The incident on which this story is founded, occurred in the
early part of the last century; hence the allusion to making a
_will_ before making a journey to the metropolis.
Mr. Guywar a gennelman
O' Huntspill, well knawn
As a grazier, a hirch one,
Wi' lons o' hiz awn.
A ôten went ta Lunnun
Hiz cattle vor ta zill;
All tha horses that a rawd
Niver minded hadge or hill.
A war afeard o' naw one;
A niver made hiz will,
Like wither vawk, avaur a went
His cattle vor ta zill.
One time a'd bin ta Lunnun
An zawld iz cattle well;
A brought awâ a power o' gawld,
As I've a hired tell.
As late at night a rawd along
All droo a unket ood,
A ooman rawze vrom off tha groun
An right avaur en stood:
She look'd za pitis Mr. Guy
At once hiz hoss's pace
Stapt short, a wonderin how, at night,
She com'd in jitch a place.
A little trunk war in her hon;
She zim'd vur gwon wi' chile.
She ax'd en nif a'd take her up
And cor her a veo mile.
Mr. Guy, a man o' veelin
For a ooman in distress,
Than took er up behind en:
A cood'n do na less.
A corr'd er trunk avaur en,
An by hiz belt o' leather
A bid er hawld vast; on thâ rawd,
Athout much tâk, together.
Not vur thâ went avaur she gid
A whissle loud an long;
Which Mr. Guy, thawt very strange;
Er voice too zim'd za strong!
She'd lost er dog, she zed; an than
Another whissle blaw'd,
That stortled Mr. Guy;--a stapt
Hiz hoss upon tha rawd.
Goo on, zed she; bit Mr. Guy
Zum rig beginn'd ta fear:
Vor voices rawze upon tha wine,
An zim'd a comin near.
Again thâ rawd along; again
She whissled. Mr. Guy
Whipt out hiz knife an cut tha belt,
Then push'd er off!--Vor why?
Tha ooman he took up behine,
Begummers, war a _man!_
Tha rubbers zaw ad lâd ther plots
Our grazier to trepan.
I shall not stap ta tell what zed
Tha man in ooman's clawze;
Bit he, and all o'm jist behine,
War what you mid suppawze.
Thâ cust, thâ swaur, thâ dreaten'd too,
An ater Mr. Guy
Thâ gallop'd all; 'twar niver-tha-near:
Hiz hoss along did vly.
Auver downs, droo dales, awâ a went,
'Twar dâ-light now amawst,
Till at an inn a stapt, at last,
Ta thenk what he'd a lost.
A lost?--why, nothin--but hiz belt!--
A zummet moor ad gain'd:
Thic little trunk a corr'd awâ--
It gawld g'lore contain'd!
Nif Mr. Guy war hirch avaur,
A now war hircher still:
Tha plunder o' tha highwâmen
Hiz coffers went ta vill.
In sâfety Mr. Guy rawd whim;
A ôten tawld tha storry.
Ta meet wi' jitch a rig myzel
I shood'n, soce, be zorry.