A Matide's evenen wer a-dyen, Under moonsheen, into night, Wi' a streamen wind a-sighen By the thorns a-bloomen white.

Where in sheade, a-zinken deeply, Wer a nook, all dark but lew, By a bank, arisen steeply, Not to let the win' come drough.

Should my love goo out, a-showen All her smiles, in open light; Or, in lewth, wi' wind a-blowen, Sta in darkness, dim to zight?

Sta in sheade o' bank or wallen, In the warmth, if not in light; Words alwone vrom her a-vallen, Would be ja vor all the night.

THE WAGGON A-STOODED.

_Dree o'm a-ta'ken o't._

(1) Well, here we be, then, wi' the vu'st poor lwoad O' vuzz we brought, a-stooded in the road.

(2) The road, George, no. There's na'r a road. That's wrong.

If we'd a road, we mid ha' got along.

(1) Noo road! Ees 'tis, the road that we do goo.

(2) Do goo, George, no. The pleace we can't get drough.

(1) Well, there, the vu'st lwoad we've a-haul'd to day Is here a-stooded in thease bed o' clay.

Here's rotten groun'! an' how the wheels do cut!

The little woone's a-zunk up to the nut.

(3) An' yeet this rotten groun' don't reach a lug.

(1) Well, come, then, gi'e the plow another tug.

(2) They meares wull never pull the waggon out, A-lwoaded, an' a-stooded in thik rout.

(3) We'll try. Come, _Smiler_, come! C'up, _Whitevoot_, gee!

(2) White-voot wi' lags all over mud! Hee! Hee!

(3) 'Twoon't wag. We shall but snap our gear, An' overstran the meares. 'Twoon't wag, 'tis clear.

(1) That's your work, William. No, in coo'se, 'twoon't wag.

Why did ye dr[=e]ve en into thease here quag?

The vore-wheels be a-zunk above the nuts.

(3) What then? I coulden leave the beaten track, To turn the waggon over on the back Ov woone o' theasem wheel-high emmet-b.u.t.ts.

If you be sich a dr[=e]ver, an' do know't, You dr[=e]ve the plow, then; but you'll overdrow 't.

(1) I dr[=e]ve the plow, indeed! Oh! ees, what, now The wheels woont wag, then, _I_ mid dr[=e]ve the plow!

We'd better dig away the groun' below The wheels. (2) There's na'r a speade to dig wi'.

(1) An' teake an' cut a lock o' frith, an' drow Upon the clay. (2) Nor hook to cut a twig wi'.

(1) Oh! here's a bwoy a-comen. Here, my lad, Dost know vor a'r a speade, that can be had?

(B) At father's. (1) Well, where's that? (Bwoy) At Sam'el Ridd.i.c.k's.

(1) Well run, an' ax vor woone. Fling up your heels, An' mind: a speade to dig out theasem wheels, An' hook to cut a little lock o' widd.i.c.ks.

(3) Why, we shall want zix ho'ses, or a dozen, To pull the waggon out, wi' all thease vuzzen.

(1) Well, we mus' lighten en; come, Jeames, then, hop Upon the lwoad, an' jus' fling off the top.

(2) If I can clim' en; but 'tis my consat, That I shall overzet en wi' my waght.

(1) You overzet en! No, Jeames, he won't vall, The lwoad's a-built so firm as any wall.

(2) Here! lend a hand or shoulder vor my knee Or voot. I'll scramble to the top an' zee What I can do. Well, here I be, among The fakkets, vor a bit, but not vor long.

Heigh, George! Ha! ha! Why this wull never stand.

Your firm 's a wall, is all so loose as zand; 'Tis all a-come to pieces. Oh! Teake ceare!

Ho! I'm a-vallen, vuzz an' all! Hae! There!

(1) Lo'k there, thik fellor is a-vell lik' lead, An' half the fuzzen wi 'n, heels over head!

There's all the vuzz a-lyen lik' a staddle, An' he a-deab'd wi' mud. Oh! Here's a caddle!

(3) An' zoo you soon got down zome vuzzen, Jimmy.

(2) Ees, I do know 'tis down. I brought it wi' me.

(3) Your lwoad, George, wer a rather slick-built thing, But there, 'twer p.r.i.c.kly vor the hands! Did sting?

(1) Oh! ees, d'ye teake me vor a nincomp.o.o.p, No, no. The lwoad wer up so firm's a rock, But two o' theasem emmet-b.u.t.ts would knock The tightest barrel nearly out o' hoop.

(3) Oh! now then, here 's the bwoy a-bringen back The speade. Well done, my man. That idder slack.

(2) Well done, my lad, sha't have a ho'se to ride When thou'st a meare. (Bwoy) Next never's-tide.

(3) Now let's dig out a spit or two O' clay, a-vore the little wheels; Oh! so's, I can't pull up my heels, I be a-stogg'd up over shoe.

(1) Come, William, dig away! Why you do spuddle A'most so weak's a child. How you do muddle!

Gi'e me the speade a-bit. A pig would rout It out a'most so nimbly wi' his snout.

(3) Oh! so's, d'ye hear it, then. How we can thunder!

How big we be, then George! what next I wonder?

(1) Now, William, gi'e the waggon woone mwore twitch, The wheels be free, an' 'tis a lighter nitch.

(3) Come, _Smiler_, gee! C'up, _White-voot_. (1) That wull do.

(2) Do wag. (1) Do goo at last. (3) Well done. 'Tis drough.

(1) Now, William, till you have mwore ho'ses' lags, Don't dr[=e]ve the waggon into theasem quags.