Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/76

60 Zoo maïd an’ woman, bwoy an’ man, Went off, while zunzet aïr did fan Their merry zunburnt feäzen; zome Down leäne, an’ zome drough parrocks hwome.

Ah! who can tell, that ha’nt a-vound, The sweets o’ week’s-end comèn round! When Zadurday do bring woone’s mind Sweet thoughts o’ Zunday clwose behind; The day that’s all our own to spend Wi’ God an’ wi’ an e’thly friend. The worold’s girt vo’k, wi’ the best O’ wordly goods mid be a-blest; But Zunday is the poor man’s peärt, To seäve his soul an’ cheer his heart

sheädes do vail into ev’ry hollow, &emsp;An’ reach vrom trees half athirt the groun’; An’ banks an’ walls be a-lookèn yollow, &emsp;That be a-turn’d to the zun gwaïn down; &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Drough haÿ in cock, O, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;We all do vlock, O, &emsp;Along our road vrom the meäd a-mow’d.

An’ when the last swaÿèn lwoad’s a-started &emsp;Up hill so slow to the lofty rick, Then we so weary but merry-hearted, &emsp;Do shoulder each ō’s a reäke an’ pick, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Wi’ empty flagon, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Behind the waggon, &emsp;To teäke our road vrom the meäd a-mow’d.

When church is out, an’ we all so slowly &emsp;About the knap be a-spreadèn wide.