THOMAS.
How b’ye, then, John, to-night; an’ how
Be times a-waggèn on w’ ye now?
I can’t help slackenèn my peäce
When I do come along your pleäce,
To zee what crops your bit o’ groun’
Do bear ye all the zummer roun’.
‘Tis true you don’t get fruit nor blooth,
‘Ithin the glassèn houses’ lewth;
But if a man can rear a crop
Where win’ do blow an’ raïn can drop,
Do seem to come, below your hand,
As fine as any in the land.
JOHN.
Well, there, the geärden stuff an’ flow’rs
Don’t leäve me many idle hours;
But still, though I mid plant or zow,
‘Tis Woone above do meäke it grow.
THOMAS.
Aye, aye, that’s true, but still your strip
O’ groun’ do show good workmanship:
You’ve onions there nine inches round,
An’ turmits that would waïgh a pound;
An’ cabbage wi’ its hard white head,
An’ teäties in their dousty bed,
An’ carrots big an’ straïght enough
Vor any show o’ geärden stuff;
An’ trees ov apples, red-skinn’d balls
An’ purple plums upon the walls,
An’ peas an’ beäns; bezides a store
O’ heärbs vor ev’ry païn an’ zore.
JOHN.
An’ over hedge the win’s a-heärd,
A ruslèn drough my barley’s beard;
An’ swaÿen wheat do overspread
Zix ridges in a sheet o’ red;
An’ then there’s woone thing I do call
The girtest handiness ov all:
My ground is here at hand, avore
My eyes, as I do stand at door;
An’ zoo I’ve never any need
To goo a mile to pull a weed.
THOMAS.
No, sure, a miël shoulden stratch
Between woone’s geärden an’ woone’s hatch.
A man would like his house to stand
Bezide his little bit o’ land.
JOHN.
Ees. When woone’s groun’ vor geärden stuff
Is roun’ below the house’s ruf,
Then woone can spend upon woone’s land
Odd minutes that mid lie on hand,
The while, wi’ night a-comèn on,
The red west sky’s a-wearèn wan;
Or while woone’s wife, wi’ busy hands,
Avore her vier o’ burnèn brands,
Do put, as best she can avword,
Her bit o’ dinner on the bwoard.
An’ here, when I do teäke my road,
At breakfast-time, agwaïn abrode,
Why, I can zee if any plot
O’ groun’ do want a hand or not;
An’ bid my childern, when there’s need,
To draw a reäke or pull a weed,
Or heal young beäns or peas in line,
Or tie em up wi’ rods an’ twine,
Or peel a kindly withy white
To hold a droopèn flow’r upright.
THOMAS.
No. Bits o’ time can zeldom come
To much on groun’ a mile vrom hwome.
A man at hwome should have in view
The jobs his childern’s hands can do,
An’ groun’ abrode mid teäke em all
Beyond their mother’s zight an’ call,
To get a zoakèn in a storm,
Or vall, i’ may be, into harm.
JOHN.
Ees. Geärden groun’, as I’ve a-zed,
Is better near woone’s bwoard an’ bed.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
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