Eclogue.

Zoo you be in your groun' then, I do zee, A-workèn and a-zingèn lik' a bee. How do it answer? what d'ye think about it? D'ye think 'tis better wi' it than without it? A-recknèn rent, an' time, an' zeed to stock it, D'ye think that you be any thing in pocket?

O', 'tis a goodish help to woone, I'm sure o't. If I had not a-got it, my poor bwones Would now ha' eäch'd a-crackèn stwones Upon the road; I wish I had zome mwore o't.

I wish the girt woones had a-got the greäce To let out land lik' this in ouer pleäce; But I do fear there'll never be nwone vor us, An' I can't tell whatever we shall do: We be a-most starvèn, an' we'd goo To 'merica, if we'd enough to car us.

Why 'twer the squire, good now! a worthy man, That vu'st brought into ouer pleäce the plan, He zaid he'd let a vew odd eäcres O' land to us poor leäb'rèn men; [page 29] An', faïth, he had enough o' teäkers Vor that, an' twice so much ageän. Zoo I took zome here, near my hovel, To exercise my speäde an' shovel; An' what wi' dungèn, diggèn up, an' zeedèn, A-thinnèn, cleänèn, howèn up an' weedèn, I, an' the biggest o' the childern too, Do always vind some useful jobs to do.

Aye, wi' a bit o' ground, if woone got any, Woone's bwoys can soon get out an' eärn a penny; An' then, by workèn, they do learn the vaster The way to do things when they have a meäster; Vor woone must know a deäl about the land Bevore woone's fit to lend a useful hand, In geärden or a-vield upon a farm.

An' then the work do keep em out o' harm; Vor vo'ks that don't do nothèn wull be vound Soon doèn woorse than nothèn, I'll be bound. But as vor me, d'ye zee, with theäse here bit O' land, why I have ev'ry thing a'mwost: Vor I can fatten vowels for the spit, Or zell a good fat goose or two to rwoast; An' have my beäns or cabbage, greens or grass, Or bit o' wheat, or, sich my happy feäte is, That I can keep a little cow, or ass, An' a vew pigs to eat the little teäties.

An' when your pig's a-fatted pretty well Wi' teäties, or wi' barley an' some bran, Why you've a-got zome vlitches vor to zell, Or hang in chimney-corner, if you can.

Aye, that's the thing; an' when the pig do die, We got a lot ov offal for to fry, An' netlèns for to bwoil; or put the blood in, An' meäke a meal or two o' good black-pudden.

I'd keep myzelf from parish, I'd be bound, If I could get a little patch o' ground.