English Poetry. William Barnes. First Collection. Winter. What Dick an’ I did. Уильям Барнс.

William Barnes (Уильям Барнс)

First Collection. Winter. What Dick an’ I did

Last week the Browns ax’d nearly all
 The naïghbours to a randy,
An’ left us out o’t, girt an’ small,
 Vor all we liv’d so handy;
An’ zoo I zaid to Dick, “We’ll trudge,
 When they be in their fun, min;
An’ car up zome’hat to the rudge,
 An’ jis’ stop up the tun, min.”

Zoo, wi’ the ladder vrom the rick,
 We stole towards the house,
An’ crope in roun’ behind en, lik’
 A cat upon a mouse.
Then, lookèn roun’, Dick whisper’d “How
 Is theäse job to be done, min:
Why we do want a faggot now,
 Vor stoppèn up the tun, min.”

“Stan’ still,” I answer’d; “I’ll teäke ceäre
 O’ that: why dussen zee
The little grindèn stwone out there,
 Below the apple-tree?
Put up the ladder; in a crack
 Shalt zee that I wull run, min,
An’ teäke en up upon my back,
 An’ soon stop up the tun, min.”

Zoo up I clomb upon the thatch,
 An’ clapp’d en on; an’ slided
Right down ageän, an’ run drough hatch,
 Behind the hedge, an’ hided.
The vier that wer clear avore,
 Begun to spweil their fun, min;
The smoke all roll’d toward the door,
 Vor I’d a-stopp’d the tun, min.

The maïdens cough’d or stopp’d their breath,
 The men did hauk an’ spet;
The wold vo’k bundled out from he’th
 Wi’ eyes a-runnèn wet.
“ ’T’ool choke us all,” the wold man cried,
 “Whatever’s to be done, min?
Why zome’hat is a-vell inside
 O’ chimney drough the tun, min.”

Then out they scamper’d all, vull run,
 An’ out cried Tom, “I think
The grindèn-stwone is up on tun,
 Vor I can zee the wink.
This is some kindness that the vo’k
 At Woodley have a-done, min;
I wish I had em here, I’d poke
 Their numskulls down the tun, min.”

Then off he zet, an’ come so quick
 ’S a lamplighter, an’ brote
The little ladder in vrom rick,
 To clear the chimney’s droat.
While I, a-chucklèn at the joke,
 A-slided down, to run, min,
To hidelock, had a-left the vo’k
 As bad as na’r a tun, min.

William Barnes’s other poems:

1. Third Collection. Comen Hwome
2. Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
3. Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
4. Third Collection. Things do Come Round
5. Third Collection. I’m out o’ Door

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