Classic Poem

A VORE we went a-milken, vive
Or six o's here wer all alive
A-teäken bees that zwarm'd vrom hive;
An' we'd sich work to catch
The hummen rogues, they led us sich
A dance all over hedge an' ditch;
An' then at last where should they pitch,
But up in uncle's thatch?

Dick rung a sheep-bell in his han',
Liz beät a cannister, an' Nan
Did bang the little fryen-pan
Wi' thick an' thumpen blows;
An' Tom went on, a-carren roun'
A bee-pot up upon his crown,
Wi' all his edge a-reachen down
Avore his eyes an' nose.

An' woone girt bee, wi' spitevul hum,
Stung Dicky's lip, an' meäde it come
All up amost so big's a plum;
An' zome, a-vleen on,
Got all roun' Liz, an' meäde her hop
An' scream, a-twirlen lik' a top,
An' spring away right backward, flop
Down into barken pon':

An' Nan' gi'ed Tom a roguish twitch
Upon a bank, an' meäde en pitch
Right down, head-voremost, into ditch, —
Tom coulden zee a wink.
An' when the zwarm wer seäfe an' sound
In mother's bit o' bee-pot ground,
She meäde us up a treat all round
O' sillibub to drink.