He did whisper to me, "You do know that you stood By the Squier, wi' the vote that you had, You could ax en to help ye to zome'hat as good, Or to vind a good pleäce vor your lad." "Aye, aye, but if I wer beholdèn vor bread To another," I zaid, "I should bind All my body an' soul to the nod of his head, An' gi'e up all my freedom o' mind." An' then, if my païn wer a-zet wi' my gaïn, I should paÿ vor my money, An' only zell honey to buy zome'hat sweet.
Then, if my bit o' brook that do wind so vur round, Wer but his, why, he'd straïghten his bed, An' the wold stunpole woak that do stan' in my ground, Shoudden long sheäde the grass wi' his head. But if I do vind jaÿ where the leaves be a-shook On the limbs, wi' their sheädes on the grass, Or below, in the bow o' the withy-bound nook, That the rock-washèn water do pass, Then wi' they jaÿs a-vled an' zome goold in their stead, I should pay vor my money, An' only zell honey to buy zome'hat sweet.
No, be my lot good work, wi' the lungs well in plaÿ, An' good rest when the body do tire, Vor the mind a good conscience, wi' hope or wi' jaÿ, Vor the body, good lewth, an' good vire, There's noo good o' goold, but to buy what 'ull meäke Vor our happiness here among men; An' who would gi'e happiness up vor the seäke O' zome money to buy it ageän? Vor 'twould seem to the eyes ov a man that is wise, Lik' money vor money, Or zellèn woone's honey to buy zome'hat sweet.
_Thomas_ (1) _an' John_ (2) _a-ta'èn o't._
2. I do veel vor ye, Thomas, vor I be a-feär'd You've a-lost your wold meäre then, by what I've a-heärd.
1. Ees, my meäre is a-gone, an' the cart's in the shed Wi' his wheelbonds a-rustèn, an' I'm out o' bread; Vor what be my han's vor to eärn me a croust, Wi' noo meäre's vower legs vor to trample the doust.
2. Well, how did it happen? He vell vrom the brim Ov a cliff, as the teäle is, an' broke ev'ry lim'.
1. Why, I gi'ed en his run, an' he shook his wold meäne, An' he rambled a-veedèn in Westergap Leäne; An' there he must needs goo a-riggèn, an' crope Vor a vew bleädes o' grass up the wo'st o' the slope; Though I should ha' thought his wold head would ha' know'd That vor stiff lags, lik' his, the best pleäce wer the road.
2. An' you hadden a-kept en so short, he must clim', Lik' a gwoat, vor a bleäde, at the risk ov a lim'.