Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 4

Zoo I took zome here, near my hovel, To exercise my speade an' shovel; An' what wi' dungen, diggen up, an' zeeden, A-thinnen, cleanen, howen up an' weeden, I, an' the biggest o' the childern too, Do always vind some useful jobs to do.

JOHN.

Aye, wi' a bit o' ground, if woone got any, Woone's bwoys can soon get out an' earn a penny; An' then, by worken, they do learn the vaster The way to do things when they have a measter; Vor woone must know a deal about the land Bevore woone's fit to lend a useful hand, In gearden or a-vield upon a farm.

RICHARD.

An' then the work do keep em out o' harm; Vor vo'ks that don't do nothen wull be vound Soon doen woorse than nothen, I'll be bound.

But as vor me, d'ye zee, with thease here bit O' land, why I have ev'ry thing a'mwost: Vor I can fatten vowels for the spit, Or zell a good fat goose or two to rwoast; An' have my beans or cabbage, greens or gra.s.s, Or bit o' wheat, or, sich my happy feate is, That I can keep a little cow, or a.s.s, An' a vew pigs to eat the little teaties.

JOHN.

An' when your pig's a-fatted pretty well Wi' teaties, or wi' barley an' some bran, Why you've a-got zome vlitches vor to zell, Or hang in chimney-corner, if you can.

RICHARD.

Aye, that's the thing; an' when the pig do die, We got a lot ov offal for to fry, An' netlens for to bwoil; or put the blood in, An' meake a meal or two o' good black-pudden.

JOHN.

I'd keep myzelf from parish, I'd be bound, If I could get a little patch o' ground.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

A BIT O' SLY COORTEN.

_John and f.a.n.n.y._

JOHN.

Now, f.a.n.n.y, 'tis too bad, you teazen mad!

How leate you be a' come! Where have ye sta'd?

How long you have a-meade me wat about!

I thought you werden gwan to come agean: I had a mind to goo back hwome agean.

This idden when you promis'd to come out.

f.a.n.n.y.

Now 'tidden any good to meake a row, Upon my word, I cooden come till now.

Vor I've a-been kept in all day by mother, At work about woone little job an' t'other.

If you do want to goo, though, don't ye sta Vor me a minute longer, I do pra.

JOHN.

I thought you mid be out wi' Jemmy Bleake,

f.a.n.n.y.

An' why be out wi' him, vor goodness' seake?

JOHN.

You walk'd o' Zunday evenen wi'n, d'ye know, You went vrom church a-hitch'd up in his earm.

f.a.n.n.y.

Well, if I did, that werden any harm.

Lauk! that _is_ zome'at to teake notice o'_.

JOHN.

He took ye roun' the middle at the stile, An' kiss'd ye twice 'ithin the ha'f a mile.

f.a.n.n.y.

Ees, at the stile, because I shoulden vall, He took me hold to help me down, that's all; An' I can't zee what very mighty harm He could ha' done a-lenden me his earm.

An' as vor kissen o' me, if he did, I didden ax en to, nor zay he mid: An' if he kiss'd me dree times, or a dozen, What harm wer it? Why idden he my cousin?

An' I can't zee, then, what there is amiss In cousin Jem's jist gi'en me a kiss.

JOHN.

Well, he shan't kiss ye, then; you shan't be kiss'd By his girt ugly chops, a lanky houn'!

If I do zee'n, I'll jist wring up my vist An' knock en down.

I'll squot his girt pug-nose, if I don't miss en; I'll warn I'll spweil his pretty lips vor kissen!

f.a.n.n.y.

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' pa.s.sion, An' talk away o' gi'en vo'k a drashen, An' breaken bwones, an' beaten heads to pummy!

If you've a-got sich jealous ways about ye, I'm sure I should be better off 'ithout ye.

JOHN.

Well, if girt Jemmy have a-won your heart, We'd better break the coorts.h.i.+p off, an' peart.

f.a.n.n.y.

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 scwolden vor ye.

[_weeping._]

But 'twull be over now, vor you shan't zee me Out wi' ye noo mwore, to pick a quarrel wi' me.

JOHN.