William Barnes

Herrenston

Zoo then the leaedy an’ the squier,
     At Chris’mas, gather’d girt an’ small,
Vor me’th, avore their roaren vier,
     An! roun’ their bwoard, 'ithin the hall;
An’ there, in glitt’ren rows, between
The roun’-rimm’d pleaetes, our knives did sheen,
     Wi’ frothy eaele, an’ cup an’ can,
     Vor maid an’ man, at Herrenston.
 
An’ there the jeints o’ beef did stand,
     Lik’ cliffs o’ rock, in goodly row;
Where woone mid quarry till his hand
     Did tire, an’ meaeke but little show;
An’ after we’d a-took our seat,
An’ greaece had been a-zaid vor meat,
     We zet to work, an’ zoo begun
     Our feaest an’ fun at Herrenston.
 
An’ mothers there, bezide the bwoards,
     Wi’ little childern in their laps,
Did stoop, wi’ loven looks an’ words,
     An’ veed em up wi’ bits an’ draps;
An’ smilen husbands went in quest
O’ what their wives did like the best;
     An’ you’d ha’ zeed a happy zight,
     Thik merry night, at Herrenston.
 
An’ then the band, wi’ each his leaf
     O’ notes, above us at the zide,
Play’d up the praise ov England’s beef
     An’ vill’d our hearts wi’ English pride;
An’ leafy chains o’ garlands hung,
Wi’ dazzlen stripes o’ flags, that swung
     Above us, in a bleaeze o’ light,
     Thik happy night, at Herrenston.
 
An’ then the clerk, avore the vier,
     Begun to lead, wi’ smilen feaece,
A carol, wi’ the Monkton quire,
     That rung drough all the crowded pleaece.
An’ dins’ o’ words an’ laughter broke
In merry peals drough clouds o’ smoke;
     Vor hardly wer there woone that spoke,
     But pass’d a joke, at Herrenston.
 
Then man an’ maid stood up by twos,
     In rows, drough passage, out to door,
An’ gaily beaet, wi’ nimble shoes,
     A dance upon the stwonen floor.
But who is worthy vor to tell,
If she that then did bear the bell,
     Wer woone o’ Monkton, or o’ Ceaeme,
     Or zome sweet neaeme ov Herrenston.
 
Zoo peace betide the girt vo’k’s land,
     When they can stoop, wi’ kindly smile,
An’ teaeke a poor man by the hand,
     An’ cheer en in his daily tweil.
An’ oh! mid He that’s vur above
The highest here, reward their love,
     An’ gi’e their happy souls, drough greaece,
     A higher pleaece than Herrenston.

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