out wi' ho'se an' hound; But horn that vo'k do buy to smell o' Is hart's-horn. J. Is it? What d'ye tell o' How proud we be, vor ben't we smart? Aye, horn is horn, an' hart is hart. Well here then, Anne, while we be at it, 'S a ball vor you if you can bat it. On dree-lags, two-lags, by the zide O' vower-lags, woonce did zit wi' pride, When vower-lags, that velt a prick, Vrom zix-lags, het two lags a kick. An' two an' dree-lags vell, all vive, Slap down, zome dead an' zome alive.

A. Teeh! heeh! what have ye now then, Joe, At last, to meaeke a riddle o'?

J. Your dree-lagg'd stool woone night did bear Up you a milken wi' a peaeir; An' there a zix-lagg'd stout did prick Your vow'r-lagg'd cow, an meaeke her kick, A-hetten, wi' a pretty pat, Your stool an' you so flat's a mat. You scrambled up a little dirty, But I do hope it didden hurt ye.

A. You hope, indeed! a likely ceaese, Wi' thik broad grin athirt your feaece You saucy good-vor-nothen chap, I'll gi'e your grinnen feaece a slap, Your drawlen tongue can only run To turn a body into fun.

J. Oh! I woont do 't ageaen. Oh dear! Till next time, Anny. Oh my ear! Oh! Anne, why you've a-het my hat 'Ithin the milk, now look at that.

A. Do sar ye right, then, I don't ceaere. I'll thump your noddle,—there—there—there.

DAY'S WORK A-DONE.

And oh! the jay our rest did yield, At evenen by the mossy wall, When we'd a-work'd all day a-vield, While zummer zuns did rise an' vall; As there a-letten Goo all fretten, An' vorgetten all our tweils, We zot among our childern's smiles.

An' under skies that glitter'd white, The while our smoke, arisen blue, Did melt in aier, out o' zight, Above the trees that kept us lew; Wer birds a-zingen, Tongues a-ringen, Childern springen, vull o' jay, A-finishen the day in play.

An' back behind, a-stannen tall, The cliff did sheen to western light; An' while avore the water-vall, A-rottlen loud, an' foamen white. The leaves did quiver, Gnots did whiver, By the river, where the pool, In evenen air did glissen cool.

An' childern there, a-runnen wide, Did play their geaemes along the grove, Vor though to us 'twer jay to bide At rest, to them 'twer jay to move. The while my smilen Jeaene, beguilen, All my tweilen, wi' her ceaere, Did call me to my evenen feaere.

LIGHT OR SHEAeDE.

A Maytide's evenen wer a-dyen, Under moonsheen, into night, Wi' a streamen wind a-sighen By the thorns a-bloomen white. Where in sheaede, a-zinken deeply, Wer a nook, all dark but lew, By a bank, arisen steeply, Not to let the win' come drough.

Should my love goo out, a-showen All her smiles, in open light; Or, in lewth, wi' wind a-blowen, Stay in darkness, dim to zight? Stay in sheaede o' bank or wallen, In the warmth, if not in light; Words alwone vrom her a-vallen, Would be jay vor all the night.

THE WAGGON A-STOODED.

Dree o'm a-ta'ken o't.

(1) Well, here we be, then, wi' the vu'st poor lwoad O' vuzz we brought, a-stooded in the road.

(2) The road, George, no. There's na'r a road. That's wrong. If we'd a road, we mid ha' got along.

(1) Noo road! Ees 'tis, the road that we do goo.

(2) Do goo, George, no. The pleaece we can't get drough.

(1) Well, there, the vu'st lwoad we've a-haul'd to day Is here a-stooded in theaese bed o' clay. Here's rotten groun'! an' how the wheels do cut! The little woone's a-zunk up to the nut.

(3) An' yeet this rotten groun' don't reach a lug.

(1) Well, come, then, gi'e the plow another tug.

(2) They meaeres wull never pull the waggon out, A-lwoaded, an' a-stooded in thik rout.

(3) We'll try. Come, Smiler, come! C'up, Whitevoot, gee!

(2) White-voot wi' lags all over mud! Hee! Hee!

(3) 'Twoon't wag. We shall but snap our gear, An' overstrain the meaeres. 'Twoon't wag, 'tis clear.

(1) That's your work, William. No, in coo'se, 'twoon't wag. Why did ye dr[=e]ve en into theaese here quag? The vore-wheels be a-zunk above the nuts.

(3) What then? I coulden leaeve the beaeten track, To turn the waggon over on the back Ov woone o' theaesem wheel-high emmet-butts. If you be sich a dr[=e]ver, an' do know't, You dr[=e]ve the plow, then; but you'll overdrow 't.

(1) I dr[=e]ve the plow, indeed! Oh! ees, what, now The wheels woont wag, then, I mid dr[=e]ve the plow! We'd better dig away the groun' below The wheels. (2) There's na'r a speaede to dig wi'.

(1) An' teaeke an' cut a lock o' frith, an' drow Upon the clay. (2) Nor hook to cut a twig wi'.

(1) Oh! here's a bwoy a-comen. Here, my lad, Dost know vor a'r a speaede, that can be had?

(B) At father's. (1) Well, where's that? (Bwoy) At Sam'el Riddick's.

(1) Well run, an' ax vor woone. Fling up your heels, An' mind: a speaede to dig out theaesem wheels, An' hook to cut a little lock o' widdicks.

(3) Why, we shall want zix ho'ses, or a dozen, To pull the waggon out, wi' all theaese vuzzen.

(1) Well, we mus' lighten en; come, Jeaemes, then, hop Upon the lwoad, an' jus' fling off the top.

(2) If I can clim' en; but 'tis my consait, That I shall overzet en wi' my waight.

(1) You overzet en! No, Jeaemes, he won't vall, The lwoad's a-built so firm as any wall.

(2) Here! lend a hand or shoulder vor my knee Or voot. I'll scramble to the top an' zee What I can do. Well, here I be, among The fakkets, vor a bit, but not vor long. Heigh, George! Ha! ha! Why this wull never stand. Your firm 's a wall, is all so loose as zand; 'Tis all a-come to pieces. Oh! Teaeke ceaere! Ho! I'm a-vallen, vuzz an' all! Hae! There!

(1) Lo'k there, thik fellor is a-vell lik' lead, An' half the fuzzen wi 'n, heels over head! There's all the vuzz a-lyen lik' a staddle, An' he a-deaeb'd wi' mud. Oh! Here's a caddle!

(3) An' zoo you soon got down zome vuzzen, Jimmy.

(2) Ees, I do know 'tis down. I brought it wi' me.

(3) Your lwoad, George, wer a rather slick-built thing, But there, 'twer prickly vor the hands! Did sting?

(1) Oh! ees, d'ye teaeke me vor a nincompoop, No, no. The lwoad wer up so firm's a rock, But two o' theaesem emmet-butts would knock The tightest barrel nearly out o' hoop.

(3) Oh! now then, here 's the bwoy a-bringen back The speaede. Well done, my man. That idder slack.

(2) Well done, my lad, sha't have a ho'se to ride When thou'st a meaere. (Bwoy) Next never's-tide.

(3) Now let's dig out a spit or two O' clay, a-vore the little wheels; Oh! so's, I can't pull up my heels, I be a-stogg'd up over shoe.

(1) Come, William, dig away! Why you do spuddle A'most so weak's a child. How you do muddle! Gi'e me the speaede a-bit. A pig would rout It out a'most so nimbly wi' his snout.

(3) Oh! so's, d'ye hear it, then. How we can thunder! How big we be, then George! what next I wonder?

(1) Now, William, gi'e the waggon woone mwore twitch, The wheels be free, an' 'tis a lighter nitch.

(3) Come, Smiler, gee! C'up, White-voot. (1) That wull do.

(2) Do wag. (1) Do goo at last. (3) Well done. 'Tis drough.

(1) Now, William, till you have mwore ho'ses' lags, Don't dr[=e]ve the waggon into theaesem quags.