Chapter 6

Avore the maïden's sleep's a-broke By window-strikèn zun, Avore the busy wife's vu'st smoke Do curl above the tun, My day's begun. An' when the zun 'S a-zinkèn in the west, The work the mornèn brought's a-done, An' I do goo to rest, Till the cock do gi'e me warnèn; An' light or dark, So brisk's a lark, I'm up ageän nex' mornèn.

We can't keep back the daily zun, The wind is never still, An' never ha' the streams a-done A-runnèn down at hill. Zoo they that ha' their work to do, Should do't so soon's they can; Vor time an' tide will come an' goo, An' never waït vor man, As the cock do gi'e me warnèn; When, light or dark, So brisk's a lark, I'm up so rathe in mornèn.

We've leäzes where the aïr do blow, An' meäds wi' deäiry cows, An' copse wi' lewth an' sheäde below The overhangèn boughs. An' when the zun, noo time can tire, 'S a-quench'd below the west, Then we've, avore the bleäzèn vire, A settle vor to rest,-- To be up ageän nex' mornèn So brisk's a lark, When, light or dark, The cock do gi'e us warnèn.

OUT A-NUTTÈN.

Last week, when we'd a haul'd the crops, We went a-nuttèn out in copse, Wi' nuttèn-bags to bring hwome vull, An' beaky nuttèn-crooks to pull The bushes down; an' all o's wore Wold clothes that wer in rags avore, An' look'd, as we did skip an' zing, Lik' merry gipsies in a string, A-gwaïn a-nuttèn.

Zoo drough the stubble, over rudge An' vurrow, we begun to trudge; An' Sal an' Nan agreed to pick Along wi' me, an' Poll wi' Dick; An' they went where the wold wood, high An' thick, did meet an' hide the sky; But we thought we mid vind zome good Ripe nuts among the shorter wood, The best vor nuttèn.

We voun' zome bushes that did feäce The downcast zunlight's highest pleäce, Where clusters hung so ripe an' brown, That some slipp'd shell an' vell to groun'. But Sal wi' me zoo hitch'd her lag In brembles, that she coulden wag; While Poll kept clwose to Dick, an' stole The nuts vrom's hinder pocket-hole, While he did nutty.

An' Nanny thought she zaw a sneäke, An' jump'd off into zome girt breäke, An' tore the bag where she'd a-put Her sheäre, an' shatter'd ev'ry nut. An' out in vield we all zot roun' A white-stemm'd woak upon the groun', Where yollor evenèn light did strik' Drough yollow leaves, that still wer thick In time o' nuttèn,

An' twold ov all the luck we had Among the bushes, good an' bad! Till all the maïdens left the bwoys, An' skipp'd about the leäze all woys Vor musherooms, to car back zome, A treat vor father in at hwome. Zoo off we trudg'd wi' clothes in slents An' libbets, jis' lik' Jack-o'-lents, Vrom copse a-nuttèn.

TEAKEN IN APPLES.

We took the apples in last week, An' got, by night, zome eächèn backs A-stoopèn down all day to pick So many up in mawns an' zacks. An' there wer Liz so proud an' prim, An' dumpy Nan, an' Poll so sly; An' dapper Tom, an' loppèn Jim, An' little Dick, an' Fan, an' I.

An' there the lwoaded tree bent low, Behung wi' apples green an' red; An' springèn grass could hardly grow, Drough windvalls down below his head. An' when the maïdens come in roun' The heavy boughs to vill their laps, We slily shook the apples down Lik' haïl, an' gi'ed their backs some raps.

An' zome big apple, Jimmy flung To squaïl me, gi'ed me sich a crack; But very shortly his ear rung, Wi' woone I zent to paÿ en back. An' after we'd a-had our squaïls, Poor Tom, a-jumpèn in a bag, Wer pinch'd by all the maïden's naïls, An' rolled down into hwome-groun' quag.

An' then they carr'd our Fan all roun', 'Ithin a mawn, till zome girt stump Upset en over on the groun', An' drow'd her out along-straïght, plump. An' in the cider-house we zot Upon the windlass Poll an' Nan, An' spun 'em roun' till they wer got So giddy that they coulden stan'.

MEAPLE LEAVES BE YOLLOW.

Come, let's stroll down so vur's the poun', Avore the sparklèn zun is down: The zummer's gone, an' days so feäir As theäse be now a-gettèn reäre. The night, wi' mwore than daylight's sheäre O' wat'ry sky, do wet wi' dew The ee-grass up above woone's shoe, An' meäple leaves be yollow.

The last hot doust, above the road, An' vu'st dead leaves ha' been a-blow'd By plaÿsome win's where spring did spread The blossoms that the zummer shed; An' near blue sloos an' conkers red The evenèn zun, a zettèn soon, Do leäve a-quiv'rèn to the moon, The meäple leaves so yollow.

Zoo come along, an' let's injaÿ The last fine weather while do staÿ; While thou canst hang, wi' ribbons slack, Thy bonnet down upon thy back, Avore the winter, cwold an' black, Do kill thy flowers, an' avore Thy bird-cage is a-took in door, Though meäple leaves be yollow.

NIGHT A-ZETTEN IN.

When leäzers wi' their laps o' corn Noo longer be a-stoopèn, An' in the stubble, all vorlorn, Noo poppies be a-droopèn; When theäse young harvest-moon do weäne, That now've his horns so thin, O, We'll leäve off walkèn in the leäne, While night's a zettèn in, O.

When zummer doust is all a-laid Below our litty shoes, O; When all the raïn-chill'd flow'rs be dead, That now do drink the dews, O; When beauty's neck, that's now a-show'd, 'S a-muffled to the chin, O; We'll leäve off walkèn in the road, When night's a-zettèn in, O.

But now, while barley by the road Do hang upon the bough, O, A-pull'd by branches off the lwoad A-ridèn hwome to mow, O; While spiders roun' the flower-stalks Ha' cobwebs yet to spin, O, We'll cool ourzelves in out-door walks, When night's a-zettèn in, O.

While down at vword the brook so small, That leätely wer so high, O, Wi' little tinklèn sounds do vall In roun' the stwones half dry, O; While twilight ha' sich aïr in store, To cool our zunburnt skin, O, We'll have a ramble out o' door, When night's a-zettèn in, O.

THE WEATHER-BEATEN TREE.

The woaken tree, a-beät at night By stormy winds wi' all their spite, Mid toss his lim's, an' ply, an' mwoan, Wi' unknown struggles all alwone; An' when the day do show his head, A-stripp'd by winds at last a-laid, How vew mid think that didden zee, How night-time had a-tried thik tree.

An' happy vo'k do seldom know How hard our unknown storms do blow, The while our heads do slowly bend Below the trials God do zend, Like shiv'rèn bennets, beäre to all The drevèn winds o' dark'nèn fall. An' zoo in tryèn hardships we Be lik' the weather beäten tree.

But He will never meäke our sheäre O' sorrow mwore than we can bear, But meäke us zee, if 'tis His will, That He can bring us good vrom ill; As after winter He do bring, In His good time, the zunny spring, An' leaves, an' young vo'k vull o' glee A-dancèn roun' the woaken tree.

True love's the ivy that do twine Unwith'rèn roun' his mossy rine, When winter's zickly zun do sheen Upon its leaves o' glossy green, So patiently a-holdèn vast Till storms an' cwold be all a-past, An' only livèn vor to be A-meäted to the woaken tree.

SHRODON FEÄIR.

_The vu'st Peärt._

An' zoo's the day wer warm an' bright, An' nar a cloud wer up in zight, We wheedled father vor the meäre An' cart, to goo to Shrodon feäir. An' Poll an' Nan run off up stairs, To shift their things, as wild as heäres; An' pull'd out, each o'm vrom her box, Their snow-white leäce an' newest frocks, An' put their bonnets on, a-lined Wi' blue, an' sashes tied behind; An' turn'd avore the glass their feäce An' back, to zee their things in pleäce; While Dick an' I did brush our hats An' cwoats, an' cleän ourzelves lik' cats. At woone or two o'clock, we vound Ourzelves at Shrodon seäfe an' sound, A-struttèn in among the rows O' tilted stannèns an' o' shows, An' girt long booths wi' little bars Chock-vull o' barrels, mugs, an' jars, An' meat a-cookèn out avore The vier at the upper door; Where zellers bwold to buyers shy Did hollow round us, "What d'ye buy?" An' scores o' merry tongues did speak At woonce, an' childern's pipes did squeak, An' horns did blow, an' drums did rumble, An' bawlèn merrymen did tumble; An' woone did all but want an edge To peärt the crowd wi', lik' a wedge.

We zaw the dancers in a show Dance up an' down, an' to an' fro, Upon a rwope, wi' chalky zoles, So light as magpies up on poles; An' tumblers, wi' their streaks an' spots, That all but tied theirzelves in knots. An' then a conjurer burn'd off Poll's han'kerchief so black's a snoff, An' het en, wi' a single blow, Right back ageän so white as snow. An' after that, he fried a fat Girt ceäke inzide o' my new hat; An' yet, vor all he did en brown, He didden even zweal the crown.

SHRODON FEÄR.

_The rest o't._

An' after that we met wi' zome O' Mans'on vo'k, but jist a-come, An' had a raffle vor a treat All roun', o' gingerbread to eat; An' Tom meäde leäst, wi' all his sheäkes, An' païd the money vor the ceäkes, But wer so lwoth to put it down As if a penny wer a poun'. Then up come zidelèn Sammy Heäre, That's fond o' Poll, an' she can't bear, A-holdèn out his girt scram vist, An' ax'd her, wi' a grin an' twist, To have zome nuts; an' she, to hide Her laughèn, turn'd her head azide, An' answer'd that she'd rather not, But Nancy mid. An' Nan, so hot As vier, zaid 'twer quite enough Vor Poll to answer vor herzuf: She had a tongue, she zaid, an' wit Enough to use en, when 'twer fit. An' in the dusk, a-ridèn round Drough Okford, who d'ye think we vound But Sam ageän, a-gwäin vrom feäir Astride his broken-winded meäre. An' zoo, a-hettèn her, he tried To keep up clwose by ouer zide: But when we come to Haÿward-brudge, Our Poll gi'ed Dick a meänèn nudge, An' wi' a little twitch our meäre Flung out her lags so lights a heäre, An' left poor Sammy's skin an' bwones Behind, a-kickèn o' the stwones.

MARTIN'S TIDE.

Come, bring a log o' cleft wood, Jack, An' fling en on ageän the back, An' zee the outside door is vast,-- The win' do blow a cwoldish blast. Come, so's! come, pull your chairs in roun' Avore the vire; an' let's zit down, An' keep up Martin's-tide, vor I Shall keep it up till I do die. 'Twer Martinmas, and ouer feäir, When Jeäne an' I, a happy peäir, Vu'st walk'd, a-keepèn up the tide, Among the stan'ens, zide by zide; An' thik day twel'month, never faïlèn, She gi'ed me at the chancel raïlèn A heart--though I do sound her praise-- As true as ever beät in staÿs. How vast the time do goo! Do seem But yesterday,--'tis lik' a dream!

Ah, s[=o]'s! 'tis now zome years agoo You vu'st knew me, an' I knew you; An' we've a-had zome bits o' fun, By winter vire an' zummer zun. Aye; we've a-prowl'd an' rigg'd about Lik' cats, in harm's way mwore than out, An' busy wi' the tricks we plaÿ'd In fun, to outwit chap or maïd. An' out avore the bleäzèn he'th, Our naïsy tongues, in winter me'th, 'V a-shook the warmèn-pan, a-hung Bezide us, till his cover rung. There, 'twer but tother day thik chap, Our Robert, wer a child in lap; An' Poll's two little lags hung down Vrom thik wold chair a span vrom groun', An' now the saucy wench do stride About wi' steps o' dree veet wide. How time do goo! A life do seem As 'twer a year; 'tis lik' a dream!

GUY FAUX'S NIGHT.

Guy Faux's night, dost know, we chaps, A-putten on our woldest traps, Went up the highest o' the knaps, An' meäde up such a vier! An' thou an' Tom wer all we miss'd, Vor if a sarpent had a-hiss'd Among the rest in thy sprack vist, Our fun 'd a-been the higher.

We chaps at hwome, an' Will our cousin, Took up a half a lwoad o' vuzzen; An' burn'd a barrel wi' a dozen O' faggots, till above en The fleämes, arisèn up so high 'S the tun, did snap, an' roar, an' ply, Lik' vier in an' oven.

An' zome wi' hissèn squibs did run, To paÿ off zome what they'd a-done, An' let em off so loud's a gun Ageän their smokèn polls; An' zome did stir their nimble pags Wi' crackers in between their lags, While zome did burn their cwoats to rags, Or wes'cots out in holes.

An' zome o'm's heads lost half their locks, An' zome o'm got their white smock-frocks Jist fit to vill the tinder-box, Wi' half the backs o'm off; An' Dick, that all o'm vell upon, Vound woone flap ov his cwoat-taïl gone, An' tother jist a-hangèn on, A-zweal'd so black's a snoff.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

THE COMMON A-TOOK IN.

_Thomas an' John._

THOMAS.

Good morn t'ye, John. How b'ye? how b'ye? Zoo you be gwaïn to market, I do zee. Why, you be quite a-lwoaded wi' your geese.

JOHN.

Ees, Thomas, ees. Why, I'm a-gettèn rid ov ev'ry goose An' goslèn I've a-got: an' what is woose, I fear that I must zell my little cow.

THOMAS.

How zoo, then, John? Why, what's the matter now? What, can't ye get along? B'ye run a-ground? An' can't paÿ twenty shillèns vor a pound? What can't ye put a lwoaf on shelf?

JOHN. Ees, now; But I do fear I shan't 'ithout my cow. No; they do mëan to teäke the moor in, I do hear, An' 'twill be soon begun upon; Zoo I must zell my bit o' stock to-year, Because they woon't have any groun' to run upon.

THOMAS.

Why, what d'ye tell o'? I be very zorry To hear what they be gwaïn about; But yet I s'pose there'll be a 'lotment vor ye, When they do come to mark it out.

JOHN.

No; not vor me, I fear. An' if there should, Why 'twoulden be so handy as 'tis now; Vor 'tis the common that do do me good, The run for my vew geese, or vor my cow.

THOMAS.

Ees, that's the job; why 'tis a handy thing To have a bit o' common, I do know, To put a little cow upon in Spring, The while woone's bit ov orcha'd grass do grow.

JOHN.

Aye, that's the thing, you zee. Now I do mow My bit o' grass, an' meäke a little rick; An' in the zummer, while do grow, My cow do run in common vor to pick A bleäde or two o' grass, if she can vind em, Vor tother cattle don't leäve much behind em. Zoo in the evenèn, we do put a lock O' nice fresh grass avore the wicket; An' she do come at vive or zix o'clock, As constant as the zun, to pick it. An' then, bezides the cow, why we do let Our geese run out among the emmet hills; An' then when we do pluck em, we do get Vor zeäle zome veathers an' zome quills; An' in the winter we do fat em well, An' car em to the market vor to zell To gentlevo'ks, vor we don't oft avvword To put a goose a-top ov ouer bwoard; But we do get our feäst,--vor we be eäble To clap the giblets up a-top o' teäble.

THOMAS.

An' I don't know o' many better things, Than geese's heads and gizzards, lags an' wings.

JOHN.

An' then, when I ha' nothèn else to do, Why I can teäke my hook an' gloves, an' goo To cut a lot o' vuzz and briars Vor hetèn ovens, or vor lightèn viers. An' when the childern be too young to eärn A penny, they can g'out in zunny weather, An' run about, an' get together A bag o' cow-dung vor to burn.

THOMAS.

'Tis handy to live near a common; But I've a-zeed, an' I've a-zaid, That if a poor man got a bit o' bread, They'll try to teäke it vrom en. But I wer twold back tother day, That they be got into a way O' lettèn bits o' groun' out to the poor.

JOHN.

Well, I do hope 'tis true, I'm sure; An' I do hope that they will do it here, Or I must goo to workhouse, I do fear.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

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

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 [=o]'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."