Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Bachelor
THE BACHELOR.
No! I don’t begrudge en his life,
Nor his goold, nor his housen, nor lands;
Teäke all o’t, an’ gi’e me my wife,
A wife’s be the cheapest ov hands.
Lie alwone! sigh alwone! die alwone!
Then be vorgot.
No! I be content wi’ my lot.
Ah! where be the vingers so feäir,
Vor to pat en so soft on the feäce,
To mend ev’ry stitch that do tear,
An’ keep ev’ry button in pleäce?
Crack a-tore! brack a-tore! back a-tore!
Buttons a-vled!
Vor want ov a wife wi’ her thread.
Ah! where is the sweet-perty head
That do nod till he’s gone out o’ zight?
An’ where be the two eärms a-spread,
To show en he’s welcome at night?
Dine alwone! pine alwone! whine alwone!
Oh! what a life!
I’ll have a friend in a wife.
An’ when vrom a meetèn o’ me’th
Each husban’ do leäd hwome his bride,
Then he do slink hwome to his he’th,
Wi’ his eärm a-hung down his cwold zide.
Slinkèn on! blinkèn on! thinkèn on!
Gloomy an’ glum;
Nothèn but dullness to come.
An’ when he do onlock his door,
Do rumble as hollow’s a drum,
An’ the veäries a-hid roun’ the vloor,
Do grin vor to see en so glum.
Keep alwone! sleep alwone! weep alwone!
There let en bide,
I’ll have a wife at my zide.
But when he’s a-laid on his bed
In a zickness, O, what wull he do!
Vor the hands that would lift up his head,
An’ sheäke up his pillor anew.
Ills to come! pills to come! bills to come!
Noo soul to sheäre
The trials the poor wratch must bear.