Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/358

342 The love-toss’d child, a-croodlèn loud, &emsp;The bwoy a-screamèn wild in plaÿ, The tall grown youth a-steppèn proud, &emsp;The father staïd, the house’s staÿ. &emsp;&emsp;No; I can boast if others can, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&ensp;I’m vull a man.

A young-cheäk’d mother’s tears mid vall, When woone a-lost, not half man-tall, Vrom little hand, a-called vrom plaÿ, Do leäve noo tool, but drop a taÿ, An’ die avore he’s father-free &emsp;To sheäpe his life by his own plan; An’ vull an angel he shall be, &emsp;But here on e’th not vull a man, &emsp;&emsp;No; I could boast if others can, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&ensp;I’m vull a man.

I woonce, a child, war father-fed, An’ I’ve avound my childern bread; My eärm, a sister’s trusty crook, Is now a faïthvul wife’s own hook; An’ I’ve a-gone where vo’k did zend, &emsp;An’ gone upon my own free mind, An’ of’en at my own wits’ end. &emsp;A-led o’ God while I wer blind. &emsp;&emsp;No; I could boast if others can &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&ensp;I’m vull a man.

An’ still, ov all my tweil ha’ won, My lovèn maïd an’ merry son, Though each in turn’s a jaÿ an’ ceäre, ’Ve a-had, an’ still shall have, their sheäre; An’ then, if God should bless their lives, &emsp;Why I mid zend vrom son to son