Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/135

Rh An’ I do goo vor lime, an’ bring &emsp;Hwome cider wi’ my sleek-heäir’d team, An’ smack my limber whip an’ zing, &emsp;While all their bells do gaïly cheeme.

An’ I do always know the pleäce &emsp;To gi’e the hosses breath, or drug; An’ ev’ry hoss do know my feäce, &emsp;An’ mind my ’mether ho! an’ whug!

An’ merry haÿ-meäkers do ride &emsp;Vrom vield in zummer wi’ their prongs, In my blue waggon, zide by zide &emsp;Upon the reäves, a-zingèn zongs.

An’ when the vrost do catch the stream, &emsp;An’ oves wi’ icicles be hung, My pantèn hosses’ breath do steam &emsp;In white-grass’d vields, a-haulèn dung.

An’ mine’s the waggon fit vor lwoads, &emsp;An’ mine be lwoads to cut a rout; An’ mine’s a team, in routy rwoads, &emsp;To pull a lwoaded waggon out.

A zull is nothèn when do come &emsp;Behind their lags; an’ they do teäke A roller as they would a drum, &emsp;An’ harrow as they would a reäke.

O! I be a carter, wi’ my whip &emsp;A-smackèn loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an’ down the dip, &emsp;The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.