The Dialect of the West of England; Particularly Somersetshire - James Jennings (book recommendations based on other books txt) đ
- Author: James Jennings
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Dippen-net. s. A small net somewhat semicircular, and attached to two round sticks for sides, and a long pole for a handle. It is used for the purpose of dipping salmon and some other fish, as the shad, out of water.
Gad. s. A long pole, having an iron point to it, so that it may be easily thrust into the ground. Two gads are used for each boats. Their uses are to keep the boat steady across the current in order that the net may be in a proper position.]
A handled too iz gads well His paddle and iz oor; [Footnote: Oar.] A war âlways bawld an fearlessâ A, when upon tha Goor. [Footnote: The Gore. Dangerous sands so called, at the mouth of the River Parret, in the Bristol Channel.]
Oâ heerins, sprats, an porpusesâ Oâ âll fish a cood tell; Who bit he amangst tha Fishermenâ A âlways bearâd tha bell.
Tommy Came ad hired oâ Plâyers, Bit niver zeed âem plâ; Thâ war actin at Bejwâter; There a went wiâ Sally Dâ.
When tha curtain first drâwâd up, than Saprizâd war Tommy Came; Aâd hâf a mine ta him awâ, Bit stappâd vor very shame.
Tha vust act bein auver Tha zecond jist begun, Tommy Came still wonderâd grately, Ta him it war naw fun.
Zaw âter lookin on zumtime, Ta understand did strive; There now, zed he, Iâll gee my woth [Footnote: Oath.] That thâ be all alive!
MARY RAMSEYâS CRUTCH.
I zeng oâ Mary Ramseyâs Crutch! âThic little theng!ââWhy âtisân much Itâs true, but still I like ta touch Tha cap oâ Mary Ramseyâs Crutch! She zed, wheniver she shood die, Er little crutch sheâd gee ta I. Did Mary love me? eese a bâleeve. She diedâa veo vor her did grieve,â An but a veoâvor Mary awld, Outlivâd er friends, or voun âem cawld. Thic crutch I hadâI ha it still, An port wiât wontânor niver will. Oâ her I lornâd tha cris-cross-lâin; I haup thatât wordân quite in vâin! âTwar her who teachâd me vust ta read Jitch little words as beef an bread; An I da thenk âtwar her that, âter, Lornâd I ta read tha single zâter. Poor Mary Ă´ten used ta tell Oâ das a past that pleasâd er well; An mangst tha rest war zum oâ jay When I lookâd up a little bway. She zed I war a good one too, An lornâd my book athout tha rue. [Footnote: This Lady, when her scholars neglected their duty, or behaved ill, rubbed their fingers with the leaves of rue!] Poor Maryâs gwon!âa longful time Zunz now!âer little scholardâs prime A-mâ-beâs past.âIt must be zaw;â Thereâs nothin stable here belaw! Oâ Maryââll left isâer crutch! An thaw a gift, an âtwordân much âTis true, still I da like ta touch Tha cap oâ Mary Ramseyâs Crutch! That I lovâd Mary, this ool tell. Iâll zâ na moorâzaw, fore well! [Footnote: Fare ye well.]
HANNAH VERRIOR.
Tha zâ Iâm mazâd,âmy Husbandâs dead, My chile, (hush! hush! Lord love er face!) Tha pit-hawl had at Milemas, when Thâ put me in theäze pooät-hawl place.
Thâ zâ Iâm mazâd.âI veelâI thenkâ I tâkâI ate, an oten drenk.â Tha thenk, a-mâ-be, zumtimes, peelâ An gee me stra vor bed an peel!
Thâ zâ Iâm mazâd.âHush! Babby, dear! Thâ shanât come to er!âniver fear! Thâ zâ thy Fatherâs dead!âNaw, naw! Aâll niver die while Iâm belaw.
Thâ zâ Iâm mazâd.âWhy dwont you speak? Fie James!âor else my hort ool break!â James is not dead! nor Babby!ânaw! Thââll niver die while Iâm belaw!
REMEMBRANCE.
An shall I drap tha Reedâan shall I, Athout one nawte about my SALLY? Althaw we Pawets âll be zingers, We like, wiâ enk, ta dye our vingers; Bit mooäst we like in vess ta pruv That we remimber those we love. Sim-like-it than, that I should iver Vorgit my SALLY.âNiver, niver! Vor, while Iâve wanderâd in tha Westâ At mornin tideâat evenin restâ On Quantockâs hillsâin Mendipâs valesâ On Parretâs banksâin zight oâ Walesâ In thic awld mansion whaur tha bâll Once vrightenâd Lady Drake an âll;â When wiâ tha Ladies oâ thic dell Whaur witches spird ther âticin spellâ [Footnote: COMBE SYDENHAM, the residence of my Friend, GEORGE NOTLEY, Esq. The history of the Magic Ball, as it has been called, is now pretty generally known, and therefore need not be here repeated.] Amangst tha rocks on Watchet shaur When did tha wine an wâters raurâ In Banwellâs caveâon Loxton hillâ At Clifton gââat Rickford rillâ In Compton oodâin Hartree coomâ At Crispinâs cot wiâ little room;â At UptonâLansdownâs lofty browâ At Bath, whaur pleasure flânts enow; At Trowbridge, whaur by Friendshipâs heed, I blawâd again my silent Reed, An there enjayâd, wiâ quiet, rest, Jitch recollections oâ tha West; Whauriver stappâd my voot along I thawt oâ HER.âHere ends my zong.
DOCTOR COX; A BLANSCUE.
(First printed in the Graphic Illustrator.)
The catastrophe described in the following sketch, occurred near Highbridge, in Somersetshire, about the year 1779.âMr. or Doctor Cox, as surgeons are usually called in the west, was the only medical resident at Huntspill, and in actual practice for many miles around that village. The conduct of Mr. Robert Evans, the friend and associate of Cox, can only be accounted for by one of those unfortunate infatuations to which the minds of some are sometimes liable. Had an immediate alarm been given when we children first discovered that Cox was missing, he might, probably, have been saved. The real cause of his death was, a too great abstraction of heat from the body; as the water was fresh and still, and of considerable depth, and, under the surface, much beneath the usual temperature of the human body. This fact ought to be a lesson to those who bathe in still and deep fresh water; and to warn them to continue only a short time in such a cold medium. [Footnote: Various efforts to restore the suspended animation of Cox, such as shaking him, rolling him on a cask, attempts to get out the water which it was then presumed had got into the stomach or the lungs, or both, in the drowning; strewing salt over the body, and many other equally ineffectual and improper methods to restore the circulation were, I believe, pursued. Instead of which, had the body been laid in a natural position, and the lost heat gradually administered, by the application of warm frictions, a warm bed, &c., how easily in all probability, would animation have been restored!]
The BRUE war bright, and deep and clear; [Footnote: The reader must not suppose that the river Brue, is generally a clear stream, or always rapid. I have elsewhere called it âlazy Brue.â It is sometimes, at and above the floodgates at Highbridge, when they are not closed by the tide, a rapid stream; but through the moors, generally, its course is slow. In the summertime, and at the period to which allusion is made, the floodgates were closed.] And Lammas dâ and harras near: The zun upon the waters drode Girt sheets of light as on a rode; From zultry heät the cattle hirnâd To shade or water as to firnd: Men, too, in yarly âternoon Doftâd quick ther cloaths and dashâd in zoon To thic deep river, whaur the trout, In all ther prankin, plâd about; And yels wiâ zilver skins war zid, While gudgeons droo the wâter slid, Wiâ carp sumtimes and wither fish Avoordon many a dainty dish. Whaur elvers too in spring time plâd, [Footnote: Young eels are called elvers in Somersetshire. Walton, in his Angler, says, âYoung eels, in the Severn, are called yelvers.â In what part of the country through which the Severn passes they are called yelvers we are not told in Waltonâs book; as eels are called, in Somersetshere, yels, analogy seems to require yelvers for their young; but I never heard them so called. The elvers used to be obtained from the salt-water side of the bridge.] And pailvuls mid oâ them be had. The wâter coldâthe zunshine bright, To zwiminers than what high delight! âTis long agwon whun youth and I Wishâd creepin Time would rise and vlyâ A, half a hundred years an moor Zunz I a trod theäze earthly vloor! I zed, the face oâ Brue war bright; Time smilâd too in thic zummer light. Wiâ Hope bezide en promising A wordle oâ fancies wild Ăśâ whing. I mine too than one lowering cloud That zimâd to wrop us like a shroud; The death het war oâ Doctor Coxâ To thenk oât now the storry shocks! Vor âll the country vur and near Shod than vorân many a horty tear. The Doctor like a duck could zwim; No fear oâ drownin daverâd him! The pectur now I zim I zee! I wish I could lietâs likeness gee! His Son, my brother John, myzel, Or Evans, mid the storry tell; But thâ be gwon and I, oâ âll Oâm left to zâ what did bevâll. Zo, nif zo be you like, why I To tell the storry now ool try.
Thic Evanshad a coward core And fearâd to venter vrom the shore; While to an vro, an vur an near, And now an tan did Cox appear In dalliance with the wâters bland, Or zwimmin wiâ a maĂŤster hand. We youngsters dree, the youngest I, To zee the zwimmers âll stood by Upon the green bonk oâ the Brue Jist whaur a stook let water droo: A quiet time of joyousness Zimâd vor a space thic dâ to bless! A dogâ too, faithful to his maĂŤster War there, and mangâd wiâ the disasterâ Vigo, ah well I mine his name! A Newvoun-lond and very tame! But Evans only war to blame: He âllès paddled near the shore Wiâ timid hon and coward core; While Doctor Cox divâd, zwimâd at ease Like fishes in the zummer seas; Or as the skaiters on the ice In winin circles wild and nice Yet in a moment he war gwon, The wonderment of ivry one: That is, we dree and Evans, âll That zeed what Blanscue did bevâll.â Athout one sign, or naise, or cry, Or shriek, or splash, or groan, or sigh! Could zitch a zwimmer ever die In wâter?âYet we gazâd in vain Upon thic bright and wâter plain: All smooth and calmâno ripple gave One token of the zwimmerâs grave! We hirâd en not, we zeed en not!â The glassy wâter zimâd a blot? While Evans, he of coward core, Still paddled as he did bevore! At length our fears our silence broke,â Young as we war, and children âll, We wishâd to goo an zum one câll; But Evans carelissly thus spokeâ âOh, Cox is up the river gone, Vor sartain ool be back anon;â He tâlkâd oâ cyder, zed heâd gâup To Stoleâs an drenk a horty cup!â [Footnote: Mr. Stole resided near Newbridge, about a mile from the spot where the accident occurred; he was somewhat famous for his cyder.] Conjecture anty as the wine! And zoon did he hetâs faleshood vine.
John Cox took up his fatherâs cloathsâ Poor fellow! he beginnâd to cry! Than, Evans vrom the wâter rose; âA hunderd vawkâll come bimeby,â A zed; whun, short way vrom the shore. We zeed, what zeed we not avore, The head of Doctor Cox
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