The Poetry Corner

Hay-Meaken. Nunchen Time

By William Barnes

A. Back here, but now, the jobber John Come by, an' cried, "Well done, zing on, I thought as I come down the hill, An' herd your zongs a-ringn sh'ill, Who woudden like to come, an' fling A peir o' prongs where you did zing?" J. Aye, aye, he woudden vind it pla, To work all day a-mekn hay, Or pitchn o't, to erms a-spread By lwoaders, yards above his head, 'T'ud meke en wipe his drippn brow. A. Or else a-rekn a'ter plow. J. Or workn, wi' his nimble pick, A-stiffled wi' the hay, at rick. A. Our Company would suit en best, When we do teke our bit o' rest, At nunch, a-gather'd here below The shede these wide-bough'd woak do drow, Where hissn froth mid rise, an' float In horns o' ele, to wet his droat. J. Aye, if his swelln han' could drag A meat-slice vrom his dinner bag. 'T'ud meke the busy little chap Look rather glum, to zee his lap Wi' all his meal ov woone dry crowst, An' vinny cheese so dry as dowst. A. Well, I dont grumble at my food, 'Tis wholesome, John, an' zoo 'tis good. J. Whose reke is that a-lyn there? Do look a bit the woo'se vor wear. A. Oh! I mus' get the man to meke A tooth or two vor thik wold reke, 'Tis lebor lost to strike a stroke Wi' him, wi' ha'f his teeth a-broke. J. I should ha' thought your han' too fine To break your reke, if I broke mine. A. The ramsclaws thin'd his wooden gum O' two teeth here, an' here were zome That broke off when I rek'd a patch O' groun' wi' Jimmy, vor a match: An' here's a gap where woone or two Wer broke by Simon's clumsy shoe, An' when I gi'ed his poll a poke, Vor better luck, another broke. In what a veag have you a-swung Your pick, though, John? His stem's a-sprung. J. When I an' Simon had a het O' pookn, yonder, vor a bet, The prongs o'n gi'd a tump a poke, An' then I vound the stem o'n broke, But they do meke the stems o' picks O' stuff so brittle as a kicks. A. There's poor wold Jene, wi' wrinkled skin, A-telln, wi' her peakd chin, Zome tele ov her young days, poor soul. Do meke the young-woones smile. 'Tis droll. What is it? Stop, an' let's goo near. I do like these wold teles. Let's hear.