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Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep-dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
Here I do rove below the lark.
An’ I do bide all day among
The bleäten sheep, an’ pitch their vwold;
An’ when the evenèn sheädes be long.
Do zee em all a-penn’d an’ twold.
An’ I do zee the friskèn lam’s,
Wi’ swingèn taïls an’ woolly lags,
A-playèn roun’ their veedèn dams,
An’ pullèn o’ their milky bags.
An’ I bezide a hawthorn tree,
Do’ zit upon the zunny down.
While sheädes o’ zummer clouds do vlee
Wi’ silent flight along the groun’.
An’ there, among the many cries
O’ sheep an’ lambs, my dog do pass
A zultry hour, wi’ blinkèn eyes,
An’ nose a-stratch’d upon the grass;
But, in a twinklèn, at my word,
He’s all awake, an’ up, an’ gone
Out roun’ the sheep lik’ any bird,
To do what he’s a-zent upon.
An’ I do goo to washèn pool,
A-sousèn over head an’ ears,
The shaggy sheep, to cleän their wool
An’ meäke em ready vor the sheärs.
An’ when the shearèn time do come,
Then we do work vrom dawn till dark;
Where zome do shear the sheep, and zome
Do mark their zides wi’ meästers mark.
An’ when the shearèn’s all a-done,
Then we do eat, an’ drink, an’ zing,
In meäster’s kitchen till the tun
Wi’ merry sounds do sheäke an’ ring.
Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
Here I do rove below the lark.
Reading by T. L. Burton
An’ I do goo to washèn pool,
A-sousèn over head an’ ears,
The shaggy sheep, to cleän their wool
An’ meäke em ready vor the sheärs.
Sheep in the Shade
In summer time, I took my road
From stile to stile, from ground to ground,
The while the cloudless sunshine glowed
On down and mead, by sun-heat browned,
Where slowly round a wide-bent bow
The stream wound on, with water low,
In hopeful hours, that glided on,
With me in happiness now gone.
And there below the elm-tree shroud,
Where shaded air might cooler swim,
There lay a quickly-panting crowd
Of sheep, within the shadow's rim,
That glided slowly, on and on,
Till there they lay, with shadow gone,
And oh! that happy hours should glide
Away so soon, with time and tide.
The Sheepshearing Song, Mellstock Band
A song from Stinsford, Dorset (?) -
James Findlay - The Sheep Stealing Song
Ewan MacColl, The Sheep-Stealer
Sheep-Shearing Song, Susan Ward
A Somerset dialect poem by John Mackie, Dialect Poems and a Play, The Somerset Folk Series, no.23, 1925:
