POEMS AND OTHER PIECES EXEMPLIFYING THE DIALECT OF THE

County of Somersetshire.

Notwithstanding the Author has endeavoured, in the Observations on the Dialects of the West, and in The Glossary, to obviate the difficulties under which strangers to the dialect of Somersetshire may, very possibly, labour in the perusal of the following Poems, it may be, perhaps, useful here to remind the reader, that many mere inversions of sound, and differences in pronunciation, are not noted in the Glossary. That it did not appear necessary to explain such words as_ wine, wind; zâ, say; qut, coat; bwile, boil; hoss, horse; hirches, riches; and many others, which it is presumed the context, the Observations, or the Glossary, will sufficiently explain. The Author, therefore, trusts, that by a careful attention to these, the reader will soon become au fait at the interpretation of these West-country LIDDENS.

GOOD BWYE TA THEE COT!

Good bwye ta thee Cot! whaur tha dâs o' my childhood Glaw'd bright as tha zun in a mornin o' mâ; When tha dumbledores hummin, craup out o' tha cobwâll, An' shakin ther whings, thâ vleed vooäth an' awâ. [Footnote: The humble-bee, bombilius major, or dumbledore, makes holes very commonly in mud walls, in which it deposits a kind of farina: in this bee will be found, on dissection, a considerable portion of honey, although it never deposits any.]

Good bwye ta the Cot!—on thy drashel, a-mâ-be, I niver naw moor sholl my voot again zet; Tha jessamy awver thy porch zweetly bloomin, Whauriver I goo, I sholl niver vorget.

Tha rawzes, tha lillies, that blaw in tha borders— The gilawfers, too, that I us'd ta behawld— Tha trees, wi' tha honeyzucks ranglin âll awver, I âlways sholl think o' nif I shood be awld.

Tha tutties that oten I pick'd on a zunday, And stickt in my qut—thâ war thawted za fine: Aw how sholl I tell o'm—vor âll pirty maidens When I pass'd 'em look'd back—ther smill rawze on tha wine.

Good bwye ta thee Ash! which my Father beforne me, A planted, wi' pleasure, tha dâ I was born; Zâ, oolt thou drap a tear when I cease to behawld thee, An wander awâ droo tha wordle vorlorn.

Good bwye ta thee Tree! an thy cawld shade in zummer; Thy apples, aw who ool be lotted ta shake? When tha wine, mangst thy boughs sifes at Milemas in sorrow, Zâ oolt thou sife for me, or one wild wish awake?

Good bwye ye dun Elves! who, on whings made o'leather, Still roun my poorch whiver an' whiver at night; Aw mâ naw hord-horted, unveelin disturber, Destrây your snug nests, an your plâ by moonlight.

Good bwye ta thee Bower!—ta thy moss an thy ivy— To tha flowers that aroun thee all blossomin graw; When I'm gwon, oolt thou grieve?—bit 'tis foolish to ax it; What is ther that's shower in this wordle belaw?

Good bwye ta thee Cot! whaur my mother za thoughtvul, As zumtimes she war droo er care vor us âll, Er lessins wi' kindness, wi' tenderness gid us; An ax'd, war she dead, what ood us bevâll.

Good bwye ta thee Cot! whaur tha nightingale's music, In tha midnight o' Mâ-time, rawze loud on the ear; Whaur tha colley awâk'd, wi' tha zun, an a zingin A went, wi' tha dirsh, in a voice vull and clear.

Good bwye ta thee Cot! I must goo ta tha city. Whaur, I'm tawld, that the smawk makes it dork at noon dâ; Bit nif it is true, I'm afeard that I âlways And iver sholl thenk on tha cot thatch'd wi' strâ.

Good bwye ta thee Cot! there is One that râins awver, An wâtches tha wordle, wi' wisdom divine; Than why shood I mang, wi' tha many, my ma-bes; Bin there's readship in Him, an to him I resign.

Good bwye ta thee Cot! shood I niver behauld thee Again; still I thank thee vor âll that is past! Thy friendly ruf shelter'd—while mother wâtch'd awver. An haw'd vor my comfort vrom vust unto last.

Good bwye ta thee Cot; vor the time mâ be longful Beforn I on thy drashall again zet my eye; Thy tutties ool blossom, an daver an blossom Again and again—zaw good bwye, an good bwye!