Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/123

Rh An’ meäde en bear the maïdens’ slaps, &emsp;An’ prickens wi’ a pin. An’ Jim, a-catchèn Poll, poor chap, In back-house in the dark, vell slap Athirt a tub o’ barm,—a trap &emsp;She set to catch en in.

An’ then we zot down out o’ breath, An’ meäde a circle roun’ the he’th, A-keepèn up our harmless me’th, &emsp;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, &emsp;To zee the maïdens hwome.

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-meäkèn fun! What plaÿsome anticks zome ō’s done! &emsp;An’ how, a-reelèn roun’ an’ roun’, &emsp;We beät the merry tuèn down, &emsp;&emsp;While music wer a-soundèn!

The maïdens’ eyes o’ black an’ blue Did glisten lik’ the mornèn dew; An’ while the cider-mug did stand A-hissèn by the bleäzèn brand, An’ uncle’s pipe wer in his hand, &emsp;How little he or we did think &emsp;How peäle the zettèn stars did blink &emsp;&emsp;While music wer a-soundèn.