The dock-leaves wi' our nimble shoes;
Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling
You maïdens in the orcha'd swing,
An' by the zaw-pit's dousty bank,
Where we did taït upon a plank.
—(D'ye mind how woonce, you cou'den zit
The bwoard, an' vell off into pit?)
An' when we hunted you about
The grassy barken, in an' out
Among the ricks, your vlèe-èn frocks
An' nimble veet did strik' the docks.
An' zoo they docks, a-spread so wide
Up yonder zunny bank's green zide,
Do bring to mind what we did do,
Among the dock-leaves years agoo.
THE BLACKBIRD.
Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny show'rs o' spring—
Vor all the lark, a-swingèn high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky.
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An' sparrows, clust'rèn roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough—
The blackbird, whisslèn in among
The boughs, do zing the gaÿest zong.
Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippèn win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,
But drēve light doust along between
The leäne-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gaÿest zong.
'Tis blithe, wi' newly-open'd eyes,
To zee the mornèn's ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulèn frith or lops
Vrom new-plēsh'd hedge or new-vell'd copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-bark'd woak-trees' heads;
But there's noo time, the whole däy long,
Lik' evenèn wi' the blackbird's zong.
Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zettèn o' the zun,
Then blushèn Jeäne do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An' staÿ till all is dim an' dark
Bezides the ashen tree's white bark;
An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill
An' runnèn evenèn-whissle's still.
An' there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi' pryèn eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meäde
O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheäde:
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Or clim' aloft, wi' clingèn knees,
Vor crows' aggs up in swaÿèn trees,
While frighten'd blackbirds down below
Did chatter o' their little foe.
An' zoo there's noo pleäce lik' the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.
WOODCOM' FEAST.
Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
'Tis Woodcom' feäst, good now! to-night.
Come! think noo mwore, you silly maïd,
O' chickèn drown'd, or ducks a-straÿ'd;
Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's taïl
A-tore by hitchèn in a naïl;
Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide,
A-thinkèn o' thy lam' that died.
The flag's a-vleèn wide an' high,
An' ringèn bells do sheäke the sky;
The fifes do play, the horns do roar,
An' boughs be up at ev'ry door:
They 'll be a-dancèn soon—the drum
'S a-rumblèn now. Come, Fanny, come!
Why father's gone, an' mother too.
They went up leäne an hour agoo;
An' at the green the young and wold
Do stan' so thick as sheep in vwold:
The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout—
Come out you mwopèn wench, come out,
An' go wi' me, an' show at leäst
Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feäst.
Come, let's goo out, an' fling our heels
About in jigs an' vow'r-han' reels;
While äll the stiff-lagg'd wolder vo'k,
A-zittèn roun', do talk an' joke
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An' smile to zee their own wold rigs.
A-show'd by
