Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Summer. Polly be-èn upzides wi’ Tom

Ah! yesterday, d’ye know, I voun’
Tom Dumpy’s cwoat an’ smock-frock, down
Below the pollard out in groun’;
  An’ zoo I slyly stole
An’ took the smock-frock up, an’ tack’d
The sleeves an’ collar up, an’ pack’d
Zome nice sharp stwones, all fresh a-crack’d
  ’Ithin each pocket-hole.

An’ in the evenèn, when he shut
Off work, an’ come an’ donn’d his cwoat,
Their edges gi’ed en sich a cut,
  How we did stan’ an’ laugh!
An’ when the smock-frock I’d a-zow’d
Kept back his head an’ hands, he drow’d
Hizzelf about, an’ teäv’d, an’ blow’d,
  Lik’ any up-tied calf.

Then in a veag away he flung
His frock, an’ after me he sprung,
An’ mutter’d out sich dreats, an’ wrung
  His vist up sich a size!
But I, a-runnèn, turn’d an’ drow’d
Some doust, a-pick’d up vrom the road,
Back at en wi’ the wind, that blow’d
  It right into his eyes.

An’ he did blink, an’ vow he’d catch
Me zomehow yet, an’ be my match.
But I wer nearly down to hatch
  Avore he got vur on;
An’ up in chammer, nearly dead
Wi’ runnèn, lik’ a cat I vled,
An’ out o’ window put my head
  To zee if he wer gone.

An’ there he wer, a-prowlèn roun’
Upon the green; an’ I look’d down
An’ told en that I hoped he voun’
  He mussen think to peck
Upon a body zoo, nor whip
The meäre to drow me off, nor tip
Me out o’ cart ageän, nor slip
  Cut hoss-heäir down my neck.

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