Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/216

200 (1) Oh! ees, d’ye teäke me vor a nincompoop, &emsp;&emsp;No, no. The lwoad wer up so firm ’s a rock, &emsp;&emsp;But two o’ theäsem emmet-butts would knock &emsp;&emsp;The tightest barrel nearly out o’ hoop.

(3) Oh! now then, here’s the bwoy a-bringèn back &emsp;&emsp;The speäde. Well done, my man. That idder slack.

(2) Well done, my lad, sha’t have a ho’se to ride &emsp;&emsp;When thou’st a meäre.&emsp;(Bwoy) Next never’s-tide.

(3) Now let’s dig out a spit or two &emsp;&emsp;O’ clay, a-vore the little wheels; &emsp;&emsp;Oh! so’s, I can’t pull up my heels, &emsp;&emsp;I be a-stogg’d up over shoe.

(1) Come, William, dig away! Why you do spuddle &emsp;&emsp;A’most so weak’s a child. How you do muddle! &emsp;&emsp;Gi’e me the speäde a-bit. A pig would rout &emsp;&emsp;It out a’most so nimbly wi’ his snout.

(3) Oh! so’s, d’ye hear it, then. How we can thunder! &emsp;&emsp;How big we be, then George! what next I wonder?

(1) Now, William, gi’e the waggon woone mwore twitch, &emsp;&emsp;The wheels be free, an’ ’tis a lighter nitch.

(3) Come, Smiler, gee! C’up, White-voot.&emsp;(1) That wull do

(2) Do wag.&emsp;(1) Do goo at last.&emsp;(3) Well done. ’Tis drough.

(1) Now, William, till you have mwore ho’ses’ lags, &emsp;&emsp;Don’t drēve the waggon into theäsem quags.

(3) You build your lwoads up tight enough to ride.

(1) I can’t do less, d’ye know, wi’ you vor guide.