Part 9

My kinsvo'k would fain zee me teaeke vor my meaete A maid that ha' wealth, but a maid I should heaete; But I'd sooner leaebour wi' thee vor my bride, Than live lik' a squier wi' any bezide.

Vor all busy kinsvo'k, my love will be still A-zet upon thee lik' the vir in the hill; An' though they mid worry, an' dreaten, an' mock, My head's in the storm, but my root's in the rock.

Zoo, Jenny, don't sobby! vor I shall be true; Noo might under heaven shall peaert me vrom you. My heart will be cwold, Jenny, when I do slight The zwell o' thy bosom, thy eyes' sparklen light.

THE MAID VOR MY BRIDE.

Ah! don't tell o' maidens! the woone vor my bride Is little lik' too many maidens bezide,— Not branten, nor spitevul, nor wild; she've a mind To think o' what's right, an' a heart to be kind.

She's straight an' she's slender, but not over tall, Wi' lim's that be lightsome, but not over small; The goodness o' heaven do breathe in her feaece, An' a queen, to be steaetely, must walk wi' her peaece.

Her frocks be a-meaede all becomen an' plain, An' cleaen as a blossom undimm'd by a stain; Her bonnet ha' got but two ribbons, a-tied Up under her chin, or let down at the zide.

When she do speak to woone, she don't steaere an' grin; There's sense in her looks, vrom her eyes to her chin, An' her words be so kind, an' her speech is so meek, As her eyes do look down a-beginnen to speak.

Her skin is so white as a lily, an' each Ov her cheaeks is so downy an' red as a peach; She's pretty a-zitten; but oh! how my love Do watch her to madness when woonce she do move.

An' when she do walk hwome vrom church drough the groun', Wi' woone eaerm in mine, an' wi' woone a-hung down, I do think, an' do veel mwore o' sheaeme than o' pride, That do meaeke me look ugly to walk by her zide.

Zoo don't talk o' maiden's! the woone vor my bride Is but little lik' too many maidens bezide,— Not branten, nor spitevul, nor wild; she've a mind To think o' what's right, an' a heart to be kind.

THE HWOMESTEAD.

If I had all the land my zight Can overlook vrom Chalwell hill, Vrom Sherborn left to Blanvord right, Why I could be but happy still. An' I be happy wi' my spot O' freehold ground an' mossy cot, An' shoulden get a better lot If I had all my will.

My orcha'd's wide, my trees be young; An' they do bear such heavy crops, Their boughs, lik' onion-rwopes a-hung, Be all a-trigg'd to year, wi' props. I got some geaerden groun' to dig, A parrock, an' a cow an' pig; I got zome cider vor to swig, An' eaele o' malt an' hops.

I'm landlord o' my little farm, I'm king 'ithin my little pleaece; I don't break laws, an' don't do harm, An' bent a-feaer'd o' noo man's feaece. When I'm a-cover'd wi' my thatch, Noo man do deaere to lift my latch; Where honest han's do shut the hatch, There fear do leaeve the pleaece.

My lofty elem trees do screen My brown-ruf'd house, an' here below, My geese do strut athirt the green, An' hiss an' flap their wings o' snow; As I do walk along a rank Ov apple trees, or by a bank, Or zit upon a bar or plank, To see how things do grow.

THE FARMER'S WOLDEST D[=A]'TER.

No, no! I ben't a-runnen down The pretty maiden's o' the town, Nor wishen o'm noo harm; But she that I would marry vu'st, To sheaere my good luck or my crust, 'S a-bred up at a farm. In town, a maid do zee mwore life, An' I don't under-reaete her; But ten to woone the sprackest wife 'S a farmer's woldest d[=a]'ter.

Vor she do veed, wi' tender ceaere, The little woones, an' peaert their heaeir, An' keep em neat an' pirty; An' keep the saucy little chaps O' bwoys in trim wi' dreats an' slaps, When they be wild an' dirty. Zoo if you'd have a bus'len wife, An' childern well look'd after, The maid to help ye all drough life 'S a farmer's woldest d[=a]'ter.

An' she can iorn up an' vwold A book o' clothes wi' young or wold, An' zalt an' roll the butter; An' meaeke brown bread, an' elder wine, An' zalt down meat in pans o' brine, An' do what you can put her. Zoo if you've wherewi', an' would vind A wife wo'th looken [=a]'ter, Goo an' get a farmer in the mind To gi'e ye his woldest d[=a]'ter.

Her heart's so innocent an' kind, She idden thoughtless, but do mind Her mother an' her duty; An' liven blushes, that do spread Upon her healthy feaece o' red, Do heighten all her beauty; So quick's a bird, so neat's a cat, So cheerful in her neaetur, The best o' maidens to come at 'S a farmer's woldest d[=a]'ter.

UNCLE OUT O' DEBT AN' OUT O' DANGER.

Ees; uncle had thik small hwomestead, The leaezes an' the bits o' mead, Besides the orcha'd in his prime, An' copse-wood vor the winter time. His wold black meaere, that draw'd his cart, An' he, wer seldom long apeaert; Vor he work'd hard an' paid his woy, An' zung so litsom as a bwoy, As he toss'd an' work'd, An' blow'd an' quirk'd, "I'm out o' debt an' out o' danger, An' I can feaece a friend or stranger; I've a vist vor friends, an' I'll vind a peaeir Vor the vu'st that do meddle wi' me or my meaere."

His meaere's long vlexy vetlocks grow'd Down roun' her hoofs so black an' brode; Her head hung low, her tail reach'd down A-bobben nearly to the groun'. The cwoat that uncle mwostly wore Wer long behind an' straight avore,

An' in his shoes he had girt buckles, An' breeches button'd round his huckles; An' he zung wi' pride, By's wold meaere's zide, "I'm out o' debt an' out o' danger, An' I can feaece a friend or stranger; I've a vist vor friends, an' I'll vind a peaeir Vor the vu'st that do meddle wi' me or my meare."

An' he would work,—an' lwoad, an' shoot, An' spur his heaps o' dung or zoot; Or car out hay, to sar his vew Milch cows in corners dry an' lew; Or dreve a zyve, or work a pick, To pitch or meaeke his little rick; Or thatch en up wi' straw or zedge, Or stop a shard, or gap, in hedge; An' he work'd an' flung His eaerms, an' zung "I'm out o' debt an' out o' danger, An' I can feaece a friend or stranger; I've a vist vor friends, an' I'll vind a peaeir Vor the vu'st that do meddle wi' me or my meare."

An' when his meaere an' he'd a-done Their work, an' tired ev'ry bwone, He zot avore the vire, to spend His evenen wi' his wife or friend; An' wi' his lags out-stratch'd vor rest, An' woone hand in his wes'coat breast, While burnen sticks did hiss an' crack, An' fleaemes did bleaezy up the back, There he zung so proud In a bakky cloud, "I'm out o' debt an' out o' danger, An' I can feaece a friend or stranger; I've a vist vor friends, an' I'll vind a peaeir Vor the vu'st that do meddle wi' me or my meare."

From market how he used to ride, Wi' pot's a-bumpen by his zide Wi' things a-bought—but not vor trust, Vor what he had he paid vor vu'st; An' when he trotted up the yard, The calves did bleaery to be sar'd, An' pigs did scoat all drough the muck, An' geese did hiss, an' hens did cluck; An' he zung aloud, So pleased an' proud, "I'm out o' debt an' out o' danger, An' I can feaece a friend or stranger; I've a vist vor friends, an' I'll vind a peaeir Vor the vu'st that do meddle wi' me or my meare."

When he wer joggen hwome woone night Vrom market, after candle-light, (He mid a-took a drop o' beer, Or midden, vor he had noo fear,) Zome ugly, long-lagg'd, herren ribs, Jump'd out an' ax'd en vor his dibs; But he soon gi'ed en such a mawlen, That there he left en down a-sprawlen, While he jogg'd along Wi' his own wold zong, "I'm out o' debt an' out o' danger, An' I can feaece a friend or stranger; I've a vist vor friends, an' I'll vind a peaeir Vor the vu'st that do meddle wi' me or my meare."

THE CHURCH AN' HAPPY ZUNDAY.

Ah! ev'ry day mid bring a while O' eaese vrom all woone's ceaere an' tweil, The welcome evenen, when 'tis sweet Vor tired friends wi' weary veet, But litsome hearts o' love, to meet; An' yet while weekly times do roll, The best vor body an' vor soul 'S the church an' happy Zunday.

Vor then our loosen'd souls do rise Wi' holy thoughts beyond the skies, As we do think o' Him that shed His blood vor us, an' still do spread His love upon the live an' dead; An' how He gi'ed a time an' pleaece To gather us, an' gi'e us greaece,— The church an' happy Zunday.

There, under leaenen mossy stwones, Do lie, vorgot, our fathers' bwones, That trod this groun' vor years agoo, When things that now be wold wer new; An' comely maidens, mild an' true, That meaede their sweet-hearts happy brides, An' come to kneel down at their zides At church o' happy Zundays.

'Tis good to zee woone's naighbours come Out drough the churchyard, vlocken hwome, As woone do nod, an' woone do smile, An' woone do toss another's chile; An' zome be sheaeken han's, the while Poll's uncle, chucken her below Her chin, do tell her she do grow, At church o' happy Zundays.

Zoo while our blood do run in vains O' liven souls in theaesum plains, Mid happy housen smoky round The church an' holy bit o' ground; An' while their wedden bells do sound, Oh! mid em have the meaens o' greaece, The holy day an' holy pleaece, The church an' happy Zunday.

THE WOLD WAGGON.

The girt wold waggon uncle had, When I wer up a hardish lad, Did stand, a-screen'd vrom het an' wet, In zummer at the barken geaete, Below the elems' spreaeden boughs, A-rubb'd by all the pigs an' cows. An' I've a-clom his head an' zides, A-riggen up or jumpen down A-playen, or in happy rides Along the leaene or drough the groun', An' many souls be in their greaeves, That rod' together on his reaeves; An' he, an' all the hosses too, 'V a-ben a-done vor years agoo.

Upon his head an' tail wer pinks, A-painted all in tangled links; His two long zides wer blue,—his bed Bent slightly upward at the head; His reaeves rose upward in a bow Above the slow hind-wheels below. Vour hosses wer a-kept to pull The girt wold waggon when 'twer vull; The black meaere Smiler, strong enough To pull a house down by herzuf,

So big, as took my widest strides To straddle halfway down her zides; An' champen Vi'let, sprack an' light, That foam'd an' pull'd wi' all her might: An' Whitevoot, leaezy in the treaece, Wi' cunnen looks an' show-white feaece; Bezides a bay woone, short-tail Jack, That wer a treaece-hoss or a hack.

How many lwoads o' vuzz, to scald The milk, thik waggon have a-haul'd! An' wood vrom copse, an' poles vor rails. An' bayens wi' their bushy tails; An' loose-ear'd barley, hangen down Outzide the wheels a'most to groun', An' lwoads o' hay so sweet an' dry, A-builded straight, an' long, an' high; An' hay-meaekers, a-zitten roun' The reaeves, a-riden hwome vrom groun', When Jim gi'ed Jenny's lips a-smack, An' jealous Dicky whipp'd his back, An' maidens scream'd to veel the thumps A-gi'ed by trenches an' by humps. But he, an' all his hosses too, 'V a-ben a-done vor years agoo.

THE DREVEN O' THE COMMON.[B]

In the common by our hwome There wer freely-open room, Vor our litty veet to roam By the vuzzen out in bloom. That wi' prickles kept our lags Vrom the skylark's nest ov aggs; While the peewit wheel'd around Wi' his cry up over head, Or he sped, though a-limpen, o'er the ground.

There we heaerd the whickr'en meaere Wi' her vaice a-quiv'ren high; Where the cow did loudly bleaere By the donkey's vallen cry. While a-stoopen man did zwing His bright hook at vuzz or ling Free o' fear, wi' wellglov'd hands, O' the prickly vuzz he vell'd, Then sweet-smell'd as it died in faggot bands.

When the hayward drove the stock In a herd to zome oone pleaece, Thither vo'k begun to vlock, Each to own his beaestes feaece. While the geese, bezide the stream, Zent vrom gapen bills a scream, An' the cattle then avound, Without right o' greaezen there, Went to bleaere bray or whicker in the pound.

THE COMMON A-TOOK IN.

Oh! no, Poll, no! Since they've a-took The common in, our lew wold nook Don't seem a-bit as used to look When we had runnen room; Girt banks do shut up ev'ry drong, An' stratch wi' thorny backs along Where we did use to run among The vuzzen an' the broom.

Ees; while the ragged colts did crop The nibbled grass, I used to hop The emmet-buts, vrom top to top, So proud o' my spry jumps: Wi' thee behind or at my zide, A-skippen on so light an' wide 'S thy little frock would let thee stride, Among the vuzzy humps.

Ah while the lark up over head Did twitter, I did search the red Thick bunch o' broom, or yollow bed O' vuzzen vor a nest; An' thou di'st hunt about, to meet Wi' strawberries so red an' sweet, Or clogs or shoes off hosses veet, Or wild thyme vor thy breast;

Or when the cows did run about A-stung, in zummer, by the stout, Or when they play'd, or when they foueght, Di'st stand a-looken on: An' where white geese, wi' long red bills, Did veed among the emmet-hills, There we did goo to vind their quills Alongzide o' the pon'.

What fun there wer among us, when The hayward come, wi' all his men, To dreve the common, an' to pen Strange cattle in the pound; The cows did bleaere, the men did shout An' toss their eaerms an' sticks about, An' vo'ks, to own their stock, come out Vrom all the housen round.

A WOLD FRIEND.

Oh! when the friends we us'd to know, 'V a-been a-lost vor years; an' when Zome happy day do come, to show Their feaezen to our eyes ageaen, Do meaeke us look behind, John, Do bring wold times to mind, John, Do meaeke hearts veel, if they be steel, All warm, an' soft, an' kind, John.

When we do lose, still gay an' young, A vaice that us'd to call woone's neaeme, An' after years ageaen his tongue Do sound upon our ears the seaeme, Do kindle love anew, John, Do wet woone's eyes wi' dew, John, As we do sheaeke, vor friendship's seaeke, His vist an' vind en true, John.

What tender thoughts do touch woone's soul, When we do zee a meaed or hill Where we did work, or play, or stroll, An' talk wi' vaices that be still; 'Tis touchen vor to treaece, John, Wold times drough ev'ry pleaece, John; But that can't touch woone's heart so much, As zome wold long-lost feaece, John.

THE RWOSE THAT DECK'D HER BREAST.

Poor Jenny wer her Robert's bride Two happy years, an' then he died; An' zoo the wold vo'k meaede her come, Vorseaeken, to her maiden hwome. But Jenny's merry tongue wer dum'; An' round her comely neck she wore A murnen kerchif, where avore The rwose did deck her breast.

She walk'd alwone, wi' eye-balls wet, To zee the flow'rs that she'd a-zet; The lilies, white's her maiden frocks, The spike, to put 'ithin her box, Wi' columbines an' hollyhocks; The jilliflow'r an' nodden pink, An' rwose that touch'd her soul to think Ov woone that deck'd her breast.

Vor at her wedden, just avore Her maiden hand had yet a-wore A wife's goold ring, wi' hangen head She walk'd along thik flower-bed, Where stocks did grow, a-stained wi' red, An' meaerygoolds did skirt the walk, An' gather'd vrom the rwose's stalk A bud to deck her breast.

An' then her cheaek, wi' youthvul blood Wer bloomen as the rwoses bud; But now, as she wi' grief do pine, 'Tis peaele's the milk-white jessamine. But Robert have a-left behine A little beaeby wi' his feaece, To smile, an' nessle in the pleaece Where the rwose did deck her breast.

NANNY'S COW.

Ov all the cows, among the rest Wer woone that Nanny lik'd the best; An' after milken us'd to stan' A-veeden o' her, vrom her han', Wi' grass or hay; an' she know'd Ann, An' in the evenen she did come The vu'st, a-beaeten uep roun' hwome Vor Ann to come an' milk her.

Her back wer hollor as a bow, Her lags wer short, her body low; Her head wer small, her horns turn'd in Avore Her feaece so sharp's a pin: Her eyes wer vull, her ears wer thin, An' she wer red vrom head to tail, An' didden start nor kick the pail, When Nanny zot to milk her.

But losses zoon begun to vall On Nanny's father, that wi' all His tweil he voun', wi' breaken heart, That he mus' leaeve his ground, an' peaert Wi' all his beaest an' hoss an' cart; An', what did touch en mwost, to zell The red cow Nanny lik'd so well, An' lik'd vor her to milk her.

Zalt tears did run vrom Nanny's eyes, To hear her restless father's sighs. But as vor me, she mid be sure I wont vorzeaeke her now she's poor, Vor I do love her mwore an' mwore; An' if I can but get a cow An' parrock, I'll vulvil my vow, An' she shall come an' milk her.

THE SHEP'ERD BWOY.

When the warm zummer breeze do blow over the hill, An' the vlock's a-spread over the ground; When the vaice o' the busy wold sheep dog is still, An' the sheep-bells do tinkle all round; Where noo tree vor a sheaede but the thorn is a-vound, There, a zingen a zong, Or a-whislen among The sheep, the young shep'erd do bide all day long.

When the storm do come up wi' a thundery cloud That do shut out the zunlight, an' high Over head the wild thunder do rumble so loud, An' the lightnen do flash vrom the sky, Where noo shelter's a-vound but his hut, that is nigh, There out ov all harm, In the dry an' the warm, The poor little shep'erd do smile at the storm.

When the cwold winter win' do blow over the hill, An' the hore-vrost do whiten the grass, An' the breath o' the no'th is so cwold, as to chill The warm blood ov woone's heart as do pass; When the ice o' the pond is so slipp'ry as glass, There, a-zingen a zong, Or a-whislen among The sheep, the poor shep'erd do bide all day long.

When the shearen's a-come, an' the shearers do pull In the sheep, hangen back a-gwain in, Wi' their roun' zides a-heaven in under their wool, To come out all a-clipp'd to the skin; When the feaesten, an' zingen, an fun do begin, Vor to help em, an' sheaere All their me'th an' good feaere, The poor little shep'erd is sure to be there.

HOPE A-LEFT BEHIND.

Don't try to win a maiden's heart, To leaeve her in her love,—'tis wrong: 'Tis bitter to her soul to peaert Wi' woone that is her sweetheart long. A maid's vu'st love is always strong; An' if do fail, she'll linger on, Wi' all her best o' pleasure gone, An' hope a-left behind her.

Thy poor lost Jenny wer a-grow'd So kind an' thoughtvul vor her years, When she did meet wi' vo'k a-know'd The best, her love did speak in tears. She walk'd wi' thee, an' had noo fears O' thy unkindness, till she zeed Herzelf a-cast off lik' a weed, An' hope a-left behind her.

Thy slight turn'd peaele her cherry lip; Her sorrow, not a-zeed by eyes, Wer lik' the mildew, that do nip A bud by darksome midnight skies. The day mid come, the zun mid rise, But there's noo hope o' day nor zun; The storm ha' blow'd, the harm's a-done, An' hope's a-left behind her.