  TWO FARMS IN WOONE.Robert an' Thomas.ROBERT.You'll lose your meÄster soon, then, I do vind; He's gwaÏn to leÄve his farm, as I do larn, At MiËlmas; an' I be zorry vor'n. What, is he then a little bit behind? THOMAS.O no! at MiËlmas his time is up, An' thik there sly wold fellow, Farmer Tup, A-fearÈn that he'd get a bit o' bread, 'V a-been an' took his farm here over's head. ROBERT.How come the Squire to treat your meÄster zoo? THOMAS.Why, he an' meÄster had a word or two. ROBERT.Is Farmer Tup a-gwaÏn to leÄve his farm? He han't a-got noo young woones vor to zwarm. Poor over-reachÈn man! why to be sure He don't want all the farms in parish, do er? THOMAS.Why ees, all ever he can come across, Last year, you know, he got away the eÄcre Or two o' ground a-rented by the beÄker, An' what the butcher had to keep his hoss; An' vo'k do beÄnhan' now, that meÄster's lot Will be a-drowd along wi' what he got. ROBERT.That's it. In theÄse here pleÄce there used to be Eight farms avore they wer a-drowd together, An' eight farm-housen. Now how many be there? Why after this, you know there'll be but dree. THOMAS.An' now they don't imploy so many men Upon the land as work'd upon it then, Vor all they midden crop it worse, nor stock it. The lan'lord, to be sure, is into pocket; Vor half the housen beËn down, 'tis clear, Don't cost so much to keep em up, a-near. But then the jobs o' work in wood an' morter Do come I 'spose, you know, a little shorter; An' many that wer little farmers then, Be now a-come all down to leÄb'rÈn men; An' many leÄb'rÈn men, wi' empty hands, Do live lik' drones upon the worker's lands. ROBERT.Aye, if a young chap, woonce, had any wit To try an' scrape together zome vew pound, To buy some cows an' teÄke a bit o' ground, He mid become a farmer, bit by bit. But, hang it! now the farms be all so big, An' bits o' groun' so skeÄ'ce, woone got no scope; If woone could seÄve a poun', woone couldden hope To keep noo live stock but a little pig. THOMAS.Why here wer vourteen men, zome years agoo, A-kept a-drashÈn half the winter drough; An' now, woone's drashels be'n't a bit o' good. They got machines to drashy wi', plague teÄke em! An' he that vu'st vound out the way to meÄke em, I'd drash his busy zides vor'n if I could! Avore they took away our work, they ought To meÄke us up the bread our leÄbour bought. ROBERT.They hadden need meÄke poor men's leÄbour less, Vor work a'ready is uncommon skeÄ'ce. THOMAS.Ah! Robert! times be badish vor the poor; An' worse will come, I be a-fear'd, if Moore In theÄse year's almanick do tell us right. ROBERT.Why then we sartainly must starve. Good night! WINTER.rule THE VROST.Come, run up hwome wi' us to night, Athirt the vield a-vroze so white, Where vrosty sheÄdes do lie below The winter ricks a-tipp'd wi' snow, An' lively birds, wi' waggÈn taÏls, Do hop upon the icy raÏls, An' rime do whiten all the tops O' bush an' tree in hedge an' copse, In wind's a-cuttÈn keen. Come, maÏdens, come: the groun's a-vroze Too hard to-night to spweil your clothes. You got noo pools to waddle drough, Nor clay a-pullÈn off your shoe: An' we can trig ye at the zide, To keep ye up if you do slide: Zoo while there's neither wet nor mud, 'S the time to run an' warm your blood, In winds a-cuttÈn keen. Vor young men's hearts an' maÏden's eyes Don't vreeze below the cwoldest skies, While they in twice so keen a blast Can wag their brisk lim's twice so vast! Though vier-light, a-flick'rÈn red Drough vrosty window-peÄnes, do spread Vrom wall to wall, vrom he'th to door, Vor us to goo an' zit avore, Vrom winds a-cuttÈn keen. A BIT O' FUN.We thought you woulden leÄve us quite So soon as what you did last night; Our fun jist got up to a height As you about got hwome. The friskÈn chaps did skip about, An' cou'se the maÏdens in an' out, A-meÄkÈn such a randy-rout, You coulden hear a drum. An' Tom, a-springÈn after Bet Blind-vwolded, whizz'd along, an' het Poor Grammer's zide, an' overzet Her chair, at blind-man's buff; An' she, poor soul, as she did vall, Did show her snags o' teeth an' squall, An' what, she zaid, wer wo'se than all, She shatter'd all her snuff. An' Bet, a-hoppÈn back vor fear O' Tom, struck uncle zomewhere near, An' meÄde his han' spill all his beer Right down her poll an' back; An' Joe, in middle o' the din, Slipt out a bit, an' soon come in Wi' all below his dapper chin A-jumpÈn in a zack. An' in a twinklÈn tother chaps Jist hung en to a crook wi' straps, An' meÄde en bear the maÏdens' slaps, An' prickens wi' a pin. An' Jim, a-catchÈn Poll, poor chap, In back-house in the dark, vell slap Athirt a tub o' barm,—a trap She set to catch en in. An' then we zot down out o' breath, An' meÄde a circle roun' the he'th, A-keepÈn up our harmless me'th, Till supper wer a-come. An' after we'd a-had zome prog, All tother chaps begun to jog, Wi' sticks to lick a thief or dog, To zee the maÏdens hwome. FANNYS BE'TH-DAY.How merry, wi' the cider cup, We kept poor Fanny's be'th-day up! An' how our busy tongues did run An' hands did wag, a-meÄkÈn fun! What plaÿsome anticks zome ō's done! An' how, a-reelÈn roun' an' roun', We beÄt the merry tuÈn down, While music wer a-soundÈn! The maÏdens' eyes o' black an' blue Did glisten lik' the mornÈn dew; An' while the cider-mug did stand A-hissÈn by the bleÄzÈn brand, An' uncle's pipe wer in his hand, How little he or we did think How peÄle the zettÈn stars did blink While music wer a-soundÈn. An' Fanny's last young teen begun, Poor maÏd, wi' thik day's risÈn zun, An' we all wish'd her many mwore Long years wi' happiness in store; An' as she went an' stood avore The vier, by her father's zide, Her mother dropp'd a tear o' pride While music wer a-soundÈn. An' then we did all kinds o' tricks Wi' han'kerchiefs, an' strings, an' sticks: An' woone did try to overmatch Another wi' zome cunnÈn catch, While tothers slyly tried to hatch Zome geÄme; but yet, by chap an' maÏd. The dancÈn wer the mwost injaÿ'd, While music wer a-soundÈn. The briskest chap ov all the lot Wer Tom, that danc'd hizzelf so hot, He doff'd his cwoat an' jump'd about, Wi' girt new shirt-sleeves all a-strout, Among the maÏdens screamÈn out, A-thinkÈn, wi' his strides an' stamps, He'd squot their veet wi' his girt clamps, While music wer a-soundÈn. Then up jump'd uncle vrom his chair, An' pull'd out aunt to meÄke a peÄir; An' off he zet upon his tooe, So light's the best that beÄt a shoe, Wi' aunt a-criÈn "Let me goo:" While all ov us did laugh so loud, We drown'd the tuÈn o' the croud, While music wer a-soundÈn. A-comÈn out o' passage, Nan, Wi' pipes an' cider in her han', An' watchÈn uncle up so sprack, Vorgot her veet, an' vell down smack Athirt the house-dog's shaggy back, That wer in passage vor a snooze, Beyond the reach o' dancers' shoes, While music wer a-soundÈn. WHAT DICK AN' I DID.Last week the Browns ax'd nearly all The naÏghbours to a randy, An' left us out o't, girt an' small, Vor all we liv'd so handy; An' zoo I zaid to Dick, "We'll trudge, When they be in their fun, min; An' car up zome'hat to the rudge, An' jis' stop up the tun, min." Zoo, wi' the ladder vrom the rick, We stole towards the house, An' crope in roun' behind en, lik' A cat upon a mouse. Then, lookÈn roun', Dick whisper'd "How Is theÄse job to be done, min: Why we do want a faggot now, Vor stoppÈn up the tun, min." "Stan' still," I answer'd; "I'll teÄke ceÄre O' that: why dussen zee The little grindÈn stwone out there, Below the apple-tree? Put up the ladder; in a crack Shalt zee that I wull run, min, An' teÄke en up upon my back, An' soon stop up the tun, min." Zoo up I clomb upon the thatch, An' clapp'd en on; an' slided Right down ageÄn, an' run drough hatch, Behind the hedge, an' hided. The vier that wer clear avore, Begun to spweil their fun, min; The smoke all roll'd toward the door, Vor I'd a-stopp'd the tun, min. The maÏdens cough'd or stopp'd their breath, The men did hauk an' spet; The wold vo'k bundled out from he'th Wi' eyes a-runnÈn wet. "'T'ool choke us all," the wold man cried, "Whatever's to be done, min? Why zome'hat is a-vell inside O' chimney drough the tun, min." Then out they scamper'd all, vull run, An' out cried Tom, "I think The grindÈn-stwone is up on tun, Vor I can zee the wink. This is some kindness that the vo'k At Woodley have a-done, min; I wish I had em here, I'd poke Their numskulls down the tun, min." Then off he zet, an' come so quick 'S a lamplighter, an' brote The little ladder in vrom rick, To clear the chimney's droat. While I, a-chucklÈn at the joke, A-slided down, to run, min, To hidelock, had a-left the vo'k As bad as na'r a tun, min. GRAMMER'S SHOES.I do seem to zee Grammer as she did use Vor to show us, at Chris'mas, her weddÈn shoes, An' her flat spreadÈn bonnet so big an' roun' As a girt pewter dish a-turn'd upside down; When we all did draw near In a cluster to hear O' the merry wold soul how she did use To walk an' to dance wi' her high-heel shoes. She'd a gown wi' girt flowers lik' hollyhocks, An' zome stockÈns o' gramfer's a-knit wÌ' clocks, An' a token she kept under lock an' key,— A small lock ov his heÄir off avore 't wer grey. An' her eyes wer red, An' she shook her head, When we'd all a-look'd at it, an' she did use To lock it away wi' her weddÈn shoes. She could tell us such teÄles about heavy snows, An' o' raÏns an' o' floods when the waters rose All up into the housen, an' carr'd awoy All the bridge wi' a man an' his little bwoy; An' o' vog an' vrost, An' o' vo'k a-lost, An' o' peÄrties at Chris'mas, when she did use Vor to walk hwome wi' gramfer in high-heel shoes. Ev'ry Chris'mas she lik'd vor the bells to ring, An' to have in the zingers to heÄr em zing The wold carols she heÄrd many years a-gone, While she warm'd em zome cider avore the bron'; An' she'd look an' smile At our dancÈn, while She did tell how her friends now a-gone did use To reely wi' her in their high-heel shoes. Ah! an' how she did like vor to deck wi' red Holly-berries the window an' wold clock's head, An' the clavy wi' boughs o' some bright green leaves, An' to meÄke twoast an' eÄle upon Chris'mas eves; But she's now, drough greÄce, In a better pleÄce, Though we'll never vorget her, poor soul, nor lose Gramfer's token ov heÄir, nor her weddÈn shoes. ZUNSHEEN IN THE WINTER.The winter clouds, that long did hide The zun, be all a-blown azide, An' in the light, noo longer dim, Do sheen the ivy that do clim' The tower's zide an' elem's stim; An' holmen bushes, in between The leafless thorns, be bright an' green To zunsheen o' the winter. The trees, that yesterday did twist In wind's a-drevÈn raÏn an' mist, Do now drow sheÄdes out, long an' still; But roarÈn watervals do vill Their whirlÈn pools below the hill, Where, wi' her paÏl upon the stile, A-gwaÏn a-milkÈn JeÄne do smile To zunsheen o' the winter. The birds do sheÄke, wi' plaÿsome skips, The raÏn-drops off the bushes' tips, A-chirripÈn wi' merry sound; While over all the grassy ground The wind's a-whirlÈn round an' round So softly, that the day do seem Mwore lik' a zummer in a dream, Than zunsheen in the winter. The wold vo'k now do meet abrode, An' tell o' winter's they've a-know'd; When snow wer long above the groun', Or floods broke all the bridges down, Or wind unheal'd a half the town,— The teÄles o' wold times long a-gone, But ever dear to think upon, The zunsheen o' their winter. Vor now to them noo brook can run, Noo hill can feÄce the winter zun, Noo leaves can vall, noo flow'rs can feÄde, Noo snow can hide the grasses bleÄde, Noo vrost can whiten in the sheÄde, Noo day can come, but what do bring To mind ageÄn their early spring, That's now a-turn'd to winter. THE WEEPEN LEADY.When, leÄte o' nights, above the green By thik wold house, the moon do sheen, A leÄdy there, a-hangÈn low Her head, 's a-walkÈn to an' fro In robes so white's the driven snow, Wi' woone eÄrm down, while woone do rest All lily-white athirt the breast O' thik poor weepÈn leÄdy. The whirlÈn wind an' whis'lÈn squall Do sheÄke the ivy by the wall, An' meÄke the plyÈn tree-tops rock, But never ruffle her white frock; An' slammÈn door an' rattlÈn lock, That in thik empty house do sound, Do never seem to meÄke look round Thik ever downcast leÄdy. A leÄdy, as the teÄle do goo, That woonce liv'd there, an' lov'd too true, Wer by a young man cast azide. A mother sad, but not a bride; An' then her father, in his pride An' anger, offer'd woone o' two Vull bitter things to undergoo To thik poor weepÈn leÄdy: That she herzelf should leÄve his door, To darken it ageÄn noo mwore; Or that her little plaÿsome chile, A-zent away a thousand mile, Should never meet her eyes to smile An' plaÿ ageÄn; till she, in sheÄme, Should die an' leÄve a tarnish'd neÄme, A sad vorseÄken leÄdy. "Let me be lost," she cried, "the while I do but know vor my poor chile;" An' left the hwome ov all her pride, To wander drough the worold wide, Wi' grief that vew but she ha' tried: An' lik' a flow'r a blow ha' broke, She wither'd wi' the deadly stroke, An' died a weepÈn leÄdy. An' she do keep a-comÈn on To zee her father dead an' gone, As if her soul could have noo rest Avore her teÄry cheÄk's a-prest By his vorgivÈn kiss. Zoo blest Be they that can but live in love, An' vind a pleÄce o' rest above Unlik' the weepÈn leÄdy. THE HAPPY DAYS WHEN I WER YOUNG.In happy days when I wer young, An' had noo ho, an' laugh'd an' zung, The maÏd wer merry by her cow, An' men wer merry wi' the plough; But never talk'd, at hwome or out O' doors, o' what's a-talk'd about By many now,—that to despise The laws o' God an' man is wise. Wi' daÏly health, an' daÏly bread, An' thatch above their shelter'd head, They velt noo fear, an' had noo spite, To keep their eyes awake at night; But slept in peace wi' God on high An' man below, an' fit to die. O' grassy meÄd an' woody nook, An' waters o' the windÈn brook, That sprung below the vu'st dark sky That raÏn'd, to run till seas be dry; An' hills a-stannÈn on while all The works o' man do rise an' vall; An' trees the toddlÈn child do vind At vu'st, an' leÄve at last behind; I wish that you could now unvwold The peace an' jÄy o' times o' wold; An' tell, when death do still my tongue, O' happy days when I wer young. Vrom where wer all this venom brought, To kill our hope an' taÏnt our thought? Clear brook! thy water coulden bring Such venom vrom thy rocky spring; Nor could it come in zummer blights, Or reÄvÈn storms o' winter nights, Or in the cloud an' viry stroke O' thunder that do split the woak. O valley dear! I wish that I 'D a-liv'd in former times, to die Wi' all the happy souls that trod Thy turf in peÄce, an' died to God; Or gone wi' them that laugh'd an' zung In happy days when I wer young! IN THE STILLNESS O' THE NIGHT.Ov all the housen o' the pleÄce, There's woone where I do like to call By day or night the best ov all, To zee my Fanny's smilÈn feÄce; An' there the steÄtely trees do grow, A-rockÈn as the win' do blow, While she do sweetly sleep below, In the stillness o' the night. An' there, at evenÈn, I do goo A-hoppÈn over geÄtes an' bars, By twinklÈn light o' winter stars, When snow do clumper to my shoe; An' zometimes we do slyly catch A chat an hour upon the stratch, An' peÄrt wi' whispers at the hatch In the stillness o' the night. An' zometimes she do goo to zome Young naÏghbours' housen down the pleÄce, An' I do get a clue to treÄce Her out, an' goo to zee her hwome; An' I do wish a vield a mile, As she do sweetly chat an' smile Along the drove, or at the stile, In the stillness o' the night. THE SETTLE AN' THE GIRT WOOD VIRE.Ah! naÏghbour John, since I an' you Wer youngsters, ev'ry thing is new. My father's vires wer all o' logs O' cleft-wood, down upon the dogs Below our clavy, high, an' brode Enough to teÄke a cart an' lwoad, Where big an' little all zot down At bwoth zides, an' bevore, all roun'. An' when I zot among em, I Could zee all up ageÄn the sky Drough chimney, where our vo'k did hitch The zalt-box an' the beÄcon-vlitch, An' watch the smoke on out o' vier, All up an' out o' tun, an' higher. An' there wer beÄcon up on rack, An' pleÄtes an' dishes on the tack; An' roun' the walls wer heÄrbs a-stowed In peÄpern bags, an' blathers blowed. An' just above the clavy-bwoard Wer father's spurs, an' gun, an' sword; An' there wer then, our girtest pride, The settle by the vier zide. Ah! gi'e me, if I wer a squier, The settle an' the girt wood vier. But they've a-wall'd up now wi' bricks The vier pleÄce vor dogs an' sticks, An' only left a little hole To teÄke a little greÄte o' coal, So small that only twos or drees Can jist push in an' warm their knees. An' then the carpets they do use, Bēn't fit to tread wi' ouer shoes; An' chairs an' couches be so neat, You mussen teÄke em vor a seat: They be so fine, that vo'k mus' pleÄce All over em an' outer ceÄse, An' then the cover, when 'tis on, Is still too fine to loll upon. Ah! gi'e me, if I wer a squier, The settle an' the girt wood vier. Carpets, indeed! You coulden hurt The stwone-vloor wi' a little dirt; Vor what wer brought in doors by men, The women soon mopp'd out ageÄn. Zoo we did come vrom muck an' mire, An' walk in straÏght avore the vier; But now, a man's a-kept at door At work a pirty while, avore He's screÄp'd an' rubb'd, an' cleÄn and fit To goo in where his wife do zit. An' then if he should have a whiff In there, 'twould only breed a miff: He cānt smoke there, vor smoke woon't goo 'Ithin the footy little flue. Ah! gi'e me, if I wer a squier, The settle an' the girt wood vier. THE CARTER.O, I be a carter, wi' my whip A-smackÈn loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an' down the dip, The heavy lwoad do slowly ride. An' I do haul in all the crops, An' I do bring in vuzz vrom down; An' I do goo vor wood to copse, An' car the corn an' straw to town. An' I do goo vor lime, an' bring Hwome cider wi' my sleek-heÄir'd team, An' smack my limber whip an' zing, While all their bells do gaÏly cheeme. An' I do always know the pleÄce To gi'e the hosses breath, or drug; An' ev'ry hoss do know my feÄce, An' mind my 'mether ho! an' whug! An' merry haÿ-meÄkers do ride Vrom vield in zummer wi' their prongs, In my blue waggon, zide by zide Upon the reÄves, a-zingÈn zongs. An' when the vrost do catch the stream, An' oves wi' icicles be hung, My pantÈn hosses' breath do steam In white-grass'd vields, a-haulÈn dung. An' mine's the waggon fit vor lwoads, An' mine be lwoads to cut a rout; An' mine's a team, in routy rwoads, To pull a lwoaded waggon out. A zull is nothÈn when do come Behind their lags; an' they do teÄke A roller as they would a drum, An' harrow as they would a reÄke. O! I be a carter, wi' my whip A-smackÈn loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an' down the dip, The heavy lwoad do slowly ride. CHRIS'MAS INVITATION.Come down to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leÄve thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheÄke a lag, an' drink a cup O' eÄle, to keep wold Chris'mas up. An' let thy sister teÄke thy eÄrm, The walk won't do her any harm; There's noo dirt now to spweil her frock, The ground's a-vroze so hard's a rock. You won't meet any stranger's feÄce, But only naÏghbours o' the pleÄce, An' Stowe, an' Combe; an' two or dree Vrom uncle's up at Rookery. An' thou wu'lt vind a rwosy feÄce, An' peÄir ov eyes so black as sloos, The prettiest woones in all the pleÄce,— I'm sure I needen tell thee whose. We got a back-bran', dree girt logs So much as dree ov us can car; We'll put em up athirt the dogs, An' meÄke a vier to the bar. An' ev'ry woone shall tell his teÄle, An' ev'ry woone shall zing his zong, An' ev'ry woone wull drink his eÄle To love an' frien'ship all night long. We'll snap the tongs, we'll have a ball, We'll sheÄke the house, we'll lift the ruf, We'll romp an' meÄke the maÏdens squall, A catchÈn o'm at blind-man's buff. Zoo come to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leÄve thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheÄke a lag, an' drink a cup O' eÄle, to keep wold Chris'mas up. KEEPEN UP O' CHRIS'MAS.An' zoo you didden come athirt, To have zome fun last night: how wer't? Vor we'd a-work'd wi' all our might To scour the iron things up bright, An' brush'd an' scrubb'd the house all drough; An' brought in vor a brand, a plock O' wood so big's an uppÈn-stock, An' hung a bough o' misseltoo, An' ax'd a merry friend or two, To keepÈn up o' Chris'mas. An' there wer wold an' young; an' Bill, Soon after dark, stalk'd up vrom mill. An' when he wer a-comÈn near, He whissled loud vor me to hear; Then roun' my head my frock I roll'd, An' stood in orcha'd like a post, To meÄke en think I wer a ghost. But he wer up to't, an' did scwold To vind me stannÈn in the cwold, A keepÈn up o' Chris'mas. We plaÿ'd at forfeits, an' we spun The trencher roun', an' meÄde such fun! An' had a geÄme o' dree-ceÄrd loo, An' then begun to hunt the shoe. An' all the wold vo'k zittÈn near, A-chattÈn roun' the vier pleÄce, Did smile in woone another's feÄce. An' sheÄke right hands wi' hearty cheer, An' let their left hands spill their beer, A keepÈn up o' Chris'mas. ZITTEN OUT THE WOLD YEAR.Why, raÏn or sheen, or blow or snow, I zaid, if I could stand so's, I'd come, vor all a friend or foe, To sheÄke ye by the hand, so's; An' spend, wi' kinsvo'k near an' dear, A happy evenÈn, woonce a year, A-zot wi' me'th Avore the he'th To zee the new year in, so's. There's Jim an' Tom, a-grown the size O' men, girt lusty chaps, so's, An' Fanny wi' her sloo-black eyes, Her mother's very dap's, so's; An' little Bill, so brown's a nut, An' Poll a gigglÈn little slut, I hope will shoot Another voot The year that's comÈn in, so's. An' there, upon his mother's knee, So peÄrt do look about, so's, The little woone ov all, to zee His vu'st wold year goo out, so's An' zoo mid God bless all o's still, GwaÏn up or down along the hill, To meet in glee AgeÄn to zee A happy new year in, so's. The wold clock's han' do softly steal Up roun' the year's last hour, so's; Zoo let the han'-bells ring a peal, Lik' them a-hung in tow'r, so's. Here, here be two vor Tom, an' two Vor Fanny, an' a peÄir vor you; We'll meÄke em swing, An' meÄke em ring, The merry new year in, so's. Tom, mind your time there; you be wrong. Come, let your bells all sound, so's: A little clwoser, Poll; ding, dong! There, now 'tis right all round, so's. The clock's a-strikÈn twelve, d'ye hear? Ting, ting, ding, dong! Farewell, wold year! 'Tis gone, 'tis gone!— Goo on, goo on, An' ring the new woone in, so's! WOAK WER GOOD ENOUGH WOONCE.Ees: now mahogany's the goo, An' good wold English woak won't do. I wish vo'k always mid avvword Hot meals upon a woakÈn bwoard, As good as thik that took my cup An' trencher all my growÈn up. Ah! I do mind en in the hall, A-reachÈn all along the wall, Wi' us at father's end, while tother Did teÄke the maÏdens wi' their mother; An' while the risÈn steam did spread In curlÈn clouds up over head, Our mouths did wag, an' tongues did run, To meÄke the maÏdens laugh o' fun. A woaken bedstead, black an' bright, Did teÄke my weary bwones at night, Where I could stratch an' roll about Wi' little fear o' vallÈn out; An' up above my head a peÄir Ov ugly heads a-carv'd did steÄre, An' grin avore a bright vull moon A'most enough to frighten woone. An' then we had, vor cwoats an' frocks, Woak cwoffers wi' their rusty locks An' neÄmes in naÏls, a-left behind By kinsvo'k dead an' out o' mind; Zoo we did get on well enough Wi' things a-meÄde ov English stuff. But then, you know, a woaken stick Wer cheap, vor woaken trees wer thick. When poor wold Gramfer Green wer young, He zaid a squirrel mid a-sprung Along the dell, vrom tree to tree, Vrom Woodcomb all the way to Lea; An' woak wer all vo'k did avvword, Avore his time, vor bed or bwoard. LULLABY.The rook's nest do rock on the tree-top Where vew foes can stand; The martin's is high, an' is deep In the steep cliff o' zand. But thou, love, a-sleepÈn where vootsteps Mid come to thy bed, Hast father an' mother to watch thee An' shelter thy head. Lullaby, Lilybrow.Lie asleep; Blest be thy rest. An' zome birds do keep under ruffÈn Their young vrom the storm, An' zome wi' nest-hoodÈns o' moss And o' wool, do lie warm. An' we wull look well to the houseruf That o'er thee mid leÄk, An' the blast that mid beÄt on thy winder Shall not smite thy cheÄk. Lullaby, Lilibrow.Lie asleep; Blest be thy rest. MEARY-ANN'S CHILD.Meary-Ann wer alwone wi' her beÄby in eÄrms, In her house wi' the trees over head, Vor her husban' wer out in the night an' the storms, In his business a-tweilÈn vor bread; An' she, as the wind in the elems did roar, Did grievy vor Robert all night out o' door. An' her kinsvo'k an' naÏ'bours did zay ov her chile, (Under the high elem tree), That a prettier never did babble or smile Up o' top ov a proud mother's knee; An' his mother did toss en, an' kiss en, an' call En her darlÈn, an' life, an' her hope, an' her all. But she vound in the evenÈn the chile werden well, (Under the dark elem tree), An' she thought she could gi'e all the worold to tell, Vor a truth what his aÏlÈn mid be; An' she thought o'en last in her praÿers at night, An' she look'd at en last as she put out the light. An' she vound en grow wo'se in the dead o' the night, (Under the dark elem tree), An' she press'd en ageÄn her warm bosom so tight, An' she rock'd en so sorrowfully; An' there laid a-nestlÈn the poor little bwoy, Till his struggles grew weak, an' his cries died awoy. An' the moon wer a-sheenÈn down into the pleÄce, (Under the dark elem tree), An' his mother could zee that his lips an' his feÄce Wer so white as cleÄn axen could be; An' her tongue wer a-tied an' her still heart did zwell, Till her senses come back wi' the vu'st tear that vell. Never mwore can she veel his warm feÄce in her breast, (Under the green elem tree), Vor his eyes be a-shut, an' his hands be at rest, An' he's now vrom his paÏn a-zet free; Vor his soul, we do know, is to heaven a-vled, Where noo paÏn is a-known, an' noo tears be a-shed.
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