Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/308

292 But when he’s a-laid on his bed &emsp;In a zickness, O, what wull he do! Vor the hands that would lift up his head, &emsp;An’ sheäke up his pillor anew. &emsp;&emsp;Ills to come! pills to come! bills to come! &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Noo soul to sheäre &emsp;&emsp;The trials the poor wratch must bear.

let’s goo down the grove to-night; The moon is up, ’tis all so light As day, an’ win’ do blow enough To sheäke the leaves, but tiddèn rough. Come, Esther, teäke, vor wold time’s seäke, Your hooded cloke, that’s on the pin, An’ wrap up warm, an’ teäke my eärm, You’ll vind it better out than in. Come, Etty dear; come out o’ door, An’ teäke a sweetheart’s walk woonce mwore.

How charmèn to our very souls, Wer woonce your evenèn maïden strolls, The while the zettèn zunlight dyed Wi’ red the beeches’ western zide, But back avore your vinger wore The weddèn ring that’s now so thin; An’ you did sheäre a mother’s ceäre, To watch an’ call ye eärly in. Come, Etty dear; come out o’ door, An’ teäke a sweetheart’s walk woonce mwore.

An’ then ageän, when you could slight The clock a-strikèn leäte at night, The while the moon, wi’ risèn rim, Did light the beeches’ eastern lim’.