Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect. Barnes William

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      LEADY-DAY, AN' RIDDEN HOUSE.

      Aye, back at Leädy-Day, you know,

      I come vrom Gullybrook to Stowe;

      At Leädy-Day I took my pack

      O' rottletraps, an' turn'd my back

      Upon the weather-beäten door,

      That had a-screen'd, so long avore,

      The mwost that theäse zide o' the greäve,

      I'd live to have, or die to seäve!

      My childern, an' my vier-pleäce,

      Where Molly wi' her cheerful feäce,

      When I'd a-trod my wat'ry road

      Vrom night-bedarken'd vields abrode,

      Wi' nimble hands, at evenèn, blest

      Wi' vire an' vood my hard-won rest;

      The while the little woones did clim',

      So sleek-skinn'd, up from lim' to lim',

      Till, strugglèn hard an' clingèn tight,

      They reach'd at last my feäce's height.

      All tryèn which could soonest hold

      My mind wi' little teäles they twold.

      [page 6]

      An' riddèn house is such a caddle,

      I shan't be over keen vor mwore ō't,

      Not yet a while, you mid be sure ō't—

      I'd rather keep to woone wold staddle.

      Well, zoo, avore the east begun

      To redden wi' the comèn zun,

      We left the beds our mossy thatch

      Wer never mwore to overstratch,

      An' borrow'd uncle's wold hoss Dragon,

      To bring the slowly lumbrèn waggon,

      An' when he come, we vell a-packèn

      The bedsteads, wi' their rwopes an' zackèn;

      An' then put up the wold eärm-chair,

      An' cwoffer vull ov e'then-ware,

      An' vier-dogs, an' copper kittle,

      Wi' crocks an' saucepans, big an' little;

      An' fryèn-pan, vor aggs to slide

      In butter round his hissèn zide,

      An' gridire's even bars, to bear

      The drippèn steäke above the gleäre

      O' brightly-glowèn coals. An' then,

      All up o' top o' them ageän

      The woaken bwoard, where we did eat

      Our croust o' bread or bit o' meat—

      An' when the bwoard wer up, we tied

      Upon the reäves, along the zide,

      The woäken stools, his glossy meätes,

      Bwoth when he's beäre, or when the pleätes

      Do clatter loud wi' knives, below

      Our merry feäces in a row.

      An' put between his lags, turn'd up'ard,

      The zalt-box an' the corner cupb'ard.

      An' then we laid the wold clock-ceäse,

      All dumb, athirt upon his feäce,

      Vor we'd a-left, I needen tell ye,

      [page 7]

      Noo works 'ithin his head or belly.

      An' then we put upon the pack

      The settle, flat upon his back;

      An' after that, a-tied in pairs

      In woone another, all the chairs,

      An' bits o' lumber wo'th a ride,

      An' at the very top a-tied,

      The childern's little stools did lie,

      Wi' lags a-turn'd towárd the sky:

      Zoo there we lwoaded up our scroff,

      An' tied it vast, an' started off.

      An'—as the waggon cooden car all

      We had to teäke—the butter-barrel

      An' cheese-wring, wi' his twinèn screw,

      An' all the païls an' veäts, an' blue

      Wold milk leads, and a vew things mwore,

      Wer all a-carr'd the day avore,

      And when the mwost ov our wold stuff

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