Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/337

Rh Then he snarl’d at the tea in his cup, Vor ’twer all a-got cwold in the pot, But ’twer woo’se when his wife vill’d it up Vrom the vier, vor ’twer then scaldèn hot; Then he growl’d that the bread wer sich stuff As noo hammer in parish could crack, An’ flung down the knife in a huff; Vor the edge o’n wer thicker’n the back. Vor beäkers an’ meäkers o’ tools Be all fools wi’ Gruffmoody Grim.

Oone day as he vish’d at the brook, He flung up, wi’ a quick-handed knack, His long line, an’ his high-vleèn hook Wer a-hitch’d in zome briars at his back. Then he zwore at the brembles, an’ prick’d His beäre hand, as he pull’d the hook free; An’ ageän, in a rage, as he kick’d At the briars, wer a-scratch’d on the knee. An’ he wish’d ev’ry bremble an’ briar Wer o’ vier, did Gruffmoody Grim.

Oh! he’s welcome, vor me, to breed dread Wherever his sheäde mid alight, An’ to live wi’ noo me’th round his head, An’ noo feäce wi’ a smile in his zight; But let vo’k be all merry an’ zing At the he’th where my own logs do burn, An’ let anger’s wild vist never swing In where I have a door on his durn; Vor I’ll be a happier man, While I can, than Gruffmoody Grim.

To zit down by the vier at night, Is my jaÿ—vor I woon’t call it pride,— Wi’ a brand on the bricks, all alight, An’ a pile o’ zome mwore at the zide. Then tell me o’ zome’hat that’s droll,