Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

Second Collection. Wold Friends a-met

Aye, vull my heart’s blood now do roll,
An’ gaÿ do rise my happy soul,
An’ well they mid, vor here our veet
Avore woone vier ageän do meet;
Vor you’ve avoun’ my feäce, to greet
Wi’ welcome words my startlèn ear.
An’ who be you, but John o’ Weer,
An’ I, but William Wellburn.

Here, light a candle up, to shed
Mwore light upon a wold friend’s head,
An’ show the smile, his feäce woonce mwore
Ha’ brought us vrom another shore.
An’ I’ll heave on a brand avore
The vier back, to meäke good cheer,
O’ roarèn fleämes, vor John o’ Weer
To chat wi’ William Wellburn.

Aye, aye, it mid be true that zome,
When they do wander out vrom hwome,
Do leäve their nearest friends behind,
Bwoth out o’ zight, an’ out o’ mind;
But John an’ I ha’ ties to bind
Our souls together, vur or near,
For, who is he but John o’ Weer,
An’ I, but William Wellburn.

Look, there he is, with twinklèn eyes,
An’ elbows down upon his thighs,
A-chucklèn low, wi’ merry grin.
Though time ha’ roughen’d up his chin,
’Tis still the seäme true soul ’ithin,
As woonce I know’d, when year by year,
Thik very chap, thik John o’ Weer,
Did plaÿ wi’ William Wellburn.

Come, John, come; don’t be dead-alive
Here, reach us out your clust’r o’ vive.
Oh! you be happy. Ees, but that
Woon’t do till you can laugh an’ chat.
Don’t blinky, lik’ a purrèn cat,
But leäp an’ laugh, an’ let vo’k hear
What’s happen’d, min, that John o’ Weer
Ha’ met wi’ William Wellburn.

Vor zome, wi’ selfishness too strong
Vor love, do do each other wrong;
An’ zome do wrangle an’ divide
In hets ov anger, bred o’ pride;
But who do think that time or tide
Can breed ill-will in friends so dear,
As William wer to John o’ Weer,
An’ John to William Wellburn?

If other vo’ks do gleen to zee
How lovèn an’ how glad we be,
What, then, poor souls, they had but vew
Sich happy days, so long agoo,
As they that I’ve a-spent wi’ you;
But they’d hold woone another dear,
If woone o’ them wer John o’ Weer,
An’ tother William Wellburn.

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