Dialect of Dorset

 

PENTRIDGE!—oh! my heart’s a-swellen

Vull wi’ jay to hear ye tellen

  Any news o’ thik wold pleace,

An’ the boughy hedges round it,

An’ the river that do bound it

  Wi’ his dark but glisnen feace.

Vor there ’s noo land, on either hand,

To me lik’ Pentridge by the river.

 

Be there any leaves to quiver

On our aspen by the river?

  Doo er sheade the water still,

Where the rushes be a-growen,

Where the sullen Stour ’s a-flowen

  Droo the meads vrom mill to mill?

Vor if a tree wer’ dear to me,

Oh! ’t wer’ thik aspen by the river.

 

There, in eegrass newly shooten,

I did run on even vooten,

  Happy, awver new-mown land;

Or did zing wi’ zingen drushes

While I plaited, out o’ rushes,

  Little baskets vor my hand;

Bezide the clote that there did float,

Wi’ yollor blossoms, on the river.

 

When the western zun ’s a-vallen,

What shill vaice is now a-callen

  Hwome the deairy to the pails?

Who do dreve em on, a-flingen

Wide-bow’d horns, or slowly zwingen

  Right an’ left their tufty tails?

As they do goo a-huddled droo

The geate a-leaden up vrom river.

 

Bleaded grass is now a-shooten

Where the vloor wer’ oonce our vooten,

  While the hall wer’ still in pleace,

Stwones be looser in the wallen;

Hollor trees be nearer vallen;

  Ev’ry thing ha’ chang’d its feace.

But still the neame do bide the seame,—

’T is Pentridge,—Pentridge by the river.