Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Meäken up a Miff
MEAKEN UP A MIFF.
Vorgi’e me, Jenny, do! an’ rise
Thy hangèn head an’ teary eyes,
An’ speak, vor I’ve a-took in lies,
An’ I’ve a-done thee wrong;
But I wer twold,—an’ thought ’twer true,—
That Sammy down at Coome an’ you
Wer at the feäir, a-walkèn drough
The pleäce the whole day long.
An’ tender thoughts did melt my heart,
An’ zwells o’ viry pride did dart
Lik’ lightnèn drough my blood; a-peärt
Ov your love I should scorn,
An’ zoo I vow’d, however sweet
Your looks mid be when we did meet,
I’d trample ye down under veet,
Or let ye goo forlorn.
But still thy neäme would always be
The sweetest, an’ my eyes would zee
Among all maïdens nwone lik’ thee
Vor ever any mwore;
Zoo by the walks that we’ve a-took
By flow’ry hedge an’ zedgy brook,
Dear Jenny, dry your eyes, an’ look
As you’ve a-look’d avore.
Look up, an’ let the evenèn light
But sparkle in thy eyes so bright,
As they be open to the light
O’ zunzet in the west;
An’ let’s stroll here vor half an hour,
Where hangèn boughs do meäke a bow’r
Above theäse bank, wi’ eltrot flow’r
An’ robinhoods a-drest.