Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Woodcom' Feäst
WOODCOM’ FEAST.
Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
’Tis Woodcom’ feäst, good now! to-night.
Come! think noo mwore, you silly maïd,
O’ chickèn drown’d, or ducks a-straÿ’d;
Nor mwope to vind thy new frock’s taïl
A-tore by hitchèn in a naïl;
Nor grieve an’ hang thy head azide,
A-thinkèn o’ thy lam’ that died.
The flag’s a-vleèn wide an’ high.
An’ ringèn bells do sheäke the sky;
The fifes do plaÿ, the horns do roar,
An’ boughs be up at ev’ry door:
They’ll be a-dancèn soon,—the drum
’S a-rumblèn now. Come, Fanny, come!
Why father’s gone, an’ mother too.
They went up leäne an hour agoo;
An’ at the green the young and wold
Do stan’ so thick as sheep in vwold:
The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,—
Come out you mwopèn wench, come out,
An’ go wi’ me, an’ show at leäst
Bright eyes an’ smiles at Woodcom’ feäst.
Come, let’s goo out, an’ fling our heels
About in jigs an’ vow’r-han’ reels;
While äll the stiff-lagg’d wolder vo’k,
A-zittèn roun’, do talk an’ joke
An’ smile to zee their own wold rigs.
A-show’d by our wild geämes an’ jigs.
Vor ever since the vwold church speer
Vu’st prick’d the clouds, vrom year to year,
When grass in meäd did reach woone’s knees,
An’ blooth did kern in apple-trees,
Zome merry day ’v’ a-broke to sheen
Above the dance at Woodcom’ green,
An’ all o’ they that now do lie
So low all roun’ the speer so high,
Woonce, vrom the biggest to the leäst,
Had merry hearts at Woodcom’ feäst.
Zoo keep it up, an’ gi’e it on
To other vo’k when we be gone.
Come out; vor when the zettèn zun
Do leäve in sheäde our harmless fun,
The moon a-risèn in the east
Do gi’e us light at Woodcom’ feäst.
Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
’Tis merry Woodcom’ feäst to night:
There’s nothèn vor to mwope about,—
Come out, you leäzy jeäde, come out!
An’ thou wult be, to woone at leäst,
The prettiest maïd at Woodcom’ feäst.