Part 4 (1/2)

I can't bud think--thof I may be mistean Not monny on 'em 'll git back agean.

ROGER I think nut, w.i.l.l.y, bud some fowk 'll say, Oor English fleet let t' Franch s.h.i.+ps git away, When they were laid, thou knaws, i' Bantry Bay; At(6) they could niver all have gien 'em t' slip, Bud t' English wanted nut to tak a s.h.i.+p.

w.i.l.l.y Eh! that's all lees!

ROGER I dinnot say it's true, It's all unknawn to sike as me an' you.

How do we knaw when fleets do reet or wrang?

I whope it's all on't fause, bud sea talks gang.

Howsiver this I knaw, at when they please, Oor sailors always beat 'em upo' t' seas.

An' if they n.o.bbut sharply look aboot, T'hey needn't let a single s.h.i.+p coom oat.

At least they'll drub 'em weel, I dinnot fear, An' keep 'em fairly off frae landin' here.

w.i.l.l.y I whope sea, Roger, bud, an' if they dea Coom owerr, I then shall sharpen my awd lea.(7) What thof(8) I can bud of a laatle boast, You knaw van wadn't hae that laatle lost.

I's send our Mally an' all t' bairns away, An' I misen 'll by the yamstead(9) stay.

I'll fight, if need; an' if I fall, why, then I's suffer all the warst mishap misen.

Was I bud seer my wife an' bairns were seafe, I then sud be to dee content eneaf.

ROGER Reet, w.i.l.l.y, mon, what an' they put us tea 't I will misen put forrad my best feat.(10) What thof I's awd, I's nut sae easily scar'd; On his awn midden an awd c.o.c.k fights hard.

They say a Franchman's torn'd a different man, A braver, better soldier, ten to yan.

Bud let the Franch be torn'd to what they will, They'll finnd at Englishmen are English still.

O' their awn grund they'll nowther flinch nor flee, They'll owther conquer, or they'll bravely dee.

1. Beasts, cattle. 2 Enclosure. 3. Besides.

4. Stir. 5. Surely. 6. That.

7. Scythe. 8. Though. 9. Homestead. 10 Foot.

Elegy on the Death of a Frog (1815)

David Lewis

Ya summer day when I were mowin', When flooers of monny soorts were growin', Which fast befoor my scythe fell bowin', As I advance, A frog I cut widout my knowin'-- A sad mischance.

Poor luckless frog, why com thoo here?

Thoo sure were dest.i.tute o' fear; Some other way could thoo nut steer To shun the gra.s.s?

For noo that life, which all hod dear, Is gean, alas!

Hadst thoo been freeten'd by the soond With which the mowers strip the groond, Then fled away wi' nimble boond, Thoo'd kept thy state: But I, unknawin', gav a wound, Which browt thy fate.

Sin thoo com frae thy parent sp.a.w.n, Wi' painted cooat mair fine than lawn, And golden rings round baith ees drawn, All gay an' blithe, Thoo lowpt(1) the fields like onny fawn, But met the scythe.

Frae dikes where winter watters steead(2) Thoo com unto the dewy mead, Regardless of the cattle's treead, Wi' pantin' breeath, For to restore thy freezin' bleead, But met wi' deeath.