I.
Eh? good daäy! good daäy! thaw it beänt not mooch of a daäy,
Nasty, casselty (1) weather! an mea Haäfe down wi my haäy! (2)
II.
How be the farm gittin on? noäways. Gittin on ideeäd!
Why, tonups was Haäfe on em fingers an toas, (3) an the mare brokken-kneeäd,
An pigs didnt sell at fall, (4) an wa lost wer Haldeny cow,
An it beäts ma to knaw wot she died on, but wools looking oop ony how.
III.
An soä theyve maäde tha a parson, an thoull git along, niver fear,
Fur I beän chuch-warden mysen i the parish fur fifteen year.
Wellsin ther beä chuch-wardens, ther mun be parsons an all,
An if töne stick alongside tuther (5) the chuch weänt happen a fall.
IV.
Fur I wur a Baptis wonst, an ageän the toithe an the raäte,
Till I fun (6) that it warnt not the gaäinist (7) waäy to the narra Gaäte.
An I cant abeär em, I cant, fur a lot on em coomd ta-year (8)
I wur down wi the rheumatis thento my pond to wesh thessens theere
Sa I sticks like the ivin (9) as long as I lives to the owd chuch now,
Fur they weshd their sins i my pond, an I doubts they poisond the cow.
V.
Ay, an ya seed the Bishop. They says at he coomd fra nowt
Burn i traäde. Sa I warrants e niver said haäfe wot e thowt,
But e creeäpt an e crawld along, till e feeäld e could howd is oän,
Then e married a greät Yerls darter, an sits o the Bishops throan.
VI.
Now Ill gie the a bit o my mind an tha weant be taakin offence,
Fur thou be a big scholard now wi a hoonderd haäcre o sense
But sich an obstropulous (10) ladnaay, naayfur I minds tha sa well,
Thad niver not hopple (11) thy tongue, an the tongues sit afire o Hell,
As I says to my missis to-daäy, when she hurld a plaäte at the cat
An anoother ageän my noäse. Ya was niver sa bad as that.
VII.
But I minds when i Howlaby beck won daäy ya was ticklin o trout,
An keeäper e seed ya an roond, an e beald (12) to ya Lad coom hout
An ya stood oop naäkt i the beck, an ya telld im to knaw his awn plaäce
An ye calld im a clown, ya did, an ya thrawd the fish i is faäce,
An e tornd (13) as red as a stag-tuckeys (14) wattles, but theer an then
I coämbd im down, fur I promised yad niver not do it ageän.
VIII.
An I cotchd tha wonst i my garden, when thou was a height-year-howd, (15)
An I fun thy pockets as full o my pippins as iver theyd owd, (16)
An thou was as peärky (17) as owt, an tha maäde me as mad as mad,
But I says to the keeäp em, an welcome fur thou was the Parsons lad.
IX.
An Parson e ears on it all, an then taäkes kindly to me,
An then I wur chose Chuch-warden an coomd to the top o the tree,
Fur Quolotys hall my friends, an they maäkes ma a help to the poor,
When I gits the plaäte fuller o Soondays nor ony chuch-warden afoor,
Fur if iver thy feythered riled me I kep mysen meeäk as a lamb,
An saw by the Graäce o the Lord, Mr. Harry, I ham wot I ham.
X.
But Parson e will speäk out, saw, now e be sixty-seven,
Hell niver swap Owlby an Scratby fur owt but the Kingdom o Heaven:
An thouII be is Curate ere, but, if iver tha meäns to git igher,
The mun tackle the sins o the Wold, (18) an not the faults o the Squire.
An I reckons thall light of a livin some-wheers i the Wowd (19) or the Fen,
If tha cottons down to thy betters, an keeäps thysen to thysen.
But niver not speäk plaäin out, if tha wants to git forrards a bit,
But creeäp along the hedge-bottoms, an thoull be a Bishop yit.
XI.
Naäy, but tha mun speäk hout to the Baptises here i the town,
Fur moäst on em talks ageän tithe, an Id like the to preäch em down,
Fur theyve bin a-preächin mea down, they heve, an I haätes em now,
Fur they leäved their nasty sins i my pond, an it poisond the cow.
The Church-Warden And The Curate
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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