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The Song of Solomon in the Dorset
Dialect.
From the Authorised English Version
BY THE REV. WILLIAM BARNES.
1859
Online digital version of the book; first the Barnes version, pp. 113-132 of 486:
THE SONG OF SONGS, IN 24 ENGLISH DIALECTS, 1862
The full book:
Chap. I.
The Zong o' Zongs, that is Solomon's.
2 Let en kiss me wi' the kisses ov his mouth : vor your love
is better than wine.
3 Vor the smell o' your sweet-smellen scents, shed scent is
your neame, an' therevore the maidens do love you.
4 O draw me on wi' thee, we'll run: the king brought me into
his cheammer : in you we'll be blissom an' glad, we'll meake mwore o' your love
than o' wine, the true-hearted shall love you.
5 I be zwa'thy, Jerusalem
6 Don't watch me, because I be zwa'thy, an' the zun have
a-burnt me so dark : the sons o' my mother wer all a-burnt wi' me ; they meade
me a keeper o' vineyards ; my own vineyard I never kept.
7 Tell where, O belov'd o' my soul, you do veed, an' do
meake your vlock rest at the noon : that I midden be a-hemm'd in by the vlocks
o' your fellors.
8 If you do know not o' yourzelf, O fe'airest o' women, goo
out by the tracks o' the vlock, a-veeden your kids by the tents o' the
shepherds.
9 To a ho'se in a chariot o' Pharaoh I've a-liken'd you, O
my belov'd.
10 Your cheaks be comely wi' beads, an' your neck wi' your
chams.
11 We'll meake vor ye chains all o' goold, wi' studs all o'
zilver.
12 While the king is a-zot on his couch, my spik- nard do
gi'e out its smell.
13 A bundle o' myrrh is my sweetheart to me; he shall lie
all the night in my breast. 14 My sweetheart to me is a cluster o' camphire in
the vineyards ov En-ge-di.
15 Behold, you be fe'air, my belov'd ; you be fe'air ; your
eyes be lik' culvers.
16 Behold, you be feair, my belov'd, ah ! sweet: an' leafy's
our bed. 17 The beams ov our house be o' cedar, our refters o' vir.
Chap. II.
I be the rwose o' Sharon
2 Lik' a lily wi' thorns, is my love among maidens.
3 Lik' an apple-tree in wi' the trees o' the wood, is my
love among sons. I long'd vor his sheade, an' zot down, an' his fruit wer vull
sweet to my teaste.
4 He brought me into the feast, an' his flag up above me wer
love.
5 Refresh me wi' ceakes, uphold me wi' apples : vor I be
a-pinen vor love.
6 His left hand wer under my head, an' his right a-cast
round me.
7 I do warn ye, Jerusalem
8 The vai'ce o' my true-love I behold, he's a-comen ;
a-leapen up on the mountains, a-skippen awver the hills.
9 My true-love is lik' a young roe or a hart : he's a-standen
behind our wall, a-looken vwo'th vrom the windors, a-showen out droo the
lattice.
10 My true-love he spoke, an' he call'd me, O rise up, my
love, my feair maid, come away.
11 Vor, lo, the winter is awver, the rain's a-gone by.
12 The flowers do show on the ground; the zong o' the birds
is a-come, an' the coo o' the culver 's a-he'ard in our land.
13 The fig-tree do show his green figs, an' the vines out in
blooth do smell sweet. O rise up, my true-love, feair-maid, come away.
14 O my love 's in the clefts o' the rocks, in the lewth o'
the cliffs. Let me look on your feace, let me hear 'tis your vaice ; vor sweet
is your vaice, an' comely your feace. 15 O catch us the foxes, the young oones,
a-spweilen the vines ; vor the vines ha' neesh grapes.
16 O my love is all mine, an' I be all his: he's a-veeden
among the lilies.
17 Till the day is a-broke, an' the sheades be a- vled, turn
back, O my love, an' be lik' a roe or young hart on the mountains o' Bether.
Chap. III.
By night on my bed I sought him I do love to my soul: I
sought en, but noowhere could vind en; I called en, but he never heard me
2 I'll rise then, an' goo round the town, in the streets, in
the squares, a-seeken the oone I do love to my soul : I sought en, but noowhere
could vind en.
3 The watchmen a-keepen the town then voun' me : an' I
cried, Did ye zee the belov'd o' my soul ?
4 I'd only a-left em a^-while, when I vound the belov'd o'
my soul : I held en, nor let en goo on, till I brought en back into the house
o' my mother, the che'ammer ov her that ha' bore me.
5 I do warn ye, Jerusalem
6 Who's a-comen on out o' the wilderness, up lik' a pillar
o' smoke, a-smellen o' myrrh an' o' frankincense, all the sweet scents o' the
marchant ?
7 Look at the bed that is Solomon's; round en be dreescore
o' warriors, the mighty ov Israel
8 They've all ov em swords, an' be all skill'd in war : each
man wi' his sword on his thigh, vor fear in the night.
9 King Solomon me'ade en a litter o' wood out o' Libanon.
10 He mea.de all his pillars o' zilver, the bottom o' goold,
the coveren o' purple, the middle a-peaved wi' the love o' the da'ters o' Zion
11 Goo vwo'th, O you da'ters o' Zion
Chap. IV.
You be feair, O my love ; you be fe'air ; you ha' doves'
eyes in under your locks : your heair's lik' a vlock o' the gwo'ats, that do
sheen vrom the mountain o' Gilead .
2 Your teeth be so white as a vlock o' shorn sheep, a-come
up vrom the washen : all o'm wi' twins, an' not oone ov em barren.
3 Your lips be so red as a bright scarlet string, an'
comely's your speech ; your cheaks vrom in under- your locks, do look lik' the
rind o' pomegranate.
4 Your neck's lik' a tower o' David a-built vor his weapons
; where-on be a-hangen a thousand o' bucklers, all shields o' the mighty.
5 Your two breastes be lik' a twin o' young roes, a-veeden
among the lilies.
6 Till the day is a-broke, an' the sheades be a-vled ; I'll
goo to the mountain o' myrrh, to the hill o' the frankincense.
7 You be all feair, my true-love ; spotless be you. 8 Come
hither, my bride, vrom Libanon, come down vrom Libanon, come ; an' look vrom
the top ov Amana, vrom the top o' Shenir an' Hermon ; vrom the dens o' the
lions, the hills o' the leopards.
9 You've a-smitten my heart, O my sister, my bride ; you've
a-smitten my heart wi' oone o' your eyes, wi' oone chain o' your neck.
10 How feair is your love, my sister, my bride ! how much
better your love is than wine ! an' the smell o' your breath than all spices !
11 Your lips be as droppens ov honey, my bride : honey an'
milk be under your tongue ; an' the smell o' your clo's is lik' the smell o'
Libanon.
12 A gearden a-lock'd is my sister, my bride; a gearden
a-lock'd, an' a spring a-seal'd up.
13 Your earbs be a gearden o' pomegranates, wi' sweet
fruits, camphire, an' spiknard. 14 Spiknard wi' saffron, sweet ceane, an'
cinnamon, myrrh an' aloes, wi' all the best spices.
15 A springhead in ge'ardens, a well o' spring water,
a-flowen vrom Libanon.
16 Awe'ake up, O north wind ; an' come on, O south ; and
blow on my gearden, that the smell mid flow out. Let my true-love come into his
gearden, an' eat his chai'ce fruit.
Chap. V.
I’m a-come to my gearden, my sister, my bride : I've
a-gather'd my myrrh wi' my spice ; I've eaten my bread wi' my honey; I've
a-drunk o' my wine wi' my milk ; eat, O my friends ; drink deep, my belov'd.
2 I do sleep, but my heart is aweake: 'tis the vai'ce o' my
true-love a-knocken. Open to me, O my sister, my true-love, my culver, my
spotless : vor my head is a-vill'd wi' the dew ; an' my locks wi' the drops o'
the night.
3 I've a-took off my frock; how can I don en agean? I've
a-wash'd my two veet ; how can I sweil em ?
4 Then my love took his hand off the hole o' the door, an'
my heart did yearn vor en.
5 I rose up to open the door to my love, an' my han's
dripp'd wi' myrrh; an' my vingers wi' sweet-smellen myrrh, on the knobs o' the
bolt.
6 I open'd the door to my love, but my love wer a-gone : my
very soul zunk when he spoke. I sought en, but noowhere could vind en ; I
called en, he gi'ed me noo answer. 7 The watchmen that went roun' the town
lighted on me : they het me, an' bruised me ; the guards o' the wall did strip
off my mantle.
8 I do pray o' ye da'ters o' Zion
9 O what can be your true-love mwore than another, you
feairest o' women? What can be your true-love mwore than another, that you do
so earnestly warn us ?
10 My true-love is feair, an' he's ruddy ; the fore most among
ten thousand.
11 His head is the finest o' goold; his locks be a-curl'd,
an' so black as the reaven.
12 His eyes be as doves by the rivers o' waters: a-wash'd
all in milk, an' fitly azet.
13 His cheaks lik' beds o' spices, lik' mounds o' flowers ;
his lips be lik' lilies a-drippen o' sweet-smellen myrrh.
14 His hands be goold rongs a-zet off wi' beryl : his
belly's bright ivory a-laid awver wi' sapphires.
15 His lags be as pillars o' marble, a-zet upon bot toms o'
goold ; his fe'ace is lik' Lebanon
16 His mouth is most sweet ; oh ! most lovely. This is my
true-love ; this is my friend, O da'ters o' Jerusalem
Chap. VI.
Where is thy true-love agone, O feairest o' women ? Where is
thy true-love a-turn'd, that we too mid look vor en wi' thee?
2 My love's a-gone down to his ge'arden, to the beds o' the
spices ; to veed in the ge'ardens, an' gather the lilies.
3 I be my true-love's, my true-love is mine ; he's a-veeden
among the lilies.
4 You be handsome, my true-love, as Tirza, comely 's Jerusalem
5 Turn off your eyes vrom me, they've awvercome me: your heȁir’s lik' a vlock o' the gwoats a-showen
vrom Gilead .
6 Your teeth lik' a vlock o' white sheep, a-come up vrom the
washen ; each wi' a twin, an' not oone o' em barren.
7 As the rind o' pomegranate, do show your cheaks in under
your locks,
8 There be dreescore o' queens, an' o' concubines vour, an'
maidens beyond all oone's reck'nen.
9 But oone is my culver, my pure oone ; her mother's oone
child, the darlen ov her that ha' bore her. The maidens did zee her an' bless
her ; the queens an' the concubines prais'd her.
10 Who is this that's a-looken vwo'th bright as the
daybreak, feair as the moon, clear as the zun, dreadvul's an army wi' flags ?
11 I went down to the ge'arden o' nuts, to zee the green
earbs o' the valley : to zee if the vine wer in blooth, the pomegranate in bud.
12 Avore I wer ever aweare, my soul had a-me'ade me lik' the
chariots ov Aminadab :
13 Return, come back, O Shulamite ; come back, come back,
that we mid behold thee. What can ye zee in the Shulamite? A band o' two
armies.
Chap. VII.
How comely your vootsteps wi' shoes, prince's da'ter ! the
jeints oJ your thighs be lik' jewels, the work o' the han's o' the skillfullest
workman.
2 Your neavel is lik' a roun' bowl not empty o' liquor ;
your belly a-roun' heap o' wheat a-bounded wi' lilies.
3 Your breastes two roes in a twin.
4 Your neck is an ivory tower, your eyes lik' the vishpools
o' Heshbon, by the geate o' Bath-rabbim : your nose lik' the tower o' Libanon,
a-looken towards Damascus
5 Your head is lik' Carmel
6 How feair an' how winnen be you, O my true- love, vor jays
!
7 Your tallness is straight as a palm-tree; your breastes
lik' bunches o' greapes.
8 An' I zaid, I'll goo up to the palm-tree, an' pull down
his uppermost boughs : an' your breastes shall be lik' a bunch o' the vine, an'
the smell o' your nose be lik' apples.
9 An' the roof o' your mouth lik' the chaicest o' wine vor
my love, a-meaken the lips o' vo'k sound asleep vor to speak.
10 I be my love's, an' his leanen's towards me.
11 Come, my belov'd, let's goo out to the vields ; let's
bide in the villages.
12 Let's goo up betimes to the vineyards; let's zee if the
vine is in blooth, an' if the neesh gre'ape is a-showen, an' if the pomegranate
do bud ; an' there I will gi'e you my loves.
13 The mandrake do gi'e out a smell ; at our ge'ates be all
kinds o' good things, new an' wold, that I've a-stor'd up all vor you, my
belov'd.
Chap. VIII.
O that you wer as my brother, a-zucken my own mother's
breast ! When I vound ye without I mid kiss ye, nor then be a-thought o' so
lightly.
2 I would lead ye, an' bring ye hwome into my own mother's
house, that would teach me ; I would give ye to drink o' spiced wine, o' the
juice my pomegranate do yield.
3 His left han' is under my head, an' his right a-cast roun'
me.
4 I do warn ye, O da'ters o' Jerusalem
5 Who's a-comen on up vrom the wilderness, a-le'anen upon
her belov'd? I awoke ye under the apple-tree; 'twer ther that your mother oonce
bore ye : there she that bore ye brought vwo'th.
6 O zet me's a seal on your heart, as a seal on your earms :
vor love is as mighty as death, an' jealousy hard as the greave ; the fle'ame
o' t's a fleamen o' vire, the vire o' the Lord.
7 Many waters can never quench love, nor floods ever drown
it. If a man would gi'e all o' the wealth ov' his house vor love, it would all
goo vor nothen.
8 We've a sister, but small, wi' noo tetties : what shall we
do vor our sister, the day we do vind her bespoke ?
9 If she's a wall, we'll build on her buildens o' zilver; if
she's a door, we'll deck her wi' panels o' cedar.
10 I be a wall, an' my breastes lik' towers; an' then I did
seem in his eyes as oone that vound kindnes.
11 Solomon had a vineyard in Baal-hamon ; he let out the
vineyard to keepers ; every man vor the fruit o't to bring in a thousand pieces
o' zilver.
12 My vineyard that's mine is avore me : O Solomon, you'll
teake a thousand, an' the keepers of the fruit teake two hundred.
13 You that do dwell in the geardens, your friends do gi'e
heed to your vai'ce ; let me hear it.
14 Meake heaste, my belov'd, and be lik' a roe or young hart
on the mountains o' spices.
I wonder if William Barnes ever thought about his beloved wife Julia (died 1852) when he read The Song of Solomon out loud. or silently, to himself. I am sure he did...
Note (Wikipedia): "Jewish tradition reads it as an allegory of the relationship between God andIsrael ,
Christianity as an allegory of Christ and his “bride”, the Church".
At the Door
Winslow Homer illustration of a poem by Barnes
Winslow Homer illustration of a poem by Barnes
Note (Wikipedia): "Jewish tradition reads it as an allegory of the relationship between God and
In the book, Barnes' version follows that in the East Devonshire dialect by George P. R. Pulman
Related (art works):
Song of Songs (Egon Tschirch, an expressionist picture cycle)
Related (art works):
Song of Songs (Egon Tschirch, an expressionist picture cycle)
Song of Songs II, Marc Chagall
Update 7th March, 2018:
I have just returned from the Dorset History Centre, where I inspected items about William Barnes' translations of The Song of Songs, including his hand-written note-book.
Of particular interest is a full-length type-script study by C.S. Rodd:
The Song of Songs
William Barnes
Translations into Dorset and National English
ed. C.S. Rodd
The document reference is D/DCM WB/28
I am amazed that this important study does not appear to have been published, as it most certainly ought to have been.
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