Polly Be-en Upzides Wi’ Tom

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Ah! yesterday, d'ye know, I voun'
  Tom Dumpy's cwoat an' smock-frock, down
  Below the pollard out in groun';
  An' zoo I slyly stole
  An' took the smock-frock up, an' tack'd
  The sleeves an' collar up, an' pack'd
  Zome nice sharp stwones, all fresh a-crack'd
  'Ithin each pocket-hole.

  An' in the evenèn, when he shut
  Off work, an' come an' donn'd his cwoat,
  Their edges gi'ed en sich a cut,
  How we did stan' an' laugh!
  An' when the smock-frock I'd a-zow'd
  Kept back his head an' hands, he drow'd
  Hizzelf about, an' teäv'd, an' blow'd,
  Lik' any up-tied calf.

  Then in a veag away he flung
  His frock, an' after me he sprung,
  An' mutter'd out sich dreats, an' wrung
  His vist up sich a size!
  But I, a-runnèn, turn'd an' drow'd
  Some doust, a-pick'd up vrom the road,
  Back at en wi' the wind, that blow'd
  It right into his eyes.

  An' he did blink, an' vow he'd catch
  Me zomehow yet, an' be my match.
  But I wer nearly down to hatch
  Avore he got vur on;
  An' up in chammer, nearly dead
  Wi' runnèn, lik' a cat I vled,
  An' out o' window put my head
  To zee if he wer gone.

  An' there he wer, a-prowlèn roun'
  Upon the green; an' I look'd down
  An' told en that I hoped he voun'
  He mussen think to peck
  Upon a body zoo, nor whip
  The meäre to drow me off, nor tip
  Me out o' cart ageän, nor slip
  Cut hoss-heäir down my neck.

© William Barnes