Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HEARE, by WILLIAM BARNES

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THE HEARE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: There be the greyhounds! Lo'k! An' there's the heare!
Last Line: On rabbits till his hounds do catch thik heare.
Subject(s): Animals; Hunting; Rabbits; Hunters; Hares

(1) THERE be the greyhounds! lo'k! an' there's the heare!
(2) What houn's, the squier's, Thomas? where, then, where?
(1) Why, out in Ash Hill, near the barn, behind
Thik tree. (3) The pollard? (1) Pollard! no! b'ye blind?
(2) There, I do zee em over-right thik cow.
(3) The red woone? (1) No, a mile beyand her now.
(3) Oh! there's the heare, a-meaken for the drong.
(2) My goodness! How the dogs do zweep along,
A-poken out their pweinted noses' tips.
(3) He can't allow hizzelf much time vor slips!
(1) They'll hab en, after all, I'll bet a crown.
(2) Done vor a crown. They woon't! He's gwain to groun'.
(3) He is! (1) He idden! (3) Ah! 't is well his tooes
Ha' got noo corns, inside o' hobnail shoes.
(1) He's geame a-runnen too. Why, he do mwore
Than earn his life. (3) His life wer his avore.
(1) There, now the dogs wull turn en. (2) No! He's right.
(1) He idden! (2) Ees he is! (3) He's out o' zight.
(1) Aye, aye. His mettle wull be well atried
Agwain down Verny Hill, o' t' other zide.
They'll have en there. (3) O no! a vew good hops
Wull teake en on to Knapton Lower Copse.
(2) An' that's a meesh that he've a-took avore.
(3) Ees, that's his hwome. (1) He'll never reach his door.
(2) He wull. (1) He woon't. (3) Now, hark, d'ye hear em now?
(2) O! here's a bwoy a-come athirt the brow
O'Knapton Hill. We'll ax en. (1) Here, my bwoy!
Canst tell us where's the heare? (4) He's got awoy.
(2) Ees, got awoy, in coo'se, I never zeed
A heare a-scoten on wi' half his speed.
(1) Why, there, the dogs be wold, an' half a-done.
They can't catch anything wi' lags to run.
(2) Vrom vu'st to last they had but little chance
O' catchen o' 'n. (3) They had a perty dance.
(1) No, catch en, no! I little thought they would;
He know'd his road too well to Knapton Wood.
(3) No! no! I wish the squier would let me feare
On rabbits till his hounds do catch thik heare.

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