Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/29

Rh An’ smile to zee their own wold rigs. A-show’d by our wild geämes an’ jigs. Vor ever since the vwold church speer Vu’st prick’d the clouds, vrom year to year, When grass in meäd did reach woone’s knees, An’ blooth did kern in apple-trees, Zome merry day ’v’ a-broke to sheen Above the dance at Woodcom’ green, An’ all o’ they that now do lie So low all roun’ the speer so high, Woonce, vrom the biggest to the leäst, Had merry hearts at Woodcom’ feäst.

Zoo keep it up, an’ gi’e it on To other vo’k when we be gone. Come out; vor when the zettèn zun Do leäve in sheäde our harmless fun, The moon a-risèn in the east Do gi’e us light at Woodcom’ feäst. Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white, ’Tis merry Woodcom’ feäst to night: There’s nothèn vor to mwope about,— Come out, you leäzy jeäde, come out! An’ thou wult be, to woone at leäst, The prettiest maïd at Woodcom’ feäst.

O Poll’s the milk-maïd o’ the farm! &emsp;An’ Poll’s so happy out in groun’, Wi’ her white pail below her eärm &emsp;As if she wore a goolden crown.

An’ Poll don’t zit up half the night, &emsp;Nor lie vor half the day a-bed; An’ zoo her eyes be sparklèn bright. &emsp;An’ zoo her cheäks be bloomèn red.