J. O Lauk! What thik wold riddle still, Why that's as wold as Duncliffe Hill; "A two-lagg'd thing do run avore An' run behind a man, An' never run upon his lags Though on his lags do stan'." What's that? I don't think you do know. There idden sich a thing to show. Not know? Why yonder by the stall 'S a wheel-barrow bezide the wall, Don't he stand on his lags so trim, An' run on nothèn but his wheels wold rim.
A. There's _horn_ vor Goodman's eye-zight seäke; There's _horn_ vor Goodman's mouth to teäke; There's _horn_ vor Goodman's ears, as well As _horn_ vor Goodman's nose to smell-- What _horns_ be they, then? Do your hat Hold wit enough to tell us that?
J. Oh! _horns_! but no, I'll tell ye what, My cow is hornless, an' she's _knot_.
A. _Horn_ vor the _mouth's_ a hornèn cup.
A. An' _horn_ vor _eyes_ is horn vor light, Vrom Goodman's lantern after night; _Horn_ vor the _ears_ is woone to sound Vor hunters out wi' ho'se an' hound; But _horn_ that vo'k do buy to smell o' Is _hart's-horn_. J. Is it? What d'ye tell o' How proud we be, vor ben't we smart? Aye, _horn_ is _horn_, an' hart is hart. Well here then, Anne, while we be at it, 'S a ball vor you if you can bat it. On dree-lags, two-lags, by the zide O' vower-lags, woonce did zit wi' pride, When vower-lags, that velt a prick, Vrom zix-lags, het two lags a kick. An' two an' dree-lags vell, all vive, Slap down, zome dead an' zome alive.
A. Teeh! heeh! what have ye now then, Joe, At last, to meäke a riddle o'?
J. Your dree-lagg'd stool woone night did bear Up you a milkèn wi' a peäir; An' there a zix-lagg'd stout did prick Your vow'r-lagg'd cow, an meäke her kick, A-hettèn, wi' a pretty pat, Your stool an' you so flat's a mat. You scrambled up a little dirty, But I do hope it didden hurt ye.
A. You hope, indeed! a likely ceäse, Wi' thik broad grin athirt your feäce You saucy good-vor-nothèn chap, I'll gi'e your grinnèn feäce a slap, Your drawlèn tongue can only run To turn a body into fun.
J. Oh! I woont do 't ageän. Oh dear! Till next time, Anny. Oh my ear! Oh! Anne, why you've a-het my hat 'Ithin the milk, now look at that.
A. Do sar ye right, then, I don't ceäre. I'll thump your noddle,--there--there--there.
And oh! the jaÿ our rest did yield, At evenèn by the mossy wall, When we'd a-work'd all day a-vield, While zummer zuns did rise an' vall; As there a-lettèn Goo all frettèn, An' vorgettèn all our tweils, We zot among our childern's smiles.