An’ woonce, when gramfer wi’ his wold grey meäre
Wer ridèn down the leäne vrom Shroton feäir,
It roll’d so big’s a pack ov wool across
The road just under en, an’ leäm’d his hoss.
DICK.
Aye; did ye ever hear—vo’k zaid ’twer true—
O’ what bevell Jack Hine zome years agoo?
Woone vrosty night, d’ye know, at Chris’mas tide,
Jack, an’ another chap or two bezide,
’D a-been out, zomewhere up at tother end
O’ parish, to a naïghbour’s house to spend
A merry hour, an’ mid a-took a cup
Or two o’ eäle a-keepèn Chris’mas up;
Zoo I do lot ’twer leäte avore the peärty
’D a-burnt their bron out; I do lot, avore
They thought o’ turnèn out o’ door
’Twer mornèn, vor their friendship then wer hearty.
Well; clwose ageän the vootpath that do leäd
Vrom higher parish over withy-meäd,
There’s still a hollow, you do know: they tried there,
In former times, to meäke a cattle-pit,
But gie’d it up, because they coulden get
The water any time to bide there.
Zoo when the merry fellows got
Just overright theäse lwonesome spot,
Jack zeed a girt big house-dog wi’ a collar,
A-stannèn down in thik there hollor.
Lo’k there, he zaid, there’s zome girt dog a-prowlèn:
I’ll just goo down an’ gi’e’n a goodish lick
Or two wi’ theäse here groun’-ash stick,
An’ zend the shaggy rascal hwome a-howlèn.
Zoo there he run, an’ gi’ed en a good whack
Wi’ his girt ashen stick a-thirt his back;
An’, all at woonce, his stick split right all down
In vower pieces; an’ the pieces vled
