d,
Did froth, an' zwang vrom zide to zide,
A-gwain along the dousty road,
An' seem'd as if they would a-died.
An' wi' my collar all undone,
An' neck a-burnen wi' the zun,
I got, wi' work, an' doust, an' het,
So dry at last, I coulden spet,
A-haulen o' the corn.

At uncle's orcha'd, gwain along,
I begged some apples, vor to quench
My drith, o' Poll that wer among
The trees: but she, a saucy wench,
Toss'd over hedge some crabs vor fun.
I squail'd her, though, an' meaede her run;
An' zoo she gie'd me, vor a treat,
A lot o' stubberds vor to eat.
A-haulen o' the corn.

An' up at rick, Jeaene took the flagon,
An' gi'ed us out zome eaele; an' then
I carr'd her out upon the waggon,
Wi' bread an' cheese to gi'e the men.
An' there, vor fun, we dress'd her head
Wi' nodden poppies bright an' red,
As we wer catchen vrom our laps,
Below a woak, our bits an' draps,
A-haulen o' the corn.

HARVEST HWOME.

_The vu'st peaert. The Supper._

Since we wer striplens naighbour 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 jumpen mad
Wi' feaesten an' wi' fun.

At uncle's, I do mind, woone year,
I zeed a vill o' hearty cheer;
Fat beef an' pudden, eaele 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 teaeble-bwoard o' planks,
Wi' uncle at the top.

An' there, in platters, big and brown,
Wer red fat beaecon, an' a roun'
O' beef wi' gravy that would drown
A little rwoasten pig;
Wi' beaens an' teaeties vull a zack,
An' cabbage that would meaeke a stack,
An' puddens brown, a-speckled black
Wi' figs, so big's my wig.

An' uncle, wi' his elbows out,
Did carve, an' meaeke the gravy spout;
An' aunt did gi'e the mugs about
A-frothen to the brim.
Pleaetes 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' beaet the bwoard,