236 POEMS IN THE DORSET DIALECT. 



14. JOHN BRINE ANGRY, AND A-TALKEN LOUD OF 

 HIS NAIGHBOUR AVORE AN ECHO. 



Who is he I should like to be twold ! 



What is he I should like vor to know ! 

 Why the Brines' neame would stan' good vor goold 



When the Browns had noo neame a-known o'. 



Echo No, no. 



No, I bent a-sheam'd o' my pleace ; 



No, I bent a-sheam'd o' my neame ; 

 No, I can well hold up my feace 



Where he would hang his down vor sheame. 



Echo Vor sheame ! 



Since he can bestride a wold meare 



His limbs wi' his pride be a-strout, 

 Though his veet did tramp about beare, 



When I had a ho's to ride out. 



Echo I doubt. 



Aye, aye, he mid yet have a vail, 



If a half I do hear do hold good ; 

 I could very soon meake en look small, 



Wi' a teale I could tell, if I would. 



Echo I would. 



His pride would ha' come to an end 

 Long a-gone, as it must, bye an' bye, 



If I hadden a-stood vor his friend 

 As I did, an' the greater oaf I. 



Echo O fie ! 



I mid be a little vore-right ; 



But I never do do on the sly 

 Little doens not fit vor the light ; 



You do never catch me in a lie. 



Echo A lie. 



