Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/71

Rh A rick o’ thine wull look a little funny, When thou’st a-done en, I’ll bet any money.

You noggerhead! last year thou meäd’st a rick, An’ then we had to trig en wi’ a stick. An’ what did John that tipp’d en zay? Why zaid He stood a-top o’en all the while in dread, A-thinkèn that avore he should a-done en He’d tumble over slap wi’ him upon en.

You yoppèn dog! I warnt I meäde my rick So well’s thou meäd’st thy lwoad o’ haÿ last week. They hadden got a hundred yards to haul en, An’ then they vound ’twer best to have en boun’, Vor if they hadden, ’twould a-tumbl’d down; An’ after that I zeed en all but vallèn, An’ trigg’d en up wi’ woone o’m’s pitchèn pick, To zee if I could meäke en ride to rick; An’ when they had the dumpy heap unboun’, He vell to pieces flat upon the groun’.

Do shut thy lyèn chops! What dosten mind Thy pitchèn to me out in Gully-plot, A-meäkèn o’ me waït (wast zoo behind) A half an hour vor ev’ry pitch I got? An’ how didst groun’ thy pick? an’ how didst quirk To get en up on end? Why hadst hard work To rise a pitch that wer about so big ’S a goodish crow’s nest, or a wold man’s wig! Why bist so weak, dost know, as any roller: Zome o’ the women vo’k will beat thee hollor.