Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/48

32 Well, John, I’m sure I little thought to vind That you had ever sich a jealous mind. What then! I s’pose that I must be a dummy, An’ mussen goo about nor wag my tongue To any soul, if he’s a man, an’ young; Or else you’ll work yourzelf up mad wi’ passion, An’ talk away o’ gi’èn vo’k a drashèn, An’ breakèn bwones, an’ beäten heads to pummy! If you’ve a-got sich jealous ways about ye, I’m sure I should be better off ’ithout ye.

Well, if girt Jemmy have a-won your heart, We’d better break the coortship off, an’ peärt.

He won my heart! There, John, don’t talk sich stuff; Don’t talk noo mwore, vor you’ve a-zaid enough. If I’d a-lik’d another mwore than you, I’m sure I shoulden come to meet ye zoo; Vor I’ve a-twold to father many a storry, An’ took o’ mother many a scwoldèn vor ye. But ’twull be over now, vor you shan’t zee me Out wi’ ye noo mwore, to pick a quarrel wi’ me.

Well, Fanny, I woon’t zay noo mwore, my dear. Let’s meäke it up. Come, wipe off thik there tear. Let’s goo an’ zit o’ top o’ theäse here stile, An’ rest, an’ look about a little while.

Now goo away, you crabbed jealous chap! You shan’t kiss me,—you shan’t! I’ll gi’ ye a slap.