Verse > Anthologies > Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. > A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895
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Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).  A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895.  1895.
 
The Heäre
 
William Barnes (1801–86)
 
 
(1) THERE be the greyhounds! lo’k! an’ there ’s the heäre!
(2) What houn’s, the squier’s, Thomas? where, then, where?
(1) Why, out in Ash Hill, near the barn, behind
Thik tree. (3) The pollard? (1) Pollard! no! b ’ye blind?
(2) There, I do zee em over-right thik cow.        5
(3) The red woone? (1) No, a mile beyand her now.
(3) Oh! there ’s the heäre, a-meäkèn for the drong.
(2) My goodness! How the dogs do zweep along,
A-pokèn out their pweinted noses’ tips.
(3) He can’t allow hizzelf much time vor slips!        10
(1) They ’ll hab en, after all, I ’ll bet a crown.
(2) Done vor a crown. They woon’t! He ’s gwäin to groun’.
(3) He is! (1) He idden! (3) Ah! ’t is well his tooes
Ha’ got noo corns, inside o’ hobnail shoes.
(1) He ’s geäme a-runnèn too. Why, he do mwore        15
Than eärn his life. (3) His life wer his avore.
(1) There, now the dogs wull turn en. (2) No! He ’s right.
(1) He idden! (2) Ees he is! (3) He ’s out o’ zight.
(1) Aye, aye. His mettle wull be well a-tried
Agwaïn down Verny Hill, o’ t’ other zide.        20
They ’ll have en there. (3) O no! a vew good hops
Wull teäke en on to Knapton Lower Copse.
(2) An’ that ’s a meesh that he ’ve a-took avore.
(3) Ees, that ’s his hwome. (1) He ’ll never reach his door.
(2) He wull. (1) He woon’t. (3) Now, hark, d’ye heär em now?        25
(2) O! here ’s a bwoy a-come athirt the brow
O’Knapton Hill. We ’ll ax en. (1) Here, my bwoy!
Canst tell us where ’s the heäre? (4) He ’s got awoy.
(2) Ees, got awoy, in coo’se, I never zeed A heäre a-scotèn on wi’ half his speed.
(1) Why, there, the dogs be wold, an’ half a-done.        30
They can’t catch anything wi’ lags to run.
(2) Vrom vu’st to last they had but little chance
O’ catchèn o”n. (3) They had a perty dance.
(1) No, catch en, no! I little thought they would;
He know’d his road too well to Knapton Wood.        35
(3) No! no! I wish the squier would let me feäre
On rabbits till his hounds do catch thik heäre.
 

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