Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/254

238 But come now, bring us in your hand, A heavy brand o’ woak a-dried, To cheer us wi’ his het an’ light, While vrosty night, so starry-skied, Go gather souls that time do speäre To zit an’ sheäre our vier-zide.

want to sleep abrode, John, I do like my hwomeward road, John; An’ like the sound o’ Knowlwood bells the best. Zome would rove vrom pleäce to pleäce, John, Zome would goo from feäce to feäce, John, But I be happy in my hwomely nest; An’ slight’s the hope vor any pleäce bezide, To leäve the plain abode where love do bide.

Where the shelvèn knap do vall, John, Under trees a-springèn tall, John; ’Tis there my house do show his sheenèn zide, Wi’ his walls vor ever green, John, Under ivy that’s a screen, John, Vrom wet an’ het, an’ ev’ry changèn tide, An’ I do little ho vor goold or pride, To leäve the plaïn abode where love do bide.

There the bendèn stream do flow, John, By the mossy bridge’s bow, John; An’ there the road do wind below the hill; There the miller, white wi’ meal, John, Deafen’d wi’ his foamy wheel, John, Do stan’ o’ times a-lookèn out o’ mill: The while ’ithin his lightly-sheäken door, His wheatèn flour do whitèn all his floor.