Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Hwomestead

If I had all the land my zight
 Can overlook vrom Chalwell hill,
Vrom Sherborn left to Blanvord right,
 Why I could be but happy still.
An’ I be happy wi’ my spot
O’ freehold ground an’ mossy cot,
An’ shoulden get a better lot
 If I had all my will.

My orcha’d’s wide, my trees be young;
 An’ they do bear such heavy crops,
Their boughs, lik’ onion-rwopes a-hung,
 Be all a-trigg’d to year, wi’ props.
I got some geärden groun’ to dig,
A parrock, an’ a cow an’ pig;
I got zome cider vor to swig,
 An’ eäle o’ malt an’ hops.

I’m landlord o’ my little farm,
 I’m king ’ithin my little pleäce;
I don’t break laws, an’ don’t do harm,
 An’ bent afeär’d o’ noo man’s feäce.
When I’m a-cover’d wi’ my thatch,
Noo man do deäre to lift my latch;
Where honest han’s do shut the hatch,
 There fear do leäve the pleäce.

My lofty elem trees do screen
 My brown-ruf’d house, an’ here below,
My geese do strut athirt the green,
 An’ hiss an’ flap their wings o’ snow;
As I do walk along a rank
Ov apple trees, or by a bank,
Or zit upon a bar or plank,
 To see how things do grow.

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