The level ground in nimble reels.
An’ zome ageän, a-zet in line,
An’ startèn at a given sign,
Wi’ outreach’d breast, a-breathèn quick
Droo op’nèn lips, did nearly kick
Their polls, a-runnèn sich a peäce,
Wi’ streamèn heäir, to win the reäce.
An’ in the house, an’ on the green,
An’ in the shrubb’ry’s leafy screen,
On ev’ry zide we met sich lots
O’ smilèn friends in happy knots,
That I do think, that drough the feäst
In Caundle, vor a day at leäst,
You woudden vind a scowlèn feäce
Or dumpy heart in all the pleäce.
HAY MEAKEN—NUNCHEN TIME.
Anne an’ John a-ta’kèn o’t.
A. Back here, but now, the jobber John
Come by, an’ cried, “Well done, zing on,
I thought as I come down the hill,
An’ heärd your zongs a-ringèn sh’ill,
Who woudden like to come, an’ fling
A peäir o’ prongs where you did zing?”
J. Aye, aye, he woudden vind it plaÿ.
To work all day a-meakèn haÿ,
Or pitchèn o’t, to eärms a-spread
By lwoaders, yards above his head,
’T’ud meäke en wipe his drippèn brow.
A. Or else a-reäken after plow.
J. Or workèn, wi’ his nimble pick,
A-stiffled wi’ the haÿ, at rick.
