Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/190

174 Her evil wish that had such pow’r, That she did meäke their milk an’ eäle turn zour, An’ addle all the aggs their vowls did lay; They coulden vetch the butter in the churn, An’ all the cheese begun to turn All back ageän to curds an’ whey; The little pigs, a-runnèn wi’ the zow, Did zicken, zomehow, noobody know’d how, An’ vall, an’ turn their snouts towárd the sky. An’ only gi’e woone little grunt, and die; An’ all the little ducks an’ chickèn Wer death-struck out in yard a-pickèn Their bits o’ food, an’ vell upon their head, An’ flapp’d their little wings an’ drapp’d down dead. They coulden fat the calves, they woulden thrive; They coulden seäve their lambs alive; Their sheep wer all a-coath’d, or gi’ed noo wool; The hosses vell away to skin an’ bwones, An’ got so weak they coulden pull A half a peck o’ stwones: The dog got dead-alive an’ drowsy, The cat vell zick an’ woulden mousy; An’ every time the vo’k went up to bed, They wer a-hag-rod till they wer half dead. They us’d to keep her out o’ house, ’tis true, A-nailèn up at door a hosses shoe; An’ I’ve a-heärd the farmer’s wife did try To dawk a needle or a pin In drough her wold hard wither’d skin, An’ draw her blood, a-comèn by: But she could never vetch a drap, For pins would ply an’ needless snap Ageän her skin; an’ that, in coo’se, Did meäke the hag bewitch em woo’se.