Harvest Hwome

written by


« Reload image

_The vu'st peärt. The Supper._


  Since we wer striplèns naïghbour John,
  The good wold merry times be gone:
  But we do like to think upon
  What we've a-zeed an' done.
  When I wer up a hardish lad,
  At harvest hwome the work-vo'k had
  Sich suppers, they wer jumpèn mad
  Wi' feästèn an' wi' fun.

  At uncle's, I do mind, woone year,
  I zeed a vill o' hearty cheer;
  Fat beef an' puddèn, eäle an' beer,
  Vor ev'ry workman's crop
  An' after they'd a-gie'd God thanks,
  They all zot down, in two long ranks,
  Along a teäble-bwoard o' planks,
  Wi' uncle at the top.

  An' there, in platters, big and brown,
  Wer red fat beäcon, an' a roun'
  O' beef wi' gravy that would drown
  A little rwoastèn pig;
  Wi' beäns an' teäties vull a zack,
  An' cabbage that would meäke a stack,
  An' puddèns brown, a-speckled black
  Wi' figs, so big's my wig.

  An' uncle, wi' his elbows out,
  Did carve, an' meäke the gravy spout;
  An' aunt did gi'e the mugs about
  A-frothèn to the brim.
  Pleätes werden then ov e'then ware,
  They ate off pewter, that would bear
  A knock; or wooden trenchers, square,
  Wi' zalt-holes at the rim.

  An' zoo they munch'd their hearty cheer,
  An' dipp'd their beards in frothy-beer,
  An' laugh'd, an' jok'd--they couldden hear
  What woone another zaid.
  An' all o'm drink'd, wi' woone accword,
  The wold vo'k's health: an' beät the bwoard,
  An' swung their eärms about, an' roar'd,
  Enough to crack woone's head.


HARVEST HWOME.

_Second Peärt. What they did after Supper._


  Zoo after supper wer a-done,
  They clear'd the teäbles, an' begun
  To have a little bit o' fun,
  As long as they mid stop.
  The wold woones took their pipes to smoke,
  An' tell their teäles, an' laugh an' joke,
  A-lookèn at the younger vo'k,
  That got up vor a hop.

  Woone screäp'd away, wi' merry grin,
  A fiddle stuck below his chin;
  An' woone o'm took the rollèn pin,
  An' beät the fryèn pan.
  An' tothers, dancèn to the soun',
  Went in an' out, an' droo an' roun',
  An' kick'd, an' beät the tuèn down,
  A-laughèn, maïd an' man.

  An' then a maïd, all up tip-tooe,
  Vell down; an' woone o'm wi' his shoe
  Slit down her pocket-hole in two,
  Vrom top a-most to bottom.
  An' when they had a-danc'd enough,
  They got a-plaÿèn blindman's buff,
  An' sard the maïdens pretty rough,
  When woonce they had a-got em.

  An' zome did drink, an' laugh, an' roar,
  An' lots o' teäles they had in store,
  O' things that happen'd years avore
  To them, or vo'k they know'd.
  An' zome did joke, an' zome did zing,
  An' meäke the girt wold kitchen ring;
  Till uncle's cock, wi' flappèn wing,
  Stratch'd out his neck an' crow'd.

© William Barnes