Poem by William Barnes

First Collection. Summer. Bees a-Zwarmèn

Avore we went a-milkèn, vive
Or six o’s here wer all alive
A-teäkèn bees that zwarm’d vrom hive;
 An’ we’d sich work to catch
The hummèn rogues, they led us sich
A dance all over hedge an’ ditch;
An’ then at last where should they pitch,
 But up in uncle’s thatch?

Dick rung a sheep-bell in his han’.
Liz beät a cannister, an’ Nan
Did bang the little fryèn-pan
 Wi’ thick an’ thumpèn blows;
An’ Tom went on, a-carrèn roun’
A bee-pot up upon his crown,
Wi’ all his edge a-reachèn down
 Avore his eyes an’ nose.

An’ woone girt bee, wi’ spitevul hum,
Stung Dicky’s lip, an’ meäde it come
All up amost so big’s a plum;
 An’ zome, a-vleèn on,
Got all roun’ Liz, an’ meäde her hop
An’ scream, a-twirlèn lik’ a top,
An’ spring away right backward, flop
 Down into barken pon’:

An’ Nan’ gi’ed Tom a roguish twitch
Upon a bank, an’ meäde en pitch
Right down, head-voremost, into ditch,—
 Tom coulden zee a wink.
An’ when the zwarm wer seäfe an’ sound
In mother’s bit o’ bee-pot ground,
She meäde us up a treat all round
 O’ sillibub to drink.

1. First Collection. Summer. Week’s End in Zummer, in the Wold Vo’k’s Time
2. Second Collection. The Linden on the Lawn
3. Second Collection. When Birds be Still
4. Third Collection. Went vrom Hwome
5. Third Collection. Shaftesbury Feäir

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