First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Farmer’s Woldest Dā’ter
No, no! I ben’t a-runnèn down The pretty maïden’s o’ the town, Nor wishèn o’m noo harm; But she that I would marry vu’st, To sheäre my good luck or my crust, ’S a-bred up at a farm. In town, a maïd do zee mwore life, An’ I don’t under-reäte her; But ten to woone the sprackest wife ’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter. Vor she do veed, wi’ tender ceäre, The little woones, an’ peärt their heäir, An’ keep em neat an’ pirty; An’ keep the saucy little chaps O’ bwoys in trim wi’ dreats an’ slaps, When they be wild an’ dirty. Zoo if you’d have a bus’lèn wife, An’ childern well look’d after, The maïd to help ye all drough life ’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter. An’ she can iorn up an’ vwold A book o’ clothes wi’ young or wold, An’ zalt an’ roll the butter; An’ meäke brown bread, an’ elder wine, An’ zalt down meat in pans o’ brine, An’ do what you can put her. Zoo if you’ve wherewi’, an’ would vind A wife wo’th lookèn ā’ter, Goo an’ get a farmer in the mind To gi’e ye his woldest dā’ter. Her heart’s so innocent an’ kind, She idden thoughtless, but do mind Her mother an’ her duty; An’ livèn blushes, that do spread Upon her healthy feäce o’ red, Do heighten all her beauty; So quick’s a bird, so neat’s a cat, So cheerful in her neätur, The best o’ maïdens to come at ’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter.
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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