Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ECLOGUE: TWO FARMS IN WOONE, by WILLIAM BARNES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: You'll lose your measter soon, then, I do vind Last Line: Why then we sartainly must starve. Good night! Subject(s): Farm Life; Hunger; Labor & Laborers; Poverty; Agriculture; Farmers; Work; Workers | ||||||||
Robert You'll lose your meäster soon, then, I do vind; He's gwaïn to leäve his farm, as I do larn, At Miëlmas; an' I be sorry vor'n. What, is he then a little bit behind? Thomas O no! at Miëmas his time is up, An' thik there sly wold fellow, Farmer Tup, A-fearen that he'd get a bit o' bread, 'V a-been an' took his farm here over's head. Robert How come the Squire to treat your meäster zoo? Thomas Why, he an' meäster had a word or two. Robert Is Farmer Tup a-gwaïn to leäve his farm? He han't a-got noo young woones vor to zwarm. Poor over-reachen man! why to be sure He don't want all the farms in parish, do er? Thomas Why ees, all ever he can come across. Last year, you know, he got away the eäcre Or two o' ground a-rented by the beäker, An' what the butcher had to keep his hoss; An' vo'k do beä'nhan' now, that meäster's lot Will be a-drow'd along wi' what he got. Robert That's it. In theäse here pleäce there used to be Eight farms avorse they were a-drow'd together, An' eight farm-housen. Now how many be there? Why after this, you know, there'll be but dree. Thomas An' now they don't imploy so many men Upon the land as work'd upon it then, Vor all they midden crop it worse, nor stock it. The lan'lord, to be sure, is into pocket; Vor half the housen be-en down, 'tis clear, Don't cast so much to keep 'em up, a'near. But then the jobs o' work in wood an' morter Do come I 'spose, you know, a little shorter; An' many that wer little farmers then, Be now a-come all down to leäb'ren men; An' many leäb'ren men, wi' empty hands, Do live lik' drones upon the workers' lands. Robert Aye, if a young chap, woonce, had any wit To try an' screäpe together zome vew pound, To buy some cows an' teäke a bit o' ground, He mid become a farmer, bit by bit. But hang it! now the farms be all so big, An' bits o' groun' so skeä'ce, woone got no scope; If woone could seäve a poun', woone coudden hope To keep noo live stock but a little pig. Thomas Why here were vourteen men, zome years agoo, A-kept a-drashen half the winter drough; An' now, woone's drashels be'n't a bit o' good. They got machines to drashy wi', plague teäke em! An' he that vu'st vound out the way to meäke em, I'd drash his busy zides vor'n if I could! Avore they took away our work, they ought To meäke us up the bread our leäbour bought. Robert They hadden need meäke poor men's leäbour less, Vor work a'ready is uncommon skeä'ce. Thomas Ah! Robert! times be badish vor the poor; An' worse will come, I be afeärd, if Moore In theäse year's almanick do tell us right. Robert Why then we sartainly must starve. Good night! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER WORKING SIXTY HOURS AGAIN FOR WHAT REASON by HICOK. BOB DAY JOB AND NIGHT JOB by ANDREW HUDGINS BIXBY'S LANDING by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON BUILDING WITH STONE by ROBINSON JEFFERS LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS IN CALIFORNIA: MORNING, EVENING, LATE JANUARY by DENISE LEVERTOV A WINTER NIGHT by WILLIAM BARNES |
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