Chapter 19

Aye, better chaps woont goo, not many steps vor you, If you do hawk yourzelf about.

RACKETÈN JOE.

Wull John, come too?

JOHN.

No, thanks to you. Two's company, dree's nwone.

HER BROTHER.

There don't be stung by his mad tongue, 'Tis nothèn else but fun.

JEÄNE.

There, what d'ye think o' my new ceäpe?

JOHN.

Why, think that 'tis an ugly sheäpe.

JEÄNE.

Then you should buy me, now theäse feäir, A mwore becomèn woone to wear.

JOHN.

I buy your ceäpe! No; Joe wull screäpe Up dibs enough to buy your ceäpe. As things do look, to meäke you fine Is long Joe's business mwore than mine.

JEÄNE.

Lauk, John, the mwore that you do pout The mwore he'll gl[=e]ne.

JOHN.

A yelpèn lout.

EARLY PLA[:Y]MEÄTE.

After many long years had a-run, The while I wer a-gone vrom the pleäce, I come back to the vields, where the zun Ov her childhood did show me her feäce. There her father, years wolder, did stoop. An' her brother, wer now a-grow'd staïd, An' the apple tree lower did droop. Out in the orcha'd where we had a-plaÿ'd, There wer zome things a-seemèn the seäme, But Meäry's a-married awaÿ.

There wer two little childern a-zent, Wi' a message to me, oh! so feaïr As the mother that they did zoo ment, When in childhood she plaÿ'd wi' me there. Zoo they twold me that if I would come Down to Coomb, I should zee a wold friend, Vor a plaÿmeäte o' mine wer at hwome, An' would staÿ till another week's end. At the dear pworchèd door, could I dare To zee Meäry a-married awaÿ!

On the flower-not, now all a-trod Stwony hard, the green grass wer a-spread, An' the long-slighted woodbine did nod Vrom the wall, wi' a loose-hangèn head. An' the martin's clay nest wer a-hung Up below the brown oves, in the dry, An' the rooks had a-rock'd broods o' young On the elems below the Maÿ sky; But the bud on the bed, coulden bide, Wi' young Meäry a-married awaÿ.

There the copse-wood, a-grow'd to a height, Wer a-vell'd, an' the primrwose in blooth, Among chips on the ground a-turn'd white, Wer a-quiv'rèn, all beäre ov his lewth. The green moss wer a-spread on the thatch, That I left yollow reed, an' avore The small green, there did swing a new hatch, Vor to let me walk into the door. Oh! the rook did still rock o'er the rick, But wi' Meäry a-married awaÿ.

PICKEN O' SCROFF.

Oh! the wood wer a-vell'd in the copse, An' the moss-bedded primrwose did blow; An' vrom tall-stemmèd trees' leafless tops, There did lie but slight sheädes down below. An' the sky wer a-showèn, in drough By the tree-stems, the deepest o' blue, Wi' a light that did vall on an' off The dry ground, a-strew'd over wi' scroff.

There the hedge that wer leätely so high, Wer a-plush'd, an' along by the zide, Where the waggon 'd a-haul'd the wood by, There did reach the deep wheelrouts, a-dried. An' the groun' wi' the sticks wer bespread, Zome a-cut off alive, an' zome dead. An' vor burnèn, well wo'th reäkèn off, By the childern a-pickèn o' scroff.

In the tree-studded leäze, where the woak Wer a-spreadèn his head out around, There the scrags that the wind had a-broke, Wer a-lyèn about on the ground Or the childern, wi' little red hands, Wer a-tyèn em up in their bands; Vor noo squier or farmer turn'd off Little childern a-pickèn o' scroff.

There wer woone bloomèn child wi' a cloak On her shoulders, as green as the ground; An' another, as gray as the woak, Wi' a bwoy in a brown frock, a-brown'd. An' woone got up, in plaÿ, vor to taït, On a woak-limb, a-growèn out straïght. But she soon wer a-taïted down off, By her meätes out a-pickèn o' scroff.

When they childern do grow to staïd vo'k, An' goo out in the worold, all wide Vrom the copse, an' the zummerleäze woak, Where at last all their elders ha' died, They wull then vind it touchèn to bring, To their minds, the sweet springs o' their spring, Back avore the new vo'k did turn off The poor childern a-pickèn o' scroff.

GOOD NIGHT.

While down the meäds wound slow, Water vor green-wheel'd mills, Over the streams bright bow, Win' come vrom dark-back'd hills. Birds on the win' shot along down steep Slopes, wi' a swift-swung zweep. Dim weän'd the red streak'd west Lim'-weary souls "Good rest."

Up on the plough'd hill brow, Still wer the zull's wheel'd beam, Still wer the red-wheel'd plough, Free o' the strong limb'd team, Still wer the shop that the smith meäde ring, Dark where the sparks did spring; Low shot the zun's last beams. Lim'-weary souls "Good dreams."

Where I vrom dark bank-sheädes Turn'd up the west hill road, Where all the green grass bleädes Under the zunlight glow'd. Startled I met, as the zunbeams play'd Light, wi' a zunsmote maïd, Come vor my day's last zight, Zun-brighten'd maïd "Good night."

WENT HWOME.

Upon the slope, the hedge did bound The yield wi' blossom-whited zide, An' charlock patches, yollow-dyed, Did reach along the white-soil'd ground, An' vo'k, a-comèn up vrom meäd, Brought gil'cup meal upon the shoe; Or went on where the road did leäd, Wi' smeechy doust from heel to tooe. As noon did smite, wi' burnèn light, The road so white, to Meldonley.

An' I did tramp the zun-dried ground, By hedge-climb'd hills, a-spread wi' flow'rs, An' watershootèn dells, an' tow'rs, By elem-trees a-hemm'd all round, To zee a vew wold friends, about Wold Meldon, where I still ha' zome, That bid me speed as I come out, An' now ha' bid me welcome hwome, As I did goo, while skies wer blue, Vrom view to view, to Meldonley.

An' there wer timber'd knaps, that show'd Cool sheädes, vor rest, on grassy ground, An' thatch-brow'd windows, flower-bound, Where I could wish wer my abode. I pass'd the maïd avore the spring, An' shepherd by the thornèn tree; An' heärd the merry dréver zing, But met noo kith or kin to me, Till I come down, vrom Meldon's crown To rufs o' brown, at Meldonley.

THE HOLLOW WOAK.

The woaken tree, so hollow now, To souls ov other times wer sound, An' reach'd on ev'ry zide a bough Above their heads, a-gather'd round, But zome light veet That here did meet In friendship sweet, vor rest or jaÿ, Shall be a-miss'd another Maÿ.

My childern here, in plaÿvul pride Did zit 'ithin his wooden walls, A-mentèn steätely vo'k inside O' castle towers an' lofty halls. But now the vloor An' mossy door That woonce they wore would be too small To teäke em in, so big an' tall.

Theäse year do show, wi' snow-white cloud, An' deäsies in a sprinkled bed, An' green-bough birds a-whislèn loud, The looks o' zummer days a-vled; An' grass do grow, An' men do mow, An' all do show the wold times' feäce Wi' new things in the wold things' pleäce.

CHILDERN'S CHILDERN.

Oh! if my ling'rèn life should run, Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten, Below the never-tirèn zun, Till beäbes ageän be wives an' men; An' stillest deafness should ha' bound My ears, at last, vrom ev'ry sound; Though still my eyes in that sweet light, Should have the zight o' sky an' ground: Would then my steäte In time so leäte, Be jaÿ or païn, be païn or jaÿ?

When Zunday then, a-weänèn dim, As theäse that now's a-clwosèn still, Mid lose the zun's down-zinkèn rim, In light behind the vier-bound hill; An' when the bells' last peal's a-rung, An' I mid zee the wold an' young A-vlockèn by, but shoulden hear, However near, a voot or tongue: Mid zuch a zight, In that soft light Be jaÿ or païn, be païn or jaÿ.

If I should zee among em all, In merry youth, a-glidèn by, My son's bwold son, a-grown man-tall, Or daughter's daughter, woman-high; An' she mid smile wi' your good feäce, Or she mid walk your comely peäce, But seem, although a-chattèn loud, So dumb's a cloud, in that bright pleäce: Would youth so feäir, A-passèn there, Be jaÿ or païn, be païn or jaÿ.

'Tis seldom strangth or comeliness Do leäve us long. The house do show Men's sons wi' mwore, as they ha' less, An' daughters brisk, vor mothers slow. A dawn do clear the night's dim sky, Woone star do zink, an' woone goo high, An' livèn gifts o' youth do vall, Vrom girt to small, but never die: An' should I view, What God mid do, Wi' jaÿ or païn, wi' païn or jaÿ?

THE RWOSE IN THE DARK.

In zummer, leäte at evenèn tide, I zot to spend a moonless hour 'Ithin the window, wi' the zide A-bound wi' rwoses out in flow'r, Bezide the bow'r, vorsook o' birds, An' listen'd to my true-love's words.

A-risèn to her comely height, She push'd the swingèn ceäsement round; And I could hear, beyond my zight, The win'-blow'd beech-tree softly sound, On higher ground, a-swayèn slow, On drough my happy hour below.

An' tho' the darkness then did hide The dewy rwose's blushèn bloom, He still did cast sweet aïr inside To Jeäne, a-chattèn in the room; An' though the gloom did hide her feäce, Her words did bind me to the pleäce.

An' there, while she, wi' runnèn tongue, Did talk unzeen 'ithin the hall, I thought her like the rwose that flung His sweetness vrom his darken'd ball, 'Ithout the wall, an' sweet's the zight Ov her bright feäce by mornèn light.

COME.

Wull ye come in eärly Spring, Come at Easter, or in Maÿ? Or when Whitsuntide mid bring Longer light to show your waÿ? Wull ye come, if you be true, Vor to quicken love anew. Wull ye call in Spring or Fall? Come now soon by zun or moon? Wull ye come?

Come wi' vaïce to vaïce the while All their words be sweet to hear; Come that feäce to feäce mid smile, While their smiles do seem so dear; Come within the year to seek Woone you have sought woonce a week? Come while flow'rs be on the bow'rs. And the bird o' zong's a-heärd. Wull ye come?

Ees come _to_ ye, an' come _vor_ ye, is my word, I wull come.

ZUMMER WINDS.

Let me work, but mid noo tie Hold me vrom the oben sky, When zummer winds, in plaÿsome flight, Do blow on vields in noon-day light, Or ruslèn trees, in twilight night. Sweet's a stroll, By flow'ry knowl, or blue-feäcèd pool That zummer win's do ruffle cool.

When the moon's broad light do vill Plaïns, a-sheenèn down the hill; A-glitterèn on window glass, O then, while zummer win's do pass The rippled brook, an' swaÿèn grass, Sweet's a walk, Where we do talk, wi' feäces bright, In whispers in the peacevul night.

When the swaÿèn men do mow Flow'ry grass, wi' zweepèn blow, In het a-most enough to dry The flat-spread clote-leaf that do lie Upon the stream a-stealèn by, Sweet's their rest, Upon the breast o' knap or mound Out where the goocoo's vaïce do sound.

Where the sleek-heäir'd maïd do zit Out o' door to zew or knit, Below the elem where the spring 'S a-runnèn, an' the road do bring The people by to hear her zing, On the green, Where she's a-zeen, an' she can zee, O gaÿ is she below the tree.

Come, O zummer wind, an' bring Sounds o' birds as they do zing, An' bring the smell o' bloomèn maÿ, An' bring the smell o' new-mow'd haÿ; Come fan my feäce as I do straÿ, Fan the heäir O' Jessie feäir; fan her cool, By the weäves o' stream or pool.

THE NEÄME LETTERS.

When high-flown larks wer on the wing, A warm-aïr'd holiday in Spring, We stroll'd, 'ithout a ceäre or frown, Up roun' the down at Meldonley; An' where the hawthorn-tree did stand Alwone, but still wi' mwore at hand, We zot wi' sheädes o' clouds on high A-flittèn by, at Meldonley.

An' there, the while the tree did sheäde Their gigglèn heads, my knife's keen bleäde Carved out, in turf avore my knee, J. L., *T. D., at Meldonley. 'Twer Jessie Lee J. L. did meän, T. D. did stan' vor Thomas Deäne; The "L" I scratch'd but slight, vor he Mid soon be D, at Meldonley.

An' when the vields o' wheat did spread Vrom hedge to hedge in sheets o' red. An' bennets wer a-sheäkèn brown. Upon the down at Meldonley, We stroll'd ageän along the hill, An' at the hawthorn-tree stood still, To zee J. L. vor Jessie Lee, An' my T. D., at Meldonley.

The grey-poll'd bennet-stems did hem Each half-hid letter's zunken rim, By leädy's-vingers that did spread In yollow red, at Meldonley. An' heärebells there wi' light blue bell Shook soundless on the letter L, To ment the bells when L vor Lee Become a D at Meldonley.

Vor Jessie, now my wife, do strive Wi' me in life, an' we do thrive; Two sleek-heäired meäres do sprackly pull My waggon vull, at Meldonley; An' small-hoof'd sheep, in vleeces white, Wi' quickly-pankèn zides, do bite My thymy grass, a-mark'd vor me In black, T. D., at Meldonley.

THE NEW HOUSE A-GETTÈN WOLD.

Ah! when our wedded life begun, Theäse clean-wall'd house of ours wer new; Wi' thatch as yollor as the zun Avore the cloudless sky o' blue; The sky o' blue that then did bound The blue-hilled worold's flow'ry ground.

An' we've a-vound it weather-brown'd, As Spring-tide blossoms oben'd white, Or Fall did shed, on zunburnt ground, Red apples from their leafy height: Their leafy height, that Winter soon Left leafless to the cool-feäced moon.

An' raïn-bred moss ha' staïn'd wi' green The smooth-feäced wall's white-morter'd streaks, The while our childern zot between Our seats avore the fleäme's red peaks: The fleäme's red peaks, till axan white Did quench em vor the long-sleep'd night.

The bloom that woonce did overspread Your rounded cheäk, as time went by, A-shrinkèn to a patch o' red, Did feäde so soft's the evenèn sky: The evenèn sky, my faithful wife, O' days as feäir's our happy life.

ZUNDAY.

In zummer, when the sheädes do creep Below the Zunday steeple, round The mossy stwones, that love cut deep Wi' neämes that tongues noo mwore do sound, The leäne do lose the stalkèn team, An' dry-rimm'd waggon-wheels be still, An' hills do roll their down-shot stream Below the restèn wheel at mill. O holy day, when tweil do ceäse, Sweet day o' rest an' greäce an' peäce!

The eegrass, vor a while unwrung By hoof or shoe, 's a sheenèn bright, An' clover flowers be a-sprung On new-mow'd knaps in beds o' white, An' sweet wild rwoses, up among The hedge-row boughs, do yield their smells. To aïer that do bear along The loud-rung peals o' Zunday bells, Upon the day o' days the best, The day o' greäce an' peäce an' rest.

By brightshod veet, in peäir an' peäir, Wi' comely steps the road's a-took To church, an' work-free han's do beär Woone's walkèn stick or sister's book; An' there the bloomèn niece do come To zee her aunt, in all her best; Or married daughter do bring hwome Her vu'st sweet child upon her breast, As she do seek the holy pleäce, The day o' rest an' peäce an' greäce.

THE PILLAR'D GEÄTE.

As I come by, zome years agoo, A-burnt below a sky o' blue, 'Ithin the pillar'd geäte there zung A vaïce a-soundèn sweet an' young, That meäde me veel awhile to zwim In weäves o' jaÿ to hear its hymn; Vor all the zinger, angel-bright, Wer then a-hidden vrom my zight, An' I wer then too low To seek a meäte to match my steäte 'Ithin the lofty-pillar'd geäte, Wi' stwonèn balls upon the walls: Oh, no! my heart, no, no.

Another time as I come by The house, below a dark-blue sky, The pillar'd geäte wer oben wide, An' who should be a-show'd inside, But she, the comely maïd whose hymn Woonce meäde my giddy braïn to zwim, A-zittèn in the sheäde to zew, A-clad in robes as white as snow. What then? could I so low Look out a meäte ov higher steäte So gaÿ 'ithin a pillar'd geäte, Wi' high walls round the smooth-mow'd ground? Oh, no! my heart, no, no.

Long years stole by, a-glidèn slow, Wi' winter cwold an' zummer glow, An' she wer then a widow, clad In grey; but comely, though so sad; Her husband, heartless to his bride, Spent all her store an' wealth, an' died, Though she noo mwore could now rejaïce, Yet sweet did sound her zongless vaïce. But had she, in her woe, The higher steäte she had o' leäte 'Ithin the lofty pillar'd geäte, Wi' stwonèn balls upon the walls? Oh, no! my heart, no, no.

But while she vell, my Meäker's greäce Led me to teäke a higher pleäce, An' lighten'd up my mind wi' lore, An' bless'd me wi' a worldly store; But still noo winsome feäce or vaïce, Had ever been my wedded chaïce; An' then I thought, why do I mwope Alwone without a jaÿ or hope? Would she still think me low? Or scorn a meäte, in my feäir steäte, In here 'ithin a pillar'd geäte, A happy pleäce wi' her kind feäce? Oh, no! my hope, no, no.

I don't stand out 'tis only feäte Do gi'e to each his wedded meäte; But eet there's woone above the rest, That every soul can like the best. An' my wold love's a-kindled new, An' my wold dream's a-come out true; But while I had noo soul to sheäre My good an' ill, an' jäy an ceäre, Should I have bliss below, In gleämèn pleäte an' lofty steäte 'Ithin the lofty pillar'd geäte, Wi' feäirest flow'rs, an' ponds an' tow'rs? Oh, no! my heart, no, no.

ZUMMER STREAM.

Ah! then the grassy-meäded Maÿ Did warm the passèn year, an' gleam Upon the yellow-grounded stream, That still by beech-tree sheädes do straÿ. The light o' weäves, a-runnèn there, Did plaÿ on leaves up over head, An' vishes sceäly zides did gleäre, A-dartèn on the shallow bed, An' like the stream a-slidèn on, My zun out-measur'd time's agone.

There by the path, in grass knee-high, Wer buttervlees in giddy flight, All white above the deäisies white, Or blue below the deep blue sky. Then glowèn warm wer ev'ry brow, O' maïd, or man, in zummer het, An' warm did glow the cheäks I met That time, noo mwore to meet em now. As brooks, a-slidèn on their bed, My season-measur'd time's a-vled.

Vrom yonder window, in the thatch, Did sound the maïdens' merry words, As I did stand, by zingèn birds, Bezide the elem-sheäded hatch. 'Tis good to come back to the pleäce, Back to the time, to goo noo mwore; 'Tis good to meet the younger feäce A-mentèn others here avore. As streams do glide by green mead-grass, My zummer-brighten'd years do pass.

LINDA DEÄNE.

The bright-tunn'd house, a-risèn proud, Stood high avore a zummer cloud, An' windy sheädes o' tow'rs did vall Upon the many-window'd wall; An' on the grassy terrace, bright Wi' white-bloom'd zummer's deaïsy beds, An' snow-white lilies noddèn heads, Sweet Linda Deäne did walk in white; But ah! avore too high a door, Wer Linda Deäne ov Ellendon.

When sparklèn brooks an' grassy ground, By keen-aïr'd Winter's vrost wer bound, An' star-bright snow did streak the forms O' beäre-lim'd trees in darksome storms, Sweet Linda Deäne did lightly glide, Wi' snow-white robe an' rwosy feäce, Upon the smooth-vloor'd hall, to treäce The merry dance o' Chris'mas tide; But oh! not mine be balls so fine As Linda Deäne's at Ellendon.

Sweet Linda Deäne do match the skies Wi' sheenèn blue o' glisnèn eyes, An' feaïrest blossoms do but show Her forehead's white, an' feäce's glow; But there's a winsome jaÿ above, The brightest hues ov e'th an' skies. The dearest zight o' many eyes, Would be the smile o' Linda's love; But high above my lowly love Is Linda Deäne ov Ellendon.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

COME AND ZEE US IN THE ZUMMER.

_John; William; William's Bwoy; and William's Maïd at Feäir._

JOHN.

Zoo here be your childern, a-sheärèn Your feäir-day, an' each wi' a feäirèn.

WILLIAM.

Aye, well, there's noo peace 'ithout comèn To stannèn an' show, in the zummer.

JOHN.

An' how is your Jeäne? still as merry As ever, wi' cheäks lik' a cherry?

WILLIAM.

Still merry, but beauty's as feädesome 'S the raïn's glowèn bow in the zummer.

JOHN.

Well now, I do hope we shall vind ye Come soon, wi' your childern behind ye, To Stowe, while o' bwoth zides o' hedges, The zunsheen do glow in the zummer.

WILLIAM.

Well, aye, when the mowèn is over, An' ee-grass do whiten wi' clover. A man's a-tired out, vor much walken, The while he do mow in the zummer.

WILLIAM'S BWOY.

I'll goo, an' we'll zet up a wicket, An' have a good innèns at cricket; An' teäke a good plounce in the water. Where clote-leaves do grow in the zummer.

WILLIAM'S MAID.

I'll goo, an' we'll play "Thread the needle" Or "Huntèn the slipper," or wheedle Young Jemmy to fiddle, an' reely So brisk to an' fro in the zummer.

JOHN.

An' Jeäne. Mind you don't come 'ithout her, My wife is a-thinkèn about her; At our house she'll find she's as welcome 'S the rwose that do blow in the zummer.

LINDENORE.

At Lindenore upon the steep, Bezide the trees a-reachèn high, The while their lower limbs do zweep The river-stream a-flowèn by; By grægle bells in beds o' blue, Below the tree-stems in the lew, Calm aïr do vind the rwose-bound door, Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

An' there noo foam do hiss avore Swift bwoats, wi' water-plowèn keels, An' there noo broad high-road's a-wore By vur-brought trav'lers' cracklèn wheels; Noo crowd's a-passèn to and fro, Upon the bridge's high-sprung bow: An' vew but I do seek the door Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

Vor there the town, wi' zun-bright walls, Do sheen vur off, by hills o' grey, An' town-vo'k ha' but seldom calls O' business there, from day to day: But Ellen didden leäve her ruf To be admir'd, an' that's enough-- Vor I've a-vound 'ithin her door, Feäir Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

ME'TH BELOW THE TREE.

O when theäse elems' crooked boughs, A'most too thin to sheäde the cows, Did slowly swing above the grass As winds o' Spring did softly pass, An' zunlight show'd the shiftèn sheäde, While youthful me'th wi' laughter loud, Did twist his lim's among the crowd Down there below; up there above Wer bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Down there the merry vo'k did vill The stwonèn doorway, now so still; An' zome did joke, wi' ceäsement wide, Wi' other vo'k a-stood outside, Wi' words that head by head did heed. Below blue sky an' blue-smok'd tun, 'Twer jaÿ to zee an' hear their fun, But sweeter jaÿ up here above Wi' bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Now unknown veet do beät the vloor, An' unknown han's do shut the door, An' unknown men do ride abrode, An' hwome ageän on thik wold road, Drough geätes all now a-hung anew. Noo mind but mine ageän can call Wold feäces back around the wall, Down there below, or here above, Wi' bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Aye, pride mid seek the crowded pleäce To show his head an' frownèn feäce, An' pleasure vlee, wi' goold in hand, Vor zights to zee vrom land to land, Where winds do blow on seas o' blue:-- Noo wealth wer mine to travel wide Vor jaÿ, wi' Pleasure or wi' Pride: My happiness wer here above The feäst, wi' me'th below the tree.

The wild rwose now do hang in zight, To mornèn zun an' evenèn light, The bird do whissle in the gloom, Avore the thissle out in bloom, But here alwone the tree do leän. The twig that woonce did whiver there Is now a limb a-wither'd beäre: Zoo I do miss the sheäde above My head, an' me'th below the tree.

TREAT WELL YOUR WIFE.