Classic Poem

HUSBAND AND WIFE

HUSBAND

Why, 'tis nice on the hill, at the time o' the year
When the zummer is in, an' the weather is clear;
When the flow'rs at our veet be a-blossomen gaÿè,
An' the vields down below us be grey wi' the haÿè.
Hallo! Why 'tis steep. You do pank. Will ye stop?
An' look down around,
A-zot on the ground,
Where thyme is a-spread
In a bed, on the mound.

Look a-yonder, how glitt'ren do swaÿè the tree tops,
A-glowen wi' zunlight a-shot down the copse,
Where greygles, in Maÿè, be a sheet o' peäle blue,
In sheäde vrom the het, vrom the wind in the lew.
You'll be cwold in the shoulders, then put on your shawl.

WIFE

There the Trumans do float
Down their stream in their bwoat,
An' Willy do snatch,
An' do catch at a clote.

HUSBAND

Out there be the hawthorns, but just out o' blooth,
Zome here, an' zome there, wi' mwore shadow than lewth.
The wold ones, like fathers, now ready to vall;
Zome younger, like childern, vrom bigger to small;
An' zome be so prim as a man in his prime;
An' zome wi' their shroud
To eastward a-bow'd,
By west winds a-zetten
So wet, wi' their cloud.

WIFE

Well now, here we be, on the uppermost ground,
Where the thyme-bedded knaps be a-zwellen so round.
But what pleäce is this, where the banks do lie low,
An' the big mossy vlints be a-laid in a row?

HUSBAND

Why 'twer here, by the teäle that poor father did tell,
That a beacon did stand,
Vor to light wi' a brand,
To call men to blows,
If their foes wer to land.

There's a cloud over Blackmwore, about ov our height,
Wi' his sheädow a-zweepen the ground in his flight,
An' a-climen the tow'r, an' a-sheäden the boughs,
An' a-leäpen the stream, an' a-dark'nen the cows.
'Tis now on the rook'ry, an' now on the ricks,
An' there it do catch
Up our own little hatch,
An' sheäde vrom the zun
The red tun on our thatch.

WIFE

There's a man on a hoss, an' a-spurren o'n on.
Is zomebody ill then? or where's he a-gone?
There's a maid by the gil'cups out there, an 'tis who?
Jeäne Hine, I do know, by her skirt o' peäle blue;
An' now she's a-slippen along by the slope,
An' now do look round,
In a fright, at the sound
O' the bull that's a-bleären
An' teären the ground.