Classic Poem

ROBERT

Well Richa'd, is it true, what I do hear,
That you do goo to Dieman's Land to-year?

RICHARD

Yes. I shall never eat another pound
O' zalt in England where I wer a-born,
Nor mow another lug ov English ground,
Nor reap another ridge o' Do'set corn.
Yes, we mus' get our knob o' traps by Zunday
Abword the ship that is to car us;
Vor, if the weather should be rightish vor us,
We have to put to sea o' Monday.

ROBERT

An' how d'ye veel, now, Richa'd, in your mind,
To leäve your be'thpleäce an' your friends behind?

RICHARD

Why, rather queer, I do, I can't deny.
As I do come to be a-peärted
Vrom pleäce an' feäce vor ever, I could cry,
If I would show myself so childish-hearted.
Here be the trees that my young lim's did clim' in;
Here is the brook that I did dip an' zwim in;
Here be the groun's where I've a-work'd an' plaÿè'd;
Here is the house that we wer all a-bred in;
Here is the little church where we've a-praÿè'd,
An' churchyard that our kinsvo'k be a-laid in.
An' I myzelf, d'ye know, should like to lie
Among em too, when I do come to die.
But there, I mussen harbour idle wishes,
Vor I shall be a-toss'd, i'-may-be, wi' the vishes.

ROBERT

'Tis hard a man can't eärn a lwoaf to veed en
Upon the pleäce where life wer vust a-gi'ed en;
An' hard that when he'd work there's noo work vor'n,
Or that his work woon't bring enough o' money
To buy a crowst, in pleäcen vull o' corn
An' where the land do flow wi' milk an' honey.

RICHARD

Why, yes, 'tis rather hardish, woone can't doubt it,
Though 'tis but little good to talk about it.
There's noo work here at hwome that I can come at,
An' zoo I'll goo abroad to try vor zome'hat.

ROBERT

Well, I do 'spose you'll have a longish toss
Upon the sea — 'tis pretty wide across.

RICHARD

Yes, vo'k do zay dree months 't'ull be, or mwore,
Vore-ever we shall stratch our lags ashore.

ROBERT

Mid Heaven guide ye where you be a-bound,
An' I do hope you'll get there seäfe an' sound.

RICHARD

If I'm a-took, why, after I be dead
I shan't be zoo a-puzzled to get bread.
They that do hold the worold's goods, noo doubt o't,
Do like it an' ben't willen to goo out o't.
There's little here vor me but want an' sorrow,
Zoo I don't mind o' leäven o't tomorrow.
If 'twerden vor my childern an' my wife,
I wouden gi'e but little vor my life.

ROBERT

Ah! we must bide till God do please to teäke us.
If we do do His will He woon't vorzeäke us.
Good bye; an' if I shoulden zee ye ageän,
God bless you, Richa'd, evermwore.