Winter: The Settle an’ the Girt Wood Vire
Ah! naighbour John, since I an’ you
Wer youngsters, ev’ry thing is new.
My father’s vires wer all o’ logs
O’ cleft-wood, down upon the dogs
Below our clavy, high, an’ brode
Enough to teaeke a cart an’ lwoad,
Where big an’ little all zot down
At bwoth zides, an’ bevore, all roun’.
An’ when I zot among em, I
Could zee all up ageaen the sky
Drough chimney, where our vo’k did hitch
The zalt-box an’ the beaecon-vlitch,
An’ watch the smoke on out o’ vier,
All up an’ out o’ tun, an’ higher.
An’ there wer beaecon up on rack,
An’ pleaetes an’ dishes on the tack;
An’ roun’ the walls wer heaerbs a-stowed
In peaepern bags, an’ blathers blowed.
An’ just above the clavy-bwoard
Wer father’s spurs, an’ gun, an’ sword;
An’ there wer then, our girtest pride,
The settle by the vier zide.
Ah! gi’e me, if I wer a squier,
The settle an’ the girt wood vier.
But they’ve a-wall’d up now wi’ bricks
The vier pleaece vor dogs an’ sticks,
An’ only left a little hole
To teaeke a little greaete o’ coal,
So small that only twos or drees
Can jist push in an’ warm their knees.
An’ then the carpets they do use,
B[=e]n’t fit to tread wi’ ouer shoes;
An’ chairs an’ couches be so neat,
You mussen teaeke em vor a seat:
They be so fine, that vo’k mus’ pleaece
All over em an’ outer ceaese,
An’ then the cover, when ’tis on,
Is still too fine to loll upon.
Ah! gi’e me, if I wer a squier,
The settle an’ the girt wood vier.
Carpets, indeed! You coulden hurt
The stwone-vloor wi’ a little dirt;
Vor what wer brought in doors by men,
The women soon mopp’d out ageaen.
Zoo we did come vrom muck an’ mire,
An’ walk in straight avore the vier;
But now, a man’s a-kept at door
At work a pirty while, avore
He’s screaep’d an’ rubb’d, an’ cleaen and fit
To goo in where his wife do zit.
An’ then if he should have a whiff
In there, 'twould only breed a miff:
He c[=a]nt smoke there, vor smoke woon’t goo
‘Ithin the footy little flue.
Ah! gi’e me, if I wer a squier,
The settle an’ the girt wood vier.
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