Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

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.

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