Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/181

Rh An’ there in het, an’ there in wet, &emsp;We tweil’d wi’ busy hands, John; Vor ev’ry stroke o’ work we het, &emsp;Did better our own lands, John. But after me, ov all my kin, &emsp;Not woone can hold em on; Vor we can’t get a life put in &emsp;Vor mine, when I’m a-gone &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Vrom thik wold brown &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Thatch ruf, a-boun’ By elem trees a-growèn roun’.

Ov eight good hwomes, where, I can mind &emsp;Vo’k liv’d upon their land, John, But dree be now a-left behind; &emsp;The rest ha’ vell in hand, John, An’ all the happy souls they ved &emsp;Be scatter’d vur an’ wide. An’ zome o’m be a-wantèn bread, &emsp;Zome, better off, ha’ died, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Noo mwore to ho, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Vor homes below The trees a-swaÿen to an’ fro.

An’ I could leäd ye now all round &emsp;The parish, if I would, John, An’ show ye still the very ground &emsp;Where vive good housen stood, John, In broken orcha’ds near the spot, &emsp;A vew wold trees do stand; But dew do vall where vo’k woonce zot &emsp;About the burnèn brand &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;In housen warm, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;A-kept vrom harm By elems that did break the storm.