First Collection. Summer. The Veäiries
Eclogue
Simon an' Samel.
SIMON.
There’s what the vo’k do call a veäiry ring
Out there, lo’k zee. Why, ’tis an oddish thing.
SAMEL.
Ah! zoo do seem. I wunder how do come!
What is it that do meäke it, I do wonder?
SIMON.
Be hang’d if I can tell, I’m sure! But zome
Do zay do come by lightnèn when do thunder;
An’ zome do say sich rings as thik ring there is,
Do grow in dancèn-tracks o’ little veäiries,
That in the nights o’ zummer or o’ spring
Do come by moonlight, when noo other veet
Do tread the dewy grass, but their’s, an’ meet
An’ dance away together in a ring.
SAMEL.
An’ who d’ye think do work the fiddlestick?
A little veäiry too, or else wold Nick!
SIMON.
Why, they do zay, that at the veäiries’ ball,
There’s nar a fiddle that’s a-heär’d at all;
But they do plaÿ upon a little pipe
A-meäde o’ kexes or o’ straws, dead ripe,
A-stuck in row (zome short an’ longer zome)
Wi’ slime o’ snaïls, or bits o’ plum-tree gum,
An’ meäke sich music that to hear it sound,
You’d stick so still’s a pollard to the ground.
SAMEL.
What do em dance? ’Tis plaïn by theäse green wheels,
They don’t frisk in an’ out in dree-hand reels;
Vor else, instead o’ theäse here girt round O,
They’d cut us out a figure aïght (8), d’ye know.
SIMON.
Oh! they ha’ jigs to fit their little veet.
They woulden dance, you know, at their fine ball,
The dree an’ vow’r han’ reels that we do sprawl
An’ kick about in, when we men do meet.
SAMEL.
An’ zoo have zome vo’k, in their midnight rambles,
A-catch’d the veäiries, then, in theäsem gambols.
SIMON.
Why, yes; but they be off lik’ any shot,
So soon’s a man’s a-comèn near the spot.
SAMEL.
But in the day-time where do veäiries hide?
Where be their hwomes, then? where do veäiries bide
SIMON.
Oh! they do get awaÿ down under ground,
In hollow pleäzen where they can’t be vound.
But still my gramfer, many years agoo,
(He liv’d at Grenley-farm, an milk’d a deäiry),
If what the wolder vo’k do tell is true,
Woone mornèn eärly vound a veäiry.
SAMEL.
An’ did he stop, then, wi’ the good wold bwoy?
Or did he soon contrive to slip awoy?
SIMON.
Why, when the vo’k were all asleep, a-bed,
The veäiries us’d to come, as ’tis a-zaid,
Avore the vire wer cwold, an’ dance an hour
Or two at dead o’ night upon the vloor;
Var they, by only utterèn a word
Or charm, can come down chimney lik’ a bird;
Or draw their bodies out so long an’ narrow,
That they can vlee drough keyholes lik’ an arrow.
An’ zoo woone midnight, when the moon did drow
His light drough window, roun’ the vloor below,
An’ crickets roun’ the bricken he’th did zing,
They come an’ danced about the hall in ring;
An’ tapp’d, drough little holes noo eyes could spy,
A kag o’ poor aunt’s meäd a-stannèn by.
An’ woone o’m drink’d so much, he coulden mind
The word he wer to zay to meäke en small;
He got a-dather’d zoo, that after all
Out tothers went an’ left en back behind.
An’ after he’d a-beät about his head,
Ageän the keyhole till he wer half dead,
He laid down all along upon the vloor
Till gramfer, comen down, unlocked the door:
An’ then he zeed en (’twer enough to frighten èn)
Bolt out o’ door, an’ down the road lik’ lightenèn.
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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