The Dialect of the West of England; Particularly Somersetshire by James Jennings (ebooks children's books free .TXT) đ
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Who hath not hirâd oâ Avalon? [Footnote: âThe Isle of ancient Avelon.ââDrayton.] âTwar talked oâ much an long agon,â Tha wonders oâ tha Holy Thorn, Tha âwich, zoon âter Christ war born, Here a planted war by ArimathĂŠ, Thic Joseph that comâd auver sea, An planted Kirstianity. Thâ zâ that whun a landed vust, (Zich plazen war in Godâs own trust) A stuck iz staff into tha groun An auver iz shoulder lookin roun, Whatever mid iz lot bevâll, A cried aloud âNow, weary all!â Tha staff het budded an het grew, An at Kirsmas bloomâd tha whol dâ droo. An still het blooms at Kirsmas bright, But best thâ zâ at dork midnight, A pruf oâ this nif pruf you will. Iz voun in tha name oâ Weary-all-hill! Let tell Pumparles or lazy Brue. That what iz tauld iz vor sartin true!
[âThe story of the Holy Thorn was a long time credited by the vulgar and credulous. There is a species of White Thorn which blossoms about Christmas; it is well known to naturalists so as to excite no surprise.â]
MR. GUY.
The incident on which this story is founded, occurred in the early part of the last century; hence the allusion to making a will before making a journey to the metropolis.
Mr. Guywar a gennelman Oâ Huntspill, well knawn As a grazier, a hirch one, Wiâ lons oâ hiz awn.
A Ă´ten went ta Lunnun Hiz cattle vor ta zill; All tha horses that a rawd Niver minded hadge or hill.
A war afeard oâ naw one; A niver made hiz will, Like wither vawk, avaur a went His cattle vor ta zill.
One time aâd bin ta Lunnun An zawld iz cattle well; A brought awâ a power oâ gawld, As Iâve a hired tell.
As late at night a rawd along All droo a unket ood, A ooman rawze vrom off tha groun An right avaur en stood:
She lookâd za pitis Mr. Guy At once hiz hossâs pace Stapt short, a wonderin how, at night, She comâd in jitch a place.
A little trunk war in her hon; She zimâd vur gwon wiâ chile. She axâd en nif aâd take her up And cor her a veo mile.
Mr. Guy, a man oâ veelin For a ooman in distress, Than took er up behind en: A coodân do na less.
A corrâd er trunk avaur en, An by hiz belt oâ leather A bid er hawld vast; on thâ rawd, Athout much tâk, together.
Not vur thâ went avaur she gid A whissle loud an long; Which Mr. Guy, thawt very strange; Er voice too zimâd za strong!
Sheâd lost er dog, she zed; an than Another whissle blawâd, That stortled Mr. Guy;âa stapt Hiz hoss upon tha rawd.
Goo on, zed she; bit Mr. Guy Zum rig beginnâd ta fear: Vor voices rawze upon tha wine, An zimâd a comin near.
Again thâ rawd along; again She whissled. Mr. Guy Whipt out hiz knife an cut tha belt, Then pushâd er off!âVor why?
Tha ooman he took up behine, Begummers, war a man! Tha rubbers zaw ad lâd ther plots Our grazier to trepan.
I shall not stap ta tell what zed Tha man in oomanâs clawze; Bit he, and all oâm jist behine, War what you mid suppawze.
Thâ cust, thâ swaur, thâ dreatenâd too, An ater Mr. Guy Thâ gallopâd all; âtwar niver-tha-near: Hiz hoss along did vly.
Auver downs, droo dales, awâ a went, âTwar dâ-light now amawst, Till at an inn a stapt, at last, Ta thenk what heâd a lost.
A lost?âwhy, nothinâbut hiz belt!â A zummet moor ad gainâd: Thic little trunk a corrâd awââ It gawld gâlore containâd!
Nif Mr. Guy war hirch avaur, A now war hircher still: Tha plunder oâ tha highwâmen Hiz coffers went ta vill.
In sâfety Mr. Guy rawd whim; A Ă´ten tawld tha storry. Ta meet wiâ jitch a rig myzel I shoodân, soce, be zorry.
THE ROOKERY.
The rook, corvus frugilegus, is a bird of considerable intelligence, and is, besides, extremely useful in destroying large quantities of worms and larvĂŚ of destructive insects. It will, it is true, if not watched, pick out, after they are dibbled, both pease and beans from the holes with a precision truly astonishing: a very moderate degree of care is, however, sufficient to prevent this evil, which is greatly overbalanced by the positive good which it effects in the destruction of insects. It is a remarkable fact, and not, perhaps, generally known, that this bird rarely roosts at the rookery, except for a few months during the period of incubation, and rearing its young. In the winter season it more commonly takes flights of no ordinary length, to roost on the trees of some remote and sequestered wood. The Elm is its favorite, on which it usually builds; but such is its attachment to locality that since the incident alluded to in the following Poem took place the Rooks have, many of them, built in fir trees at a little distance from their former habitation. The habits of the Rook are well worthy the attention of all who delight in the study of Natural History.
My zong is oâ tha ROOKERY, Not jitch as I a zeed On stunted trees wiâ leaves a veo, A very veo indeed,
In thic girt place thâ Lunnun câll;â Tha Tower an tha Pork Hâ booäth a got a Rookery, Althaw thâ hanât a Lork.
I zeng not oâ jitch Rookeries, Jitch plazen, pump or banners; Bit town-berd Rooks, vor âll that, hâ, I warnt ye, curious manners.
My zong is oâ a Rookery My Fatherâs cot bezide, Avaur, years âter, I war born âTwar long tha porish pride.
Tha elms lookâd up like giants tâll Ther branchy yarms aspread; An green plumes wavin wiâ tha wine, Made gâ each lofty head.
Ta drâ tha pectur outâther war At distance, zid between Tha trees, a thatchâd Form-house, an geese A cacklin on tha green.
A river, too, clooäse by tha trees, Its stickle coose on slid, Whaur yells an trout an wither fish Mid ôtentimes be zid.
Tha rooks voun this a pleasant placeâ A whim ther young ta rear; An I a Ă´ten pleasâd a bin Ta wâtch âem droo tha year.
âTis on tha dâ oâ Valentine Or there or thereabout, Tha rooks da vast begin ta build, An cawin, make a rout.
Bit aw! when Mayâs a come, ta zee Ther young tha gunnerâs shut Vor SPOORT, an bin, as zum da zâ, (Naw readship inât I put)
That nif thâ didân shut tha, rooks Thââd zoon desert tha trees! Wise vawk! Thic reason vor ther SPOORT Gee thâ mid nif thâ please!
Still zeng I oâ tha Rookery, Vor years it war tha pride Of all thâ place, bit âtwor ta I A zumthin moor bezide.
A hired tha Rooks avaur I uppâd; I hired âem droo tha dâ; I hired ther young while gittin flush An ginnin jist ta câ.
I hired âem when my mother gid Er lessins kind ta I, In jitch a wâ when I war young, That I war fit ta cry.
I hired âem at tha cottage door, When mornin, in tha spreng, Wâkâd vooäth in youth an beauty too, An birds beginnâd ta zeng.
I hired âem in tha winter-time When, roustin vur awâ, Thâ visited tha Rookery A whiverin by dâ.
My childhood, youth, and manood too, My Fatherâs cot recâll Thic Rookery. Bit I mist now Tell what it did bevâll.
âTwar Mâ-timeâheavy viâ tha nests War laden âll tha trees; An to an fraw, wiâ creekin loud, Thâ swayâd ta ivâry breeze.
One night tha wineâa thundrin wine, Jitch as war hired oâ nivor, Blawâd two oâ thic girt giant trees Flat down into tha river.
Nests, aggs, an young uns, âll awâ War zweept into tha wâter An zaw war spwiled tha Rookery Vor iver and iver âter.
I visited my Fatherâs cot: Tha Rooks war âll a gwon; Whaur stood tha trees in lofty pride I zid there norra one.
My Fatherâs cot war desolate; An âll lookâd wild, vorlorn; Tha Ash war stunted that war zet Tha dâ that I war born.
My Father, Mother, Rooks, âll gwon! My Charlotte an my Lizzy!â Tha gorden wiâ tha tutties too!â Jitch thawts why be za bizzy!â
Behawld tha wâ oâ human thengs! Rooks, lofty trees, an Friendsâ A killâd, taur up, like leaves drap off!â Zaw feaverâd bein ends.
TOM GOOL, AND LUCK IN THA BAG.
âLuck, Luck in tha Bag! Good Luck! Put in an try yer fortin; Come, try yer luck in tha Lucky Bag! Youâll git a prize vor sartin.â
Mooäst plazen hâ their customs Ther manners an ther men; We too a got our customs, Our manners and our men.
He who a bin ta Huntspill Fâyer Or HighbridgeâPawlet Revelâ Or Burtle Sassions, whaur thâ plâ Zumtimes tha very devil,
Mist mine once a man well That war a câllâd TOM GOOL; Zum thawt en mazed, while withers thawt En moor a knave than fool.
At all tha fâyers an revels too TOM GOOL war shower ta be, A tâkin vlother vast awâ,â A hoopin who bit he.
Vorâ âll that a had a zoort oâ wit That zet tha vawk a laughin; An mooäst oâ that, when ho tha yal Ad at tha fâyer bin quaffin.
A corrâd a kit oâ pedlarâs waur, Like awld Joannah Martin; [Footnote: This Lady, who was for many years known in Somersetshire as an itinerant dealer in earthenware, rags, &c., and occasionally a fortune-teller, died a few years since at Huntspill, where she had resided for the greater part of a century. She was extremely illiterate, so much so, as not to be able to write, and, I think, could scarcely read. She lived for some years in a house belonging to my father, and while a boy, I was very often her gratuitous amanuensis, in writing letters for her to her children. She possessed, however, considerable shrewdness, energy, and perseverance, and amassed property to the amount of several hundred pounds. She had three husbands; the name of the first was, I believe, Gool or Gould, a relation of Thomas Gool, the subject of the above Poem; the name of the second was Martin, of the third Pain; but as the last lived a short time only after having married her, she always continued to be called Joannah Martin.
Joannah was first brought into public notice by the Rev. Mr. WARNER, in his Walks through the Western Counties, published in 1800, in which work will be found a lively and interesting description of her; but she often said that she should wish me to write her life, as I was, of course, more intimately acquainted with it than any casual inquirer could possibly be. An additional notice of Joannah was inserted by me in the Monthly Magazine, for Nov. 1816, page 310. I had among my papers, the original song composed by her, which I copied from her dictation many years ago,âthe only, copy in existence; I regret that I cannot lay my hand upon it; as it contains much of the Somersetshire idiom. I have more than once heard her sing this song, which was satirical, and related to the conduct of a female, one of her neighbours, who had become a thief.
Such was JOANNAH MARTIN, a woman whose name (had she moved in a sphere where her original talents could have been improved by education,) might have been added to the list of distinguished female worthies
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