Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Winter. Fanny’s Be’th-day

How merry, wi’ the cider cup,
We kept poor Fanny’s be’th-day up!
An’ how our busy tongues did run
An’ hands did wag, a-meäkèn fun!
What plaÿsome anticks zome ō’s done!
 An’ how, a-reelèn roun’ an’ roun’,
 We beät the merry tuèn down,
  While music wer a-soundèn!

The maïdens’ eyes o’ black an’ blue
Did glisten lik’ the mornèn dew;
An’ while the cider-mug did stand
A-hissèn by the bleäzèn brand,
An’ uncle’s pipe wer in his hand,
 How little he or we did think
 How peäle the zettèn stars did blink
  While music wer a-soundèn.

An’ Fanny’s last young teen begun,
Poor maïd, wi’ thik day’s risèn zun,
An’ we all wish’d her many mwore
Long years wi’ happiness in store;
An’ as she went an’ stood avore
 The vier, by her father’s zide,
 Her mother dropp’d a tear o’ pride
  While music wer a-soundèn.

An’ then we did all kinds o’ tricks
Wi’ han’kerchiefs, an’ strings, an’ sticks:
An’ woone did try to overmatch
Another wi’ zome cunnèn catch,
While tothers slyly tried to hatch
 Zome geäme; but yet, by chap an’ maïd,
 The dancèn wer the mwost injaÿ’d,
  While music wer a-soundèn.

The briskest chap ov all the lot
Wer Tom, that danc’d hizzelf so hot,
He doff’d his cwoat an’ jump’d about,
Wi’ girt new shirt-sleeves all a-strout,
Among the maïdens screamèn out,
 A-thinkèn, wi’ his strides an’ stamps,
 He’d squot their veet wi’ his girt clamps,
  While music wer a-soundèn.

Then up jump’d uncle vrom his chair,
An’ pull’d out aunt to meäke a peäir;
An’ off he zet upon his tooe.
So light’s the best that beät a shoe,
Wi’ aunt a-crièn “Let me goo:”
 While all ov us did laugh so loud,
 We drown’d the tuèn o’ the croud,
  While music wer a-soundèn.

A-comèn out o’ passage, Nan,
Wi’ pipes an’ cider in her han’,
An’ watchèn uncle up so sprack,
Vorgot her veet, an’ vell down smack
Athirt the house-dog’s shaggy back,
 That wer in passage vor a snooze,
 Beyond the reach o’ dancers’ shoes,
  While music wer a-soundèn.

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