Hay-Carren
By William Barnes
'Tis merry ov a zummer's day,
When vo'k be out a-hauln hay,
Where boughs, a-spread upon the ground,
Do meke the staddle big an' round;
An' grass do stand in pook, or lie
In long-backed weles or parsels, dry.
There I do vind it stir my heart
To hear the frothn hosses snort,
A-hauln on, wi' sleek heir'd hides,
The red-wheel'd waggon's deep-blue zides.
Aye; let me have woone cup o' drink,
An' hear the linky harness clink,
An' then my blood do run so warm,
An' put sich strangth 'ithin my erm,
That I do long to toss a pick,
A-pitchn or a-mekn rick.
The bwoy is at the hosse's head,
An' up upon the waggon bed
The lwoaders, strong o' erm do stan',
At head, an' back at tal, a man,
Wi' skill to build the lwoad upright
An' bind the vwolded corners tight;
An' at each zide o'm, sprack an' strong,
A pitcher wi' his long-stem'd prong,
Avore the best two women now
A-call'd to reky after plough.
When I do pitchy, 'tis my pride
Vor Jenny Hine to reke my zide,
An' zee her fling her reke, an' reach
So vur, an' teke in sich a streech;
An' I don't shatter hay, an' meke
Mwore work than needs vor Jenny's reke.
I'd sooner zee the weles' high rows
Lik' hedges up above my nose,
Than have light work myzelf, an' vind
Poor Jene a-bet an' left behind;
Vor she would sooner drop down dead,
Than let the pitchers get a-head.
'Tis merry at the rick to zee
How picks do wag, an' hay do vlee.
While woone's unlwoadn, woone do teke
The pitches in; an' zome do meke
The lofty rick upright an' roun',
An' tread en hard, an' reke en down,
An' tip en, when the zun do zet,
To shoot a sudden vall o' wet.
An' zoo 'tis merry any day
Where vo'k be out a-carrn hay.