Sing; how ’a would sing!

   How ’a would raise the tune

When we rode in the waggon from harvesting

      By the light o’ the moon!

   Dance; how ’a would dance!

   If a fiddlestring did but sound

She would hold out her coats, give a slanting glance,

      And go round and round.

   Laugh; how ’a would laugh!

   Her peony lips would part

As if none such a place for a lover to quaff

      At the deeps of a heart.

   Julie, O girl of joy,

   Soon, soon that lover he came.

Ah, yes; and gave thee a baby-boy,

      But never his name . . .

   —Tolling for her, as you guess;

   And the baby too . . . ’Tis well.

You knew her in maidhood likewise?—Yes,

      That’s her burial bell.

   “I suppose,” with a laugh, she said,

   “I should blush that I’m not a wife;

But how can it matter, so soon to be dead,

      What one does in life!”

   When we sat making the mourning

   By her death-bed side, said she,

“Dears, how can you keep from your lovers, adorning

      In honour of me!”

   Bubbling and brightsome eyed!

   But now—O never again.

She chose her bearers before she died

      From her fancy-men.

Note.—It is, or was, a common custom in Wessex, and probably other country places, to prepare the mourning beside the death-bed, the dying person sometimes assisting, who also selects his or her bearers on such occasions.

“Coats” (line 7).—Old name for petticoats.