English Poetry. William Barnes. First Collection. Fall. Harvest Hwome:— The vu’st Peärt. Уильям Барнс.

William Barnes (Уильям Барнс)

First Collection. Fall. Harvest Hwome:— The vu’st Peärt

  The vu’st peärt. The Supper.

Since we wer striplèns naïghbour John,
The good wold merry times be gone:
But we do like to think upon
  What we’ve a-zeed an’ done.
When I wer up a hardish lad,
At harvest hwome the work-vo’k had
Sich suppers, they wer jumpèn mad
  Wi’ feästèn an’ wi’ fun.

At uncle’s, I do mind, woone year,
I zeed a vill o’ hearty cheer;
Fat beef an’ puddèn, eäle an’ beer,
  Vor ev’ry workman’s crop
An’ after they’d a-gie’d God thanks,
They all zot down, in two long ranks,
Along a teäble-bwoard o’ planks,
  Wi’ uncle at the top.

An’ there, in platters, big and brown,
Wer red fat beäcon, an’ a roun’
O’ beef wi’ gravy that would drown
  A little rwoastèn pig;
Wi’ beäns an’ teäties vull a zack,
An’ cabbage that would meäke a stack,
An’ puddèns brown, a-speckled black
  Wi’ figs, so big’s my wig.

An’ uncle, wi’ his elbows out,
Did carve, an’ meäke the gravy spout;
An’ aunt did gi’e the mugs about
  A-frothèn to the brim.
Pleätes werden then ov e’then ware,
They ate off pewter, that would bear
A knock; or wooden trenchers, square,
  Wi’ zalt-holes at the rim.

An’ zoo they munch’d their hearty cheer,
An’ dipp’d their beards in frothy-beer,
An’ laugh’d, an’ jok’d—they couldden hear
  What woone another zaid.
An’ all o’m drink’d, wi’ woone accword,
The wold vo’k’s health: an’ beät the bwoard,
An’ swung their eärms about, an’ roar’d,
  Enough to crack woone’s head.

William Barnes’s other poems:

1. First Collection. Winter. Keepèn up o’ Chris’mas
2. Third Collection. Comen Hwome
3. Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
4. Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
5. Third Collection. Things do Come Round

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