Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/204

188 An’ hundreds droo the high barn-doors, To dine on English feäre, in ranks, A-zot on chairs, or stools, or planks, By bwoards a-reachèn, row an’ row, Wi’ cloths so white as driven snow. An’ while they took, wi’ merry cheer, Their pleäces at the meat an’ beer, The band did blow an’ beät aloud Their merry tuèns to the crowd; An’ slowly-zwingèn flags did spread Their hangèn colors over head. An’ then the vo’k, wi’ jaÿ an’ pride, Stood up in stillness, zide by zide, Wi’ downcast heads, the while their friend Rose up avore the teäble’s end, An’ zaid a timely greäce, an’ blest The welcome meat to every guest. An’ then arose a mingled naïse O’ knives an’ pleätes, an’ cups an’ traÿs, An’ tongues wi’ merry tongues a-drown’d Below a deaf’nèn storm o’ sound. An’ zoo, at last, their worthy host Stood up to gi’e em all a twoast, That they did drink, wi’ shouts o’ glee, An’ whirlèn eärms to dree times dree. An’ when the bwoards at last wer beäre Ov all the cloths an’ goodly feäre, An’ froth noo longer rose to zwim Within the beer-mugs sheenèn rim, The vo’k, a-streamèn drough the door, Went out to geämes they had in store. An’ on the blue-reäv’d waggon’s bed, Above his vower wheels o’ red, Musicians zot in rows, an’ plaÿ’d Their tuèns up to chap an’ maïd, That beät, wi’ plaÿsome tooes an’ heels,