Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/321

Rh An’ there the bwoy do whissel sh’ill, Below the skylark’s merry bill, Where primrwose beds do deck the zides O’ banks below the meäple wrides. &emsp;&emsp;As trees be bright &emsp;&emsp;Wi’ bees in flight, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;An’ weather’s bright, abroad, O.

An’ there, as sheenèn wheels do spin Vull speed along the dousty rwoad, He can but stan’, an’ wish ’ithin His mind to be their happy lwoad, That he mid gaïly ride, an’ goo To towns the rwoad mid teäke en drough, An’ zee, for woonce, the zights behind The bluest hills his eyes can vind, &emsp;&emsp;O’ towns, an’ tow’rs, &emsp;&emsp;An’ downs, an’ flow’rs, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;In zunny hours, abroad, O.

But still, vor all the weather’s feäir, Below a cloudless sky o’ blue, The bwoy at plough do little ceäre How vast the brightest day mid goo; Vor he’d be glad to zee the zun A-zettèn, wi’ his work a-done, That he, at hwome, mid still injaÿ His happy bit ov evenèn plaÿ, &emsp;&emsp;So light’s a lark &emsp;&emsp;Till night is dark, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;While dogs do bark, at hwome, O.