“You be?” another cried;
“Hee! Hee!” woone mwore replied.
“Aye, shrunk so thin, to bwone an’ skin,”
Cried worthy Bloom the miller.
A LOT O’ MAÏDENS A-RUNNÈN THE VIELDS.[1]
“Come on. Be sprack, a-laggèn back.”
“Oh! be there any cows to hook?”
“Lauk she’s afraïd, a silly maïd,”
Cows? No, the cows be down by brook.
“O here then, oh! here is a lot.”
“A lot o’ what? what is it? what?”
“Why blackberries, as thick
As ever they can stick.”
“I’ve dewberries, oh! twice
As good as they; so nice.”
“Look here. Theäse boughs be all but blue
Wi’ snags.”
“Oh! gi’e me down a vew.”
“Come here, oh! do but look.”
“What’s that? what is it now?”
“Why nuts a-slippèn shell.”
“Hee ! hee ! pull down the bough.”
“I wish I had a crook.”
“There zome o’m be a-vell.”
(One sings)
“I wish I was on Bimport Hill
I would zit down and cry my vill.”
“Hee! hee! there’s Jenny zomewhere nigh,
- ↑ The idea, though but little of the substance, of this poem, will be found in a little Italian poem called Caccia, written by Franco Sacchetti.
