Second Collection. Fatherhood
Let en zit, wi’ his dog an’ his cat, Wi’ their noses a-turn’d to the vier, An’ have all that a man should desire; But there idden much reädship in that. Whether vo’k mid have childern or no, Wou’dden meäke mighty odds in the maïn; They do bring us mwore jaÿ wi’ mwore ho, An’ wi’ nwone we’ve less jaÿ wi’ less païn. We be all lik’ a zull’s idle sheäre out, An’ shall rust out, unless we do wear out, Lik’ do-nothèn, rue-nothèn, Dead alive dumps. As vor me, why my life idden bound To my own heart alwone, among men; I do live in myzelf, an’ ageän In the lives o’ my childern all round: I do live wi’ my bwoy in his plaÿ, An’ ageän wi’ my maïd in her zongs; An’ my heart is a-stirr’d wi’ their jaÿ, An’ would burn at the zight o’ their wrongs. I ha’ nine lives, an’ zoo if a half O’m do cry, why the rest o’m mid laugh All so plaÿvully, jaÿvully, Happy wi’ hope. Tother night I come hwome a long road, When the weather did sting an’ did vreeze; An’ the snow—vor the day had a-snow’d— Wer avroze on the boughs o’ the trees; An’ my tooes an’ my vingers wer num’, An’ my veet wer so lumpy as logs, An’ my ears wer so red’s a cock’s cwom’; An’ my nose wer so cwold as a dog’s; But so soon’s I got hwome I vorgot Where my limbs wer a-cwold or wer hot, When wi’ loud cries an’ proud cries They coll’d me so cwold. Vor the vu’st that I happen’d to meet Come to pull my girtcwoat vrom my eärm, An’ another did rub my feäce warm, An’ another hot-slipper’d my veet; While their mother did cast on a stick, Vor to keep the red vier alive; An’ they all come so busy an’ thick As the bees vlee-èn into their hive, An’ they meäde me so happy an’ proud, That my heart could ha’ crow’d out a-loud; They did tweil zoo, an’ smile zoo, An’ coll me so cwold. As I zot wi’ my teacup, at rest, There I pull’d out the taÿs I did bring; Men a-kickèn, a-wagg’d wi’ a string, An’ goggle-ey’d dolls to be drest; An’ oh! vrom the childern there sprung Such a charm when they handled their taÿs, That vor pleasure the bigger woones wrung Their two hands at the zight o’ their jaÿs; As the bwoys’ bigger vaïces vell in Wi’ the maïdens a-titterèn thin, An’ their dancèn an’ prancèn, An’ little mouth’s laughs. Though ’tis hard stripes to breed em all up, If I’m only a-blest vrom above, They’ll meäke me amends wi’ their love, Vor their pillow, their pleäte, an’ their cup; Though I shall be never a-spweil’d Wi’ the sarvice that money can buy; Still the hands ov a wife an’ a child Be the blessèns ov low or ov high; An’ if there be mouths to be ved, He that zent em can zend me their bread, An’ will smile on the chile That’s a-new on the knee.
William Barnes’s other poems:
