Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/111

Rh True love’s the ivy that do twine Unwith’rèn roun’ his mossy rine, When winter’s zickly zun do sheen Upon its leaves o’ glossy green, So patiently a-holdèn vast Till storms an’ cwold be all a-past, An’ only livèn vor to be A-meäted to the woaken tree.

zoo’s the day wer warm an’ bright, An’ nar a cloud wer up in zight, We wheedled father vor the meäre An’ cart, to goo to Shrodon feäir. An’ Poll an’ Nan run off up stairs, To shift their things, as wild as heäres; An’ pull’d out, each o’m vrom her box, Their snow-white leäce an’ newest frocks, An’ put their bonnets on, a-lined Wi’ blue, an’ sashes tied behind; An’ turn’d avore the glass their feäce An’ back, to zee their things in pleäce; While Dick an’ I did brush our hats An’ cwoats, an’ cleän ourzelves lik’ cats. At woone or two o’clock, we vound Ourzelves at Shrodon seäfe an’ sound, A-struttèn in among the rows O’ tilted stannèns an’ o’ shows, An’ girt long booths wi’ little bars Chock-vull o’ barrels, mugs, an’ jars, An’ meat a-cookèn out avore The vier at the upper door;