Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/115

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night, dost know, we chaps, A-putten on our woldest traps, Went up the highest o’ the knaps, &emsp;An’ meäde 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, &emsp;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 &emsp;O’ faggots, till above en The fleämes, arisèn up so high ’S the tun, did snap, an’ roar, an’ ply, &emsp;Lik’ vier in an’ oven.

An’ zome wi’ hissèn squibs did run, To paÿ off zome what they’d a-done, An’ let em off so loud’s a gun &emsp;Ageän their smokèn polls; An’ zome did stir their nimble pags Wi’ crackers in between their lags, While zome did burn their cwoats to rags, &emsp;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, &emsp;Wi’ half the backs o’m off; An’ Dick, that all o’m vell upon, Vound woone flap ov his cwoat-taïl gone, An’ tother jist a-hangèn on, &emsp;A-zweal’d so black’s a snoff.