Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/94

78 An’ there, vor fun, we dress’d her head Wi’ noddèn poppies bright an’ red, As we wer catchèn vrom our laps, Below a woak, our bits an’ draps, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;A-haulèn o’ the corn.

we wer striplèns naïghbour John, The good wold merry times be gone: But we do like to think upon &emsp;&emsp;What we’ve a-zeed an’ done. When I wer up a hardish lad, At harvest hwome the work-vo’k had Sich suppers, they wer jumpèn mad &emsp;&emsp;Wi’ feästèn an’ wi’ fun.

At uncle’s, I do mind, woone year, I zeed a vill o’ hearty cheer; Fat beef an’ puddèn, eäle an’ beer, &emsp;&emsp;Vor ev’ry workman’s crop An’ after they’d a-gie’d God thanks, They all zot down, in two long ranks, Along a teäble-bwoard o’ planks, &emsp;&emsp;Wi’ uncle at the top.

An’ there, in platters, big and brown, Wer red fat beäcon, an’ a roun’ O’ beef wi’ gravy that would drown &emsp;&emsp;A little rwoastèn pig; Wi’ beäns an’ teäties vull a zack, An’ cabbage that would meäke a stack, An’ puddèns brown, a-speckled black &emsp;&emsp;Wi’ figs, so big’s my wig.