Summer: Thatchen O’ The Rick
As I wer out in meaed last week,
A-thatchen o’ my little rick,
There green young ee-grass, ankle-high,
Did sheen below the cloudless sky;
An’ over hedge in tother groun’,
Among the bennets dry an’ brown,
My dun wold meaere, wi’ neck a-freed
Vrom Zummer work, did snort an’ veed;
An’ in the sheaede o’ leafy boughs,
My vew wold ragged-cwoated cows
Did rub their zides upon the rails,
Or switch em wi’ their heaeiry tails.
An’ as the mornen zun rose high
Above my mossy roof clwose by,
The blue smoke curreled up between
The lofty trees o’ feaeden green:
A zight that’s touchen when do show
A busy wife is down below,
A-worken hard to cheer woone’s tweil
Wi’ her best feaere, an’ better smile.
Mid women still in wedlock’s yoke
Zend up, wi’ love, their own blue smoke,
An’ husbands vind their bwoards a-spread
By faithvul hands when I be dead,
An’ noo good men in ouer land
Think lightly o’ the wedden band.
True happiness do bide alwone
Wi’ them that ha’ their own he’th-stwone
To gather wi’ their childern roun’,
A-smilen at the worold’s frown.
My bwoys, that brought me thatch an’ spars,
Wer down a-taiten on the bars,
Or zot a-cutten wi’ a knife,
Dry eltrot-roots to meaeke a fife;
Or dreven woone another round
The rick upon the grassy ground.
An’, as the aier vrom the west
Did fan my burnen feaece an’ breast,
An’ hoppen birds, wi’ twitt’ren beaks,
Did show their sheenen spots an’ streaks,
Then, wi’ my heart a-vill’d wi’ love
An’ thankvulness to God above,
I didden think ov anything
That I begrudg’d o’ lord or king;
Vor I ha’ round me, vur or near,
The mwost to love an’ nwone to fear,
An’ zoo can walk in any pleaece,
An’ look the best man in the feaece.
What good do come to eaechen heads,
O’ lien down in silken beds?
Or what’s a coach, if woone do pine
To zee woone’s naighbour’s twice so fine?
Contentment is a constant feaest,
He’s richest that do want the leaest.
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