Dick

No, I be'nt much a-feaer'd. If vo'k don't striveTo over-reach me while they be alive,I don't much think the dead wull ha' the willTo come back here to do me any ill.An' I've a-been about all night, d'ye know,Vrom candle-lighten till the cock did crow;But never met wi' nothen bad enoughTo be much wo'se than what I be myzuf;Though I, lik' others, have a-heaerd vo'k zayThe girt house is a-haunted, night an' day.

Aye; I do mind woone winter 'twer a-zaidThe farmer's vo'k could hardly sleep a-bed,They heaerd at night such scuffens an' such jumpens,Such ugly naises an' such rottlen thumpens.

Aye, I do mind I heaerd his son, young Sammy,Tell how the chairs did dance an' doors did slammy;He stood to it--though zome vo'k woulden heed en--He didden only hear the ghost, but zeed en;An', hang me! if I han't a'most a-shook,To hear en tell what ugly sheaepes it took.Did zometimes come vull six veet high, or higher,In white, he zaid, wi' eyes lik' coals o' vier;An' zometimes, wi' a feaece so peaele as milk,A smileless leaedy, all a-deck'd in silk.His heaeir, he zaid, did use to stand upright,So stiff's a bunch o' rushes, wi' his fright.

An' then you know that zome'hat is a-zeedDown there in leaene, an' over in the meaed,A-comen zometimes lik' a slinken hound,Or rollen lik' a vleece along the ground.An' woonce, when gramfer wi' his wold grey meaereWer riden down the leaene vrom Shroton feaeir,It roll'd so big's a pack ov wool acrossThe road just under en, an' leaem'd his hoss.

Aye; did ye ever hear--vo'k zaid 'twer true--O' what bevell Jack Hine zome years agoo?Woone vrosty night, d'ye know, at Chris'mas tide,Jack, an' another chap or two bezide,'D a-been out, zomewhere up at tother endO' parish, to a naighbour's house to spendA merry hour, an' mid a-took a cupOr two o' eaele a-keepen Chris'mas up;Zoo I do lot 'twer leaete avore the peaerty'D a-burnt their bron out; I do lot, avoreThey thought o' turnen out o' door'Twer mornen, vor their friendship then wer hearty.Well; clwose ageaen the vootpath that do leaedVrom higher parish over withy-meaed,There's still a hollow, you do know: they tried there,In former times, to meaeke a cattle-pit,But gie'd it up, because they coulden getThe water any time to bide there.Zoo when the merry fellows gotJust overright theaese lwonesome spot,Jack zeed a girt big house-dog wi' a collar,A-stannen down in thik there hollor.Lo'k there, he zaid, there's zome girt dog a-prowlen:I'll just goo down an' gi'e'n a goodish lickOr two wi' theaese here groun'-ash stick,An' zend the shaggy rascal hwome a-howlen.Zoo there he run, an' gi'ed en a good whackWi' his girt ashen stick a-thirt his back;An', all at woonce, his stick split right all downIn vower pieces; an' the pieces vledOut ov his hand all up above his head,An' pitch'd in vower corners o' the groun'.An' then he velt his han' get all so num',He coulden veel a vinger or a thum';An' after that his eaerm begun to zwell,An' in the night a-bed he voundThe skin o't peelen off all round.'Twer near a month avore he got it well.