First Collection. Winter. Zittèn out the Wold Year
Why, raïn or sheen, or blow or snow, I zaid, if I could stand so’s, I’d come, vor all a friend or foe, To sheäke ye by the hand, so’s; An’ spend, wi’ kinsvo’k near an’ dear, A happy evenèn, woonce a year, A-zot wi’ me’th Avore the he’th To zee the new year in, so’s. There’s Jim an’ Tom, a-grown the size O’ men, girt lusty chaps, so’s, An’ Fanny wi’ her sloo-black eyes, Her mother’s very dap’s, so’s; An’ little Bill, so brown’s a nut, An’ Poll a gigglèn little slut. I hope will shoot Another voot The year that’s comèn in, so’s. An’ there, upon his mother’s knee, So peärt do look about, so’s, The little woone ov all, to zee His vu’st wold year goo out, so’s An’ zoo mid God bless all o’s still, Gwaïn up or down along the hill, To meet in glee Ageän to zee A happy new year in, so’s. The wold clock’s han’ do softly steal Up roun’ the year’s last hour, so’s; Zoo let the han’-bells ring a peal, Lik’ them a-hung in tow’r, so’s. Here, here be two vor Tom, an’ two Vor Fanny, an’ a peäir vor you; We’ll meäke em swing, An’ meäke em ring, The merry new year in, so’s. Tom, mind your time there; you be wrong. Come, let your bells all sound, so’s: A little clwoser, Poll; ding, dong! There, now ’tis right all round, so’s. The clock’s a-strikèn twelve, d’ye hear? Ting, ting, ding, dong! Farewell, wold year! ’Tis gone, ’tis gone!— Goo on, goo on, An’ ring the new woone in, so’s!
William Barnes’s other poems:
- Third Collection. Comen Hwome
- Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
- Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
- Third Collection. Things do Come Round
- Third Collection. I’m out o’ Door
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