The work begun, an’ trowels rung,
An’ up the brickèn wall did rise,
An’ up the slantèn refters sprung,
Wi’ busy blows, an’ lusty cries!
An’ woone brought planks to meäke a vloor,
An’ woone did come wi’ durns or door,
An’ woone did zaw, an’ woone did bore.
“Brick, brick,—there down below,
Quick, quick,—why b’ye so slow?”
“Lime, lime,—why we do weäste the time,
Vor merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.”
The house wer up vrom groun’ to tun,
An’ thatch’d ageän the raïny sky,
Wi’ windows to the noonday zun,
Where rushy Stour do wander by.
In coo’se he had a pworch to screen
The inside door, when win’s wer keen,
An’ out avore the pworch, a green.
“Here! here!”—the childern cried:
“Dear! dear!”—the wife replied;
“There, there,—the house is perty feäir,”
Cried merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
Then John he ax’d his friends to warm
His house, an’ they, a goodish batch,
Did come alwone, or eärm in eärm,
All roads, a-meäkèn vor his hatch:
An’ there below the clavy beam
The kettle-spout did zing an’ steam;
An’ there wer ceäkes, an’ tea wi’ cream.
“Lo! lo!”—the women cried;
“Ho! ho!”—the men replied;
“Health, health,—attend ye wi’ your wealth,
Good merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.”