The Dialect of the West of England; Particularly Somersetshire Part 35

[Footnote: The Gore. Dangerous sands so called, at the mouth of the River Parret, in the Bristol Channel.]

O' heerins, sprats, an porpuses-- O' all fish a cood tell; Who bit he amangst tha Fishermen-- A always bear'd tha bell.

Tommy Came ad hired o' Players, Bit niver zeed 'em pla; Tha war actin at Bejwater; There a went wi' Sally Da.

When tha curtain first draw'd up, than Sapriz'd war Tommy Came; A'd haf a mine ta him awa, Bit stapp'd vor very shame.

Tha vust act bein auver Tha zecond jist begun, Tommy Came still wonder'd grately, Ta him it war naw fun.

Zaw ater lookin on zumtime, Ta understand did strive; _There now_, zed he, _I'll gee my woth_ [Footnote: Oath.]

_That tha be all alive!_

MARY RAMSEY'S CRUTCH.

I zeng o' _Mary Ramsey's Crutch!_ "Thic little theng!"--Why 'tis'n much It's true, but still I like ta touch Tha cap o' _Mary Ramsey's Crutch!_ She zed, wheniver she shood die, Er little crutch she'd gee ta I.

Did Mary love me? eese a b'leeve.

She died--a veo vor her did grieve,-- An _but_ a veo--vor Mary awld, Outliv'd er friends, or voun 'em cawld.

Thic crutch I had--I ha it still, An port wi't wont--nor niver will.

O' her I lorn'd tha cris-cross-lain; I haup that't word'n quite in vain!

'Twar her who teach'd me vust ta read Jitch little words as _beef_ an _bread_; An I da thenk 'twar her that, ater, Lorn'd I ta read tha single zater.

Poor Mary oten used ta tell O' das a past that pleas'd er well; An mangst tha rest war zum o' jay When I look'd up a little bway.

She zed I war a good one too, An lorn'd my book athout tha _rue_.

[Footnote: This Lady, when her scholars neglected their duty, or behaved ill, rubbed their fingers with the leaves of _rue!_]

Poor Mary's gwon!--a longful time Zunz now!--er little scholard's prime A-ma-be's past.--It must be zaw;-- There's nothin stable here belaw!

O' Mary--all left is--er _crutch!_ An thaw a gift, an 'tword'n much 'Tis true, still I da like ta touch Tha cap o' _Mary Ramsey's Crutch!_ That I lov'd Mary, this ool tell.

I'll za na moor--zaw, fore well! [Footnote: Fare ye well.]

HANNAH VERRIOR.

Tha za I'm maz'd,--my Husband's dead, My chile, (hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ Lord love er face!) Tha pit-hawl had at Milemas, when Tha put me in theaze pooat-hawl place.

Tha za I'm maz'd.--I veel--I thenk--- I tak--I ate, an oten drenk.-- Tha _thenk_, a-ma-be, zumtimes, _peel_-- An gee me stra vor bed an peel!

Tha za I'm maz'd.--Hus.h.!.+ Babby, dear!

Tha shan't come to er!--niver fear!

Tha za thy Father's dead!--Naw, naw!

A'll niver die while I'm belaw.

Tha za I'm maz'd.--Why dwont you speak?

Fie James!--or else my hort ool break!-- James _is_ not dead! nor Babby!--naw!

Tha'll niver die while I'm belaw!

REMEMBRANCE.

An shall I drap tha Reed--an shall I, Athout one nawte about my SALLY?

Althaw we Pawets all be zingers, We like, wi' enk, ta dye our vingers; Bit mooast we like in vess ta pruv That we remimber those we love.

Sim-like-it than, that I should iver Vorgit my SALLY.--Niver, niver!

Vor, while I've wander'd in tha West-- At mornin tide--at evenin rest-- On Quantock's hills--in Mendip's vales-- On Parret's banks--in zight o' Wales-- In thic awld mansion whaur tha ball Once vrighten'd Lady Drake an all;-- When wi' tha Ladies o' thic dell Whaur witches spird ther 'ticin spell-- [Footnote: COMBE SYDENHAM, the residence of my Friend, GEORGE NOTLEY, Esq. The history of the _Magic Ball_, as it has been called, is now pretty generally known, and therefore need not be here repeated.]

Amangst tha rocks on Watchet shaur When did tha wine an waters raur-- In Banwell's cave--on Loxton hill-- At Clifton ga--at Rickford rill-- In Compton ood--in Hartree coom-- At Crispin's cot wi' little room;-- At Upton--Lansdown's lofty brow-- At Bath, whaur pleasure flants enow; At Trowbridge, whaur by Friends.h.i.+p's heed, I blaw'd again my silent Reed, An there enjay'd, wi' quiet, rest, Jitch recollections o' tha West; Whauriver stapp'd my voot along I thawt o' HER.--Here ends my zong.

DOCTOR c.o.x; A BLANSCUE.

_(First printed in the Graphic Ill.u.s.trator.)_

The catastrophe described in the following sketch, occurred near _Highbridge_, in Somersets.h.i.+re, about the year 1779.--Mr. or _Doctor c.o.x_, as surgeons are usually called in the west, was the only medical resident at Huntspill, and in actual practice for many miles around that village. The conduct of Mr. Robert Evans, the friend and a.s.sociate of c.o.x, can only be accounted for by one of those unfortunate infatuations to which the minds of some are sometimes liable. Had an immediate alarm been given when we children first discovered that c.o.x was missing, he might, probably, have been saved. The real cause of his death was, a too great abstraction of heat from the body; as the water was fresh and still, and of considerable depth, and, under the surface, much beneath the usual temperature of the human body. This fact ought to be a lesson to those who bathe in still and deep fresh water; and to warn them to continue only a short time in such a cold medium. [Footnote: Various efforts to restore the suspended animation of _c.o.x,_ such as shaking him, rolling him on a cask, attempts to get out the water which it was then presumed had got into the stomach or the lungs, or both, in the drowning; strewing salt over the body, and many other equally ineffectual and improper methods to restore the circulation were, I believe, pursued. Instead of which, had the body been laid in a natural position, and the lost heat gradually administered, by the application of warm frictions, a warm bed, &c., how easily in all probability, would animation have been restored!]

The BRUE war bright, and deep and clear; [Footnote: The reader must not suppose that the _river Brue,_ is generally a clear stream, or always rapid. I have elsewhere called it "lazy Brue." It is sometimes, at and above the floodgates at _Highbridge,_ when they are not closed by the tide, a rapid stream; but through the moors, generally, its course is slow. In the summertime, and at the period to which allusion is made, the floodgates were closed.]

And Lammas da and harras near: The zun upon the waters drode Girt sheets of light as on a rode; From zultry heat the cattle hirn'd To shade or water as to firnd: Men, too, in yarly aternoon Doft'd quick ther cloaths and dash'd in zoon To thic deep river, whaur the trout, In all ther prankin, plad about; And yels wi' zilver skins war zid, While gudgeons droo the water slid, Wi' carp sumtimes and wither fish Avoordon many a dainty dish.

Whaur elvers too in spring time plad, [Footnote: Young eels are called _elvers_ in Somersets.h.i.+re.

_Walton_, in his Angler, says, "Young eels, in the Severn, are called _yelvers_." In what part of the country through which the Severn pa.s.ses they are called yelvers we are not told in Walton's book; as eels are called, in Somersetshere, yels, a.n.a.logy seems to require _yelvers_ for their young; but I never heard them so called. The elvers used to be obtained from the salt-water side of the bridge.]

And pailvuls mid o' them be had.

The water cold--the zuns.h.i.+ne bright, To zwiminers than what high delight!

'Tis long agwon whun youth and I Wish'd creepin Time would rise and vly-- A, half a hundred years an moor Zunz I a trod theaze earthly vloor!

I zed, the face o' Brue war bright; Time smil'd too in thic zummer light.

Wi' Hope bezide en promising A wordle o' fancies wild o' whing.

I mine too than one lowering cloud That zim'd to wrop us like a shroud; The death het war o' Doctor c.o.x-- To thenk o't now the storry shocks!

Vor all the country vur and near Shod than vor'n many a horty tear.

The _Doctor_ like a duck could zwim; No fear o' drownin daver'd him!

The pectur now I zim I zee!

I wish I could liet's likeness gee!

His _Son_, my brother _John, myzel_, Or _Evans_, mid the storry tell; But tha be gwon and I, o' all O'm left to za what did bevall.

Zo, nif zo be you like, why I To tell the storry now ool try.

Thic _Evans_had a coward core And fear'd to venter vrom the sh.o.r.e; While to an vro, an vur an near, And now an tan did _c.o.x_ appear In dalliance with the waters bland, Or zwimmin wi' a maester hand.

We youngsters dree, the youngest I, To zee the zwimmers all stood by Upon the green bonk o' the Brue Jist whaur a stook let water droo: A quiet time of joyousness Zim'd vor a s.p.a.ce thic da to bless!

A dog' too, faithful to his maester War there, and mang'd wi' the disaster-- _Vigo_, ah well I mine his name!

A Newvoun-lond and very tame!

But Evans only war to blame: He alles paddled near the sh.o.r.e Wi' timid hon and coward core; While _Doctor c.o.x_ div'd, zwim'd at ease Like fishes in the zummer seas; Or as the skaiters on the ice In winin circles wild and nice Yet in a moment he war gwon, The wonderment of ivry one: That is, we _dree_ and Evans, all That zeed what Blanscue did bevall.-- Athout one sign, or naise, or cry, Or shriek, or splash, or groan, or sigh!

Could zitch a zwimmer ever die In water?--Yet we gaz'd in vain Upon thic bright and water plain: All smooth and calm--no ripple gave One token of the zwimmer's grave!

We hir'd en not, we zeed en not!-- The gla.s.sy water zim'd a blot?

While Evans, he of coward core, Still paddled as he did bevore!

At length our fears our silence broke,-- Young as we war, and children all, We wish'd to goo an zum one call; But Evans carelissly thus spoke-- "Oh, _c.o.x_ is up the river gone, Vor sartain ool be back anon;-- He talk'd o' cyder, zed he'd g'up To Stole's an drenk a horty cup!"

[Footnote: Mr. Stole resided near _Newbridge_, about a mile from the spot where the accident occurred; he was somewhat famous for his cyder.]