First Collection. Fall. The Common a-took in
Eclogue
Thomas an’ John.
THOMAS.
Good morn t’ye, John. How b’ye? how b’ye?
Zoo you be gwaïn to market, I do zee.
Why, you be quite a-lwoaded wi’ your geese.
JOHN.
Ees, Thomas, ees.
Why, I’m a-gettèn rid ov ev’ry goose
An’ goslèn I’ve a-got: an’ what is woose,
I fear that I must zell my little cow.
THOMAS.
How zoo, then, John? Why, what’s the matter now?
What, can’t ye get along? B’ye run a-ground?
An’ can’t paÿ twenty shillèns vor a pound?
What can’t ye put a lwoaf on shelf?
JOHN.
Ees, now;
But I do fear I shan’t ’ithout my cow.
No; they do meän to teäke the moor in, I do hear,
An’ ’twill be soon begun upon;
Zoo I must zell my bit o’ stock to-year.
Because they woon’t have any groun’ to run upon.
THOMAS.
Why, what d’ye tell o’? I be very zorry
To hear what they be gwaïn about;
But yet I s’pose there ’ll be a ’lotment vor ye,
When they do come to mark it out.
JOHN.
No; not vor me, I fear. An’ if there should,
Why ’twoulden be so handy as ’tis now;
Vor ’tis the common that do do me good,
The run for my vew geese, or vor my cow.
THOMAS.
Ees, that’s the job; why ’tis a handy thing
To have a bit o’ common, I do know,
To put a little cow upon in Spring,
The while woone’s bit ov orcha’d grass do grow.
JOHN.
Aye, that’s the thing, you zee. Now I do mow
My bit o’ grass, an’ meäke a little rick;
An’ in the zummer, while do grow,
My cow do run in common vor to pick
A bleäde or two o’ grass, if she can vind em,
Vor tother cattle don’t leäve much behind em.
Zoo in the evenèn, we do put a lock
O’ nice fresh grass avore the wicket;
An’ she do come at vive or zix o’clock,
As constant as the zun, to pick it.
An’ then, bezides the cow, why we do let
Our geese run out among the emmet hills;
An’ then when we do pluck em, we do get
Vor zeäle zome veathers an’ zome quills;
An’ in the winter we do fat em well,
An’ car em to the market vor to zell
To gentlevo’ks, vor we don’t oft avvword
To put a goose a-top ov ouer bwoard;
But we do get our feäst,—vor we be eäble
To clap the giblets up a-top o’ teäble.
THOMAS.
An’ I don’t know o’ many better things,
Than geese’s heads and gizzards, lags an’ wings.
JOHN.
An’ then, when I ha’ nothèn else to do,
Why I can teäke my hook an’ gloves, an’ goo
To cut a lot o’ vuzz and briars
Vor hetèn ovens, or vor lightèn viers.
An’ when the childern be too young to eärn
A penny, they can g’out in zunny weather,
An’ run about, an’ get together
A bag o’ cow-dung vor to burn.
THOMAS.
’Tis handy to live near a common;
But I’ve a-zeed, an’ I’ve a-zaid,
That if a poor man got a bit o’ bread,
They’ll try to teäke it vrom en.
But I wer twold back tother day,
That they be got into a way
O’ lettèn bits o’ groun’ out to the poor.
JOHN.
Well, I do hope ’tis true, I’m sure;
An’ I do hope that they will do it here,
Or I must goo to workhouse, I do fear.
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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