Part 7

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' meaede 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' faggots, till above en The fleaemes, 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 pay off zome what they'd a-done, An' let em off so loud's a gun Ageaen 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' Dick, that all o'm vell upon, Vound woone flap ov his cwoat-tail 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 gwain 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 pay 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 teaeke 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 gwain 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 grass do grow.

JOHN.

Aye, that's the thing, you zee. Now I do mow My bit o' grass, an' meaeke a little rick; An' in the zummer, while do grow, My cow do run in common vor to pick A bleaede or two o' grass, if she can vind em, Vor tother cattle don't leaeve much behind em. Zoo in the evenen, we do put a lock O' nice fresh grass avore the wicket; An' she do come at vive or zix o'clock, As constant as the zun, to pick it. An' then, bezides the cow, why we do let Our geese run out among the emmet hills; An' then when we do pluck em, we do get Vor zeaele zome veathers an' zome quills; An' in the winter we do fat em well, An' car em to the market vor to zell To gentlevo'ks, vor we don't oft avvword To put a goose a-top ov ouer bwoard; But we do get our feaest,—vor we be eaeble To clap the giblets up a-top o' teaeble.

THOMAS.

An' I don't know o' many better things, Than geese's heads and gizzards, lags an' wings.

JOHN.

An' then, when I ha' nothen else to do, Why I can teaeke my hook an' gloves, an' goo To cut a lot o' vuzz and briars Vor heten ovens, or vor lighten viers. An' when the childern be too young to eaern A penny, they can g'out in zunny weather, An' run about, an' get together A bag o' cow-dung vor to burn.

THOMAS.

'Tis handy to live near a common; But I've a-zeed, an' I've a-zaid, That if a poor man got a bit o' bread, They'll try to teaeke it vrom en. But I wer twold back tother day, That they be got into a way O' letten bits o' groun' out to the poor.

JOHN.

Well, I do hope 'tis true, I'm sure; An' I do hope that they will do it here, Or I must goo to workhouse, I do fear.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

TWO FARMS IN WOONE.

Robert an' Thomas.

ROBERT.

You'll lose your meaester soon, then, I do vind; He's gwain to leaeve his farm, as I do larn, At Mielmas; an' I be zorry vor'n. What, is he then a little bit behind?

THOMAS.

O no! at Mielmas his time is up, An' thik there sly wold fellow, Farmer Tup, A-fearen that he'd get a bit o' bread, 'V a-been an' took his farm here over's head.

ROBERT.

How come the Squire to treat your meaester zoo?

THOMAS.

Why, he an' meaester had a word or two.

ROBERT.

Is Farmer Tup a-gwain to leaeve his farm? He han't a-got noo young woones vor to zwarm. Poor over-reachen man! why to be sure He don't want all the farms in parish, do er?

THOMAS.

Why ees, all ever he can come across, Last year, you know, he got away the eaecre Or two o' ground a-rented by the beaeker, An' what the butcher had to keep his hoss; An' vo'k do beaenhan' now, that meaester's lot Will be a-drowd along wi' what he got.

ROBERT.

That's it. In theaese here pleaece there used to be Eight farms avore they wer a-drowd together, An' eight farm-housen. Now how many be there? Why after this, you know there'll be but dree.

THOMAS.

An' now they don't imploy so many men Upon the land as work'd upon it then, Vor all they midden crop it worse, nor stock it. The lan'lord, to be sure, is into pocket; Vor half the housen been down, 'tis clear, Don't cost so much to keep em up, a-near. But then the jobs o' work in wood an' morter Do come I 'spose, you know, a little shorter; An' many that wer little farmers then, Be now a-come all down to leaeb'ren men; An' many leaeb'ren men, wi' empty hands, Do live lik' drones upon the worker's lands.

ROBERT.

Aye, if a young chap, woonce, had any wit To try an' scrape together zome vew pound, To buy some cows an' teaeke a bit o' ground, He mid become a farmer, bit by bit. But, hang it! now the farms be all so big, An' bits o' groun' so skeae'ce, woone got no scope; If woone could seaeve a poun', woone couldden hope To keep noo live stock but a little pig.

THOMAS.

Why here wer vourteen men, zome years agoo, A-kept a-drashen half the winter drough; An' now, woone's drashels be'n't a bit o' good. They got machines to drashy wi', plague teaeke em! An' he that vu'st vound out the way to meaeke em, I'd drash his busy zides vor'n if I could! Avore they took away our work, they ought To meaeke us up the bread our leaebour bought.

ROBERT.

They hadden need meaeke poor men's leaebour less, Vor work a'ready is uncommon skeae'ce.

THOMAS.

Ah! Robert! times be badish vor the poor; An' worse will come, I be a-fear'd, if Moore In theaese year's almanick do tell us right.

ROBERT.

Why then we sartainly must starve. Good night!

WINTER

THE VROST.

Come, run up hwome wi' us to night, Athirt the vield a-vroze so white, Where vrosty sheaedes do lie below The winter ricks a-tipp'd wi' snow, An' lively birds, wi' waggen tails, Do hop upon the icy rails, An' rime do whiten all the tops O' bush an' tree in hedge an' copse, In wind's a-cutten keen.

Come, maidens, come: the groun's a-vroze Too hard to-night to spweil your clothes. You got noo pools to waddle drough, Nor clay a-pullen off your shoe: An' we can trig ye at the zide, To keep ye up if you do slide: Zoo while there's neither wet nor mud, 'S the time to run an' warm your blood, In winds a-cutten keen.

Vor young men's hearts an' maiden's eyes Don't vreeze below the cwoldest skies, While they in twice so keen a blast Can wag their brisk lim's twice so vast! Though vier-light, a-flick'ren red Drough vrosty window-peaenes, do spread Vrom wall to wall, vrom he'th to door, Vor us to goo an' zit avore, Vrom winds a-cutten keen.

A BIT O' FUN.

We thought you woulden leaeve us quite So soon as what you did last night; Our fun jist got up to a height As you about got hwome. The frisken chaps did skip about, An' cou'se the maidens in an' out, A-meaeken such a randy-rout, You coulden hear a drum.

An' Tom, a-springen after Bet Blind-vwolded, whizz'd along, an' het Poor Grammer's zide, an' overzet Her chair, at blind-man's buff; An' she, poor soul, as she did vall, Did show her snags o' teeth an' squall, An' what, she zaid, wer wo'se than all, She shatter'd all her snuff.

An' Bet, a-hoppen back vor fear O' Tom, struck uncle zomewhere near, An' meaede his han' spill all his beer Right down her poll an' back; An' Joe, in middle o' the din, Slipt out a bit, an' soon come in Wi' all below his dapper chin A-jumpen in a zack.

An' in a twinklen tother chaps Jist hung en to a crook wi' straps, An' meaede en bear the maidens' slaps, An' prickens wi' a pin. An' Jim, a-catchen Poll, poor chap, In back-house in the dark, vell slap Athirt a tub o' barm,—a trap She set to catch en in.

An' then we zot down out o' breath, An' meaede a circle roun' the he'th, A-keepen up our harmless me'th, Till supper wer a-come. An' after we'd a-had zome prog, All tother chaps begun to jog, Wi' sticks to lick a thief or dog, To zee the maidens hwome.

FANNYS BE'TH-DAY.

How merry, wi' the cider cup, We kept poor Fanny's be'th-day up! An' how our busy tongues did run An' hands did wag, a-meaeken fun! What playsome anticks zome [=o]'s done! An' how, a-reelen roun' an' roun', We beaet the merry tuen down, While music wer a-sounden!

The maidens' eyes o' black an' blue Did glisten lik' the mornen dew; An' while the cider-mug did stand A-hissen by the bleaezen brand, An' uncle's pipe wer in his hand, How little he or we did think How peaele the zetten stars did blink While music wer a-sounden.

An' Fanny's last young teen begun, Poor maid, wi' thik day's risen zun, An' we all wish'd her many mwore Long years wi' happiness in store; An' as she went an' stood avore The vier, by her father's zide, Her mother dropp'd a tear o' pride While music wer a-sounden.

An' then we did all kinds o' tricks Wi' han'kerchiefs, an' strings, an' sticks: An' woone did try to overmatch Another wi' zome cunnen catch, While tothers slyly tried to hatch Zome geaeme; but yet, by chap an' maid. The dancen wer the mwost injay'd, While music wer a-sounden.

The briskest chap ov all the lot Wer Tom, that danc'd hizzelf so hot, He doff'd his cwoat an' jump'd about, Wi' girt new shirt-sleeves all a-strout, Among the maidens screamen out, A-thinken, wi' his strides an' stamps, He'd squot their veet wi' his girt clamps, While music wer a-sounden.

Then up jump'd uncle vrom his chair, An' pull'd out aunt to meaeke a peaeir; An' off he zet upon his tooe, So light's the best that beaet a shoe, Wi' aunt a-crien "Let me goo:" While all ov us did laugh so loud, We drown'd the tuen o' the croud, While music wer a-sounden.

A-comen out o' passage, Nan, Wi' pipes an' cider in her han', An' watchen uncle up so sprack, Vorgot her veet, an' vell down smack Athirt the house-dog's shaggy back, That wer in passage vor a snooze, Beyond the reach o' dancers' shoes, While music wer a-sounden.

WHAT DICK AN' I DID.

Last week the Browns ax'd nearly all The naighbours to a randy, An' left us out o't, girt an' small, Vor all we liv'd so handy; An' zoo I zaid to Dick, "We'll trudge, When they be in their fun, min; An' car up zome'hat to the rudge, An' jis' stop up the tun, min."

Zoo, wi' the ladder vrom the rick, We stole towards the house, An' crope in roun' behind en, lik' A cat upon a mouse. Then, looken roun', Dick whisper'd "How Is theaese job to be done, min: Why we do want a faggot now, Vor stoppen up the tun, min."

"Stan' still," I answer'd; "I'll teaeke ceaere O' that: why dussen zee The little grinden stwone out there, Below the apple-tree? Put up the ladder; in a crack Shalt zee that I wull run, min, An' teaeke en up upon my back, An' soon stop up the tun, min."

Zoo up I clomb upon the thatch, An' clapp'd en on; an' slided Right down ageaen, an' run drough hatch, Behind the hedge, an' hided. The vier that wer clear avore, Begun to spweil their fun, min; The smoke all roll'd toward the door, Vor I'd a-stopp'd the tun, min.

The maidens cough'd or stopp'd their breath, The men did hauk an' spet; The wold vo'k bundled out from he'th Wi' eyes a-runnen wet. "'T'ool choke us all," the wold man cried, "Whatever's to be done, min? Why zome'hat is a-vell inside O' chimney drough the tun, min."

Then out they scamper'd all, vull run, An' out cried Tom, "I think The grinden-stwone is up on tun, Vor I can zee the wink. This is some kindness that the vo'k At Woodley have a-done, min; I wish I had em here, I'd poke Their numskulls down the tun, min."

Then off he zet, an' come so quick 'S a lamplighter, an' brote The little ladder in vrom rick, To clear the chimney's droat. While I, a-chucklen at the joke, A-slided down, to run, min, To hidelock, had a-left the vo'k As bad as na'r a tun, min.

GRAMMER'S SHOES.

I do seem to zee Grammer as she did use Vor to show us, at Chris'mas, her wedden shoes, An' her flat spreaden bonnet so big an' roun' As a girt pewter dish a-turn'd upside down; When we all did draw near In a cluster to hear O' the merry wold soul how she did use To walk an' to dance wi' her high-heel shoes.

She'd a gown wi' girt flowers lik' hollyhocks, An' zome stockens o' gramfer's a-knit wi' clocks, An' a token she kept under lock an' key,— A small lock ov his heaeir off avore 't wer grey. An' her eyes wer red, An' she shook her head, When we'd all a-look'd at it, an' she did use To lock it away wi' her wedden shoes.

She could tell us such teaeles about heavy snows, An' o' rains an' o' floods when the waters rose All up into the housen, an' carr'd awoy All the bridge wi' a man an' his little bwoy; An' o' vog an' vrost, An' o' vo'k a-lost, An' o' peaerties at Chris'mas, when she did use Vor to walk hwome wi' gramfer in high-heel shoes.

Ev'ry Chris'mas she lik'd vor the bells to ring, An' to have in the zingers to heaer em zing The wold carols she heaerd many years a-gone, While she warm'd em zome cider avore the bron'; An' she'd look an' smile At our dancen, while She did tell how her friends now a-gone did use To reely wi' her in their high-heel shoes.

Ah! an' how she did like vor to deck wi' red Holly-berries the window an' wold clock's head, An' the clavy wi' boughs o' some bright green leaves, An' to meaeke twoast an' eaele upon Chris'mas eves; But she's now, drough greaece, In a better pleaece, Though we'll never vorget her, poor soul, nor lose Gramfer's token ov heaeir, nor her wedden shoes.

ZUNSHEEN IN THE WINTER.

The winter clouds, that long did hide The zun, be all a-blown azide, An' in the light, noo longer dim, Do sheen the ivy that do clim' The tower's zide an' elem's stim; An' holmen bushes, in between The leafless thorns, be bright an' green To zunsheen o' the winter.

The trees, that yesterday did twist In wind's a-dreven rain an' mist, Do now drow sheaedes out, long an' still; But roaren watervals do vill Their whirlen pools below the hill, Where, wi' her pail upon the stile, A-gwain a-milken Jeaene do smile To zunsheen o' the winter.

The birds do sheaeke, wi' playsome skips, The rain-drops off the bushes' tips, A-chirripen wi' merry sound; While over all the grassy ground The wind's a-whirlen round an' round So softly, that the day do seem Mwore lik' a zummer in a dream, Than zunsheen in the winter.

The wold vo'k now do meet abrode, An' tell o' winter's they've a-know'd; When snow wer long above the groun', Or floods broke all the bridges down, Or wind unheal'd a half the town,— The teaeles o' wold times long a-gone, But ever dear to think upon, The zunsheen o' their winter.

Vor now to them noo brook can run, Noo hill can feaece the winter zun, Noo leaves can vall, noo flow'rs can feaede, Noo snow can hide the grasses bleaede, Noo vrost can whiten in the sheaede, Noo day can come, but what do bring To mind ageaen their early spring, That's now a-turn'd to winter.

THE WEEPEN LEADY.

When, leaete o' nights, above the green By thik wold house, the moon do sheen, A leaedy there, a-hangen low Her head, 's a-walken to an' fro In robes so white's the driven snow, Wi' woone eaerm down, while woone do rest All lily-white athirt the breast O' thik poor weepen leaedy.

The whirlen wind an' whis'len squall Do sheaeke the ivy by the wall, An' meaeke the plyen tree-tops rock, But never ruffle her white frock; An' slammen door an' rattlen lock, That in thik empty house do sound, Do never seem to meaeke look round Thik ever downcast leaedy.

A leaedy, as the teaele do goo, That woonce liv'd there, an' lov'd too true, Wer by a young man cast azide. A mother sad, but not a bride; An' then her father, in his pride An' anger, offer'd woone o' two Vull bitter things to undergoo To thik poor weepen leaedy:

That she herzelf should leaeve his door, To darken it ageaen noo mwore; Or that her little playsome chile, A-zent away a thousand mile, Should never meet her eyes to smile An' play ageaen; till she, in sheaeme, Should die an' leaeve a tarnish'd neaeme, A sad vorseaeken leaedy.

"Let me be lost," she cried, "the while I do but know vor my poor chile;" An' left the hwome ov all her pride, To wander drough the worold wide, Wi' grief that vew but she ha' tried: An' lik' a flow'r a blow ha' broke, She wither'd wi' the deadly stroke, An' died a weepen leaedy.

An' she do keep a-comen on To zee her father dead an' gone, As if her soul could have noo rest Avore her teaery cheaek's a-prest By his vorgiven kiss. Zoo blest Be they that can but live in love, An' vind a pleaece o' rest above Unlik' the weepen leaedy.

THE HAPPY DAYS WHEN I WER YOUNG.

In happy days when I wer young, An' had noo ho, an' laugh'd an' zung, The maid wer merry by her cow, An' men wer merry wi' the plough; But never talk'd, at hwome or out O' doors, o' what's a-talk'd about By many now,—that to despise The laws o' God an' man is wise. Wi' daily health, an' daily bread, An' thatch above their shelter'd head, They velt noo fear, an' had noo spite, To keep their eyes awake at night; But slept in peace wi' God on high An' man below, an' fit to die.

O' grassy meaed an' woody nook, An' waters o' the winden brook, That sprung below the vu'st dark sky That rain'd, to run till seas be dry; An' hills a-stannen on while all The works o' man do rise an' vall; An' trees the toddlen child do vind At vu'st, an' leaeve at last behind; I wish that you could now unvwold The peace an' jaey o' times o' wold; An' tell, when death do still my tongue, O' happy days when I wer young. Vrom where wer all this venom brought, To kill our hope an' taint our thought? Clear brook! thy water coulden bring Such venom vrom thy rocky spring; Nor could it come in zummer blights, Or reaeven storms o' winter nights, Or in the cloud an' viry stroke O' thunder that do split the woak.