Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/28

12 Or clim’ aloft, wi’ clingèn knees, Vor crows’ aggs up in swaÿèn trees, While frighten’d blackbirds down below Did chatter o’ their little foe. An’ zoo there’s noo pleäce lik’ the drong, Where I do hear the blackbird’s zong.

, Fanny, come! put on thy white, ’Tis Woodcom’ feäst, good now! to-night. Come! think noo mwore, you silly maïd, O’ chickèn drown’d, or ducks a-straÿ’d; Nor mwope to vind thy new frock’s taïl A-tore by hitchèn in a naïl; Nor grieve an’ hang thy head azide, A-thinkèn o’ thy lam’ that died. The flag’s a-vleèn wide an’ high. An’ ringèn bells do sheäke the sky; The fifes do plaÿ, the horns do roar, An’ boughs be up at ev’ry door: They’ll be a-dancèn soon,—the drum ’S a-rumblèn now. Come, Fanny, come! Why father’s gone, an’ mother too. They went up leäne an hour agoo; An’ at the green the young and wold Do stan’ so thick as sheep in vwold: The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,— Come out you mwopèn wench, come out, An’ go wi’ me, an’ show at leäst Bright eyes an’ smiles at Woodcom’ feäst.

Come, let’s goo out, an’ fling our heels About in jigs an’ vow’r-han’ reels; While äll the stiff-lagg’d wolder vo’k, A-zittèn roun’, do talk an’ joke