Eclogue.
THE BEST MAN IN THE VIELD.
Sam and Bob.
SAM.
That’s slowish work, Bob. What’st a-been about?
Thy pookèn don’t goo on not over sprack.
Why I’ve a-pook’d my weäle, lo’k zee, clear out,
An’ here I be ageän a-turnèn back.
BOB.
I’ll work wi’ thee then, Sammy, any day,
At any work dost like to teäke me at,
Vor any money thou dost like to lay.
Now, Mister Sammy, what dost think o’ that?
My weäle is nearly twice so big as thine,
Or else, I warnt, I shouldden be behin’.
SAM.
Ah! hang thee. Bob! don’t tell sich whoppèn lies.
My weale’s the biggest, if do come to size.
’Tis jist the seäme whatever bist about;
Why, when dost goo a-teddèn grass, you sloth,
Another hand’s a-fwo’c’d to teäke thy zwath,
An’ ted a half way back to help thee out;
An’ then a-reäkèn rollers, bist so slack,
Dost keep the very bwoys an’ women back.
An’ if dost think that thou canst challenge I
At any thing,—then, Bob, we’ll teäke a pick a-piece,
An’ woonce theäse zummer, goo an’ try
To meäke a rick a-piece.
