Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/82

66

yesterday, d’ye know, I voun’ Tom Dumpy’s cwoat an’ smock-frock, down Below the pollard out in groun’; &emsp;&emsp;An’ zoo I slyly stole An’ took the smock-frock up, an’ tack’d The sleeves an’ collar up, an’ pack’d Zome nice sharp stwones, all fresh a-crack’d &emsp;&emsp;’Ithin each pocket-hole.

An’ in the evenèn, when he shut Off work, an’ come an’ donn’d his cwoat, Their edges gi’ed en sich a cut, &emsp;&emsp;How we did stan’ an’ laugh! An’ when the smock-frock I’d a-zow’d Kept back his head an’ hands, he drow’d Hizzelf about, an’ teäv’d, an’ blow’d, &emsp;&emsp;Lik’ any up-tied calf.

Then in a veag away he flung His frock, an’ after me he sprung, An’ mutter’d out sich dreats, an’ wrung &emsp;&emsp;His vist up sich a size! But I, a-runnèn, turn’d an’ drow’d Some doust, a-pick’d up vrom the road, Back at en wi’ the wind, that blow’d &emsp;&emsp;It right into his eyes.

An’ he did blink, an’ vow he’d catch Me zomehow yet, an’ be my match. But I wer nearly down to hatch &emsp;&emsp;Avore he got vur on; An’ up in chammer, nearly dead Wi’ runnèn, lik’ a cat I vled, An’ out o’ window put my head &emsp;&emsp;To zee if he wer gone.