Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/343

Rh An’ Grammer did hobble an’ squall, Wi’ Gammon a-leädèn the ball; While Gammon did sheäke up his knee An’ his voot, an’ zing “Diddle-ee-dee!” An’ we laugh’d ourzelves all out o’ breath At the me’th o’ Gammony Gaÿ.

When our tun wer’ o’ vier he rod Out to help us, an’ meäde us sich fun, Vor he clomb up to dreve in a wad O’ wet thorns, to the he’th, vrom the tun; An’ there he did stamp wi’ his voot, To push down the thorns an’ the zoot, Till at last down the chimney’s black wall Went the wad, an’ poor Gammon an’ all: An’ seäfe on the he’th, wi’ a grin On his chin pitch’d Gammony Gaÿ.

All the house-dogs do waggle their taïls, If they do but catch zight ov his feäce; An’ the ho’ses do look over raïls, An’ do whicker to zee’n at the pleäce; An’ he’ll always bestow a good word On a cat or a whisselèn bird; An’ even if culvers do coo, Or an owl is a-cryèn “Hoo, hoo,” Where he is, there’s always a joke To be spoke, by Gammony Gaÿ.

(1) There be the greyhounds! lo’k! an’ there’s the heäre! (2) What houn’s, the squier’s, Thomas? where, then, where?