First Collection. Fall. Poll’s Jack-Daw
Ah! Jimmy vow’d he’d have the law Ov ouer cousin Poll’s Jack-daw, That had by day his withy jaïl A-hangèn up upon a naïl, Ageän the elem tree, avore The house, jist over-right the door. An’ twitted vo’k a-passèn by A-most so plaïn as you or I; Vor hardly any day did pass ’Ithout Tom’s teachèn o’m zome sa’ce; Till by-an’-by he call’d em all ‘Soft-polls’ an’ ‘gawkeys,’ girt an’ small. An’ zoo, as Jim went down along The leäne a-whisslèn ov a zong, The saucy Daw cried out by rote “Girt Soft-poll!” lik’ to split his droat. Jim stopp’d an’ grabbled up a clot, An’ zent en at en lik’ a shot; An’ down went Daw an’ cage avore The clot, up thump ageän the door. Zoo out run Poll an’ Tom, to zee What all the meänèn o’t mid be; “Now who did that?” zaid Poll. “Who whurr’d Theäse clot?” “Girt Soft-poll!” cried the bird. An’ when Tom catch’d a glimpse o’ Jim, A-lookèn all so red an’ slim. An’ slinkèn on, he vled, red hot, Down leäne to catch en, lik’ a shot; But Jim, that thought he’d better trust To lags than vistes, tried em vu’st. An’ Poll, that zeed Tom woulden catch En, stood a-smilèn at the hatch. An’ zoo he vollow’d en for two Or dree stwones’ drows, an’ let en goo.
William Barnes’s other poems:
- First Collection. Winter. Keepèn up o’ Chris’mas
- Third Collection. Comen Hwome
- Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
- Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
- Third Collection. Things do Come Round
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