First Collection. Spring. A Bit o’ Sly Coortèn
Eclogue
John and Fanny.
JOHN.
Now, Fanny, ’tis too bad, you teazèn maïd!
How leäte you be a’ come! Where have ye staÿ’d?
How long you have a-meäde me waït about!
I thought you werden gwaïn to come ageän:
I had a mind to goo back hwome ageän.
This idden when you promis’d to come out.
FANNY.
Now ’tidden any good to meäke a row,
Upon my word, I cooden come till now.
Vor I’ve a-been kept in all day by mother,
At work about woone little job an’ t’other.
If you do want to goo, though, don’t ye staÿ
Vor me a minute longer, I do praÿ.
JOHN.
I thought you mid be out wi’ Jemmy Bleäke,
FANNY.
An’ why be out wi’ him, vor goodness’ seäke?
JOHN.
You walk’d o’ Zunday evenèn wi’n, d’ye know,
You went vrom church a-hitch’d up in his eärm.
FANNY.
Well, if I did, that werden any harm.
Lauk! that is zome’at to teäke notice o’.
JOHN.
He took ye roun’ the middle at the stile,
An’ kiss’d ye twice ’ithin the ha’f a mile.
FANNY.
Ees, at the stile, because I shoulden vall,
He took me hold to help me down, that’s all;
An’ I can’t zee what very mighty harm
He could ha’ done a-lendèn me his eärm.
An’ as vor kissèn o’ me, if he did,
I didden ax en to, nor zay he mid:
An’ if he kiss’d me dree times, or a dozen,
What harm wer it? Why idden he my cousin?
An’ I can’t zee, then, what there is amiss
In cousin Jem’s jist gi’èn me a kiss.
JOHN.
Well, he shan’t kiss ye, then; you shan’t be kiss’d
By his girt ugly chops, a lanky houn’!
If I do zee’n, I’ll jist wring up my vist
An’ knock en down.
I’ll squot his girt pug-nose, if I don’t miss en;
I’ll warn I’ll spweil his pretty lips vor kissèn!
FANNY.
Well, John, I’m sure I little thought to vind
That you had ever sich a jealous mind.
What then! I s’pose that I must be a dummy,
An’ mussen goo about nor wag my tongue
To any soul, if he’s a man, an’ young;
Or else you’ll work yourzelf up mad wi’ passion,
An’ talk away o’ gi’èn vo’k a drashèn,
An’ breakèn bwones, an’ beäten heads to pummy!
If you’ve a-got sich jealous ways about ye,
I’m sure I should be better off ’ithout ye.
JOHN.
Well, if girt Jemmy have a-won your heart,
We’d better break the coortship off, an’ peärt.
FANNY.
He won my heart! There, John, don’t talk sich stuff;
Don’t talk noo mwore, vor you’ve a-zaid enough.
If I’d a-lik’d another mwore than you,
I’m sure I shoulden come to meet ye zoo;
Vor I’ve a-twold to father many a storry,
An’ took o’ mother many a scwoldèn vor ye.
[weeping.]
But ’twull be over now, vor you shan’t zee me
Out wi’ ye noo mwore, to pick a quarrel wi’ me.
JOHN.
Well, Fanny, I woon’t zay noo mwore, my dear.
Let’s meäke it up. Come, wipe off thik there tear.
Let’s goo an’ zit o’ top o’ theäse here stile,
An’ rest, an’ look about a little while.
FANNY.
Now goo away, you crabbed jealous chap!
You shan’t kiss me,—you shan’t! I’ll gi’ ye a slap.
JOHN.
Then you look smilèn; don’t you pout an’ toss
Your head so much, an’ look so very cross.
FANNY.
Now, John! don’t squeeze me roun’ the middle zoo.
I woon’t stop here noo longer, if you do.
Why, John! be quiet, wull ye? Fie upon it!
Now zee how you’ve a-wrumpl’d up my bonnet!
Mother ’ill zee it after I’m at hwome.
An’ gi’e a guess directly how it come.
JOHN.
Then don’t you zay that I be jealous, Fanny.
FANNY.
I wull: vor you be jealous, Mister Jahnny.
There’s zomebody a-comèn down the groun’
Towards the stile. Who is it? Come, get down.
I must run hwome, upon my word then, now;
If I do staÿ, they’ll kick up sich a row.
Good night. I can’t staÿ now.
JOHN.
Then good night, Fanny!
Come out a-bit to-morrow evenèn, can ye?
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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