Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Carter
THE CARTER.
O, I be a carter, wi’ my whip
A-smackèn loud, as by my zide,
Up over hill, an’ down the dip,
The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.
An’ I do haul in all the crops,
An’ I do bring in vuzz vrom down;
An’ I do goo vor wood to copse.
An’ car the corn an’ straw to town.
An’ I do goo vor lime, an’ bring
Hwome cider wi’ my sleek-heäir’d team,
An’ smack my limber whip an’ zing,
While all their bells do gaïly cheeme.
An’ I do always know the pleäce
To gi’e the hosses breath, or drug;
An’ ev’ry hoss do know my feäce,
An’ mind my ’mether ho! an’ whug!
An’ merry haÿ-meäkers do ride
Vrom vield in zummer wi’ their prongs,
In my blue waggon, zide by zide
Upon the reäves, a-zingèn zongs.
An’ when the vrost do catch the stream,
An’ oves wi’ icicles be hung,
My pantèn hosses’ breath do steam
In white-grass’d vields, a-haulèn dung.
An’ mine’s the waggon fit vor lwoads,
An’ mine be lwoads to cut a rout;
An’ mine’s a team, in routy rwoads,
To pull a lwoaded waggon out.
A zull is nothèn when do come
Behind their lags; an’ they do teäke
A roller as they would a drum,
An’ harrow as they would a reäke.
O! I be a carter, wi’ my whip
A-smackèn loud, as by my zide,
Up over hill, an’ down the dip,
The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.