Third Collection. Not goo Hwome To-night
No, no, why you’ve noo wife at hwome Abidèn up till you do come, Zoo leäve your hat upon the pin, Vor I’m your waïter. Here’s your inn, Wi’ chair to rest, an’ bed to roost; You have but little work to do This vrosty time at hwome in mill, Your vrozen wheel’s a-stannèn still, The sleepèn ice woont grind vor you. No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill. As I come by, to-day, where stood Wi’ neäked trees, the purple wood, The scarlet hunter’s ho’ses veet Tore up the sheäkèn ground, wind-fleet, Wi’ reachèn heads, an’ pankèn hides; The while the flat-wing’d rooks in vlock, Did zwim a-sheenèn at their height; But your good river, since last night, War all a-vroze so still’s a rock. No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill. Zee how the hufflèn win’ do blow, A-whirlèn down the giddy snow: Zee how the sky’s a-weärèn dim, Behind the elem’s neäked lim’, That there do leän above the leane; Zoo teäke your pleäce bezide the dogs, An’ sip a drop o’ hwome-brew’d eäle, An’ zing your zong or tell your teäle, While I do baït the vier wi’ logs. No, no, you woout goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill. Your meäre’s in steäble wi’ her hocks In straw above her vetterlocks, A-reachèn up her meäney neck, An’ pullèn down good haÿ vrom reck, A-meäkfen slight o’ snow an’ sleet; She don’t want you upon her back, To vall upon the slippery stwones On Hollyhill, an’ break your bwones, Or miss, in snow, her hidden track. No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill. Here, Jenny, come pull out your key An’ hansel, wi’ zome tidy tea, The zilver pot that we do owe To your prize butter at the show, An’ put zome bread upon the bwoard. Ah! he do smile; now that ’ull do, He’ll staÿ. Here, Polly, bring a light, We’ll have a happy hour to-night, I’m thankvul we be in the lew. No, no, he woont goo hwome to-night, Not Robin White, o’ Craglin mill.
William Barnes’s other poems:
