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Updated: May 28, 2025
Th' sun were just showin' hissel o'er th' hill yonder when we started, and it were goin' daan o'er th' moors when we geet back; and thi faither, Jimmy, as he lifted me daan from th' cart and put me in th' porch yonder, kissed me and said: "Sunshine aatside, Jenny, and sunshine in."
The Chaucerian stanza rhymes a b a b b c c: "'Loke up, I seye, and telle me what she is Anon, that I may gone aboute thi nede: Know iche hire ought? for my love telle me this; Thanne wolde I hopen the rather for to spede. Tho gan the veyne of Troilus to blede, For he was hit, and wex alle rede for schame; 'Aha! quod Pandare, 'here bygynneth game."
I'd as soon pool a warp ony day as play a harp; but when th' Almeety skifts me fro' th' Brig Factory to heaven, mebbe I'll shap as weel at a bit o' music as ony on yo'. 'Wilto play thi music o'er sich as Amanda, thinksto? asked old Malachi. 'Thee mind thi business, Malachi. When th' Almeety maks me an angel, I'll do as th' angels do. But noan afore, noather for yo', nor Amanda Stott, nor Mr.
Penrose, th' feight were nobbud th' start like. It were sometime afore th' job were settled. Yo' see, I were a shy sort o' a chap and back'ard like at comin' for'ard. Thaa'rt fond o' her, and hoo's fond o' thee. If hoo's too praad to ax thee to be her husband hoo's noan too praad to say 'Yea' if tha'll nobbud ax her to be thi wife."
Now and again she sobbed in her slumber a sob that shook her soul but she slept, and sleep brought peace and oblivion. 'Sleep on, lass, sleep on, and God ease thi poor heart, said the old Granny, as she held the woman's hand in hers. 'Thaa's hed both thi travails naa; thaa's travailed i' birth, and thaa's travailed i' deeath, like mony a poor soul afore thee.
I'll go home with you, and work for you till I drop. O father! how could I leave you for him? I don't care one bit for him now I don't indeed. You'll forgive me won't you, father? Tho. Aw wull, aw do, mo Mattie. Coom whoam coom whoam. Mat. Will mother forgive me, father? Tho. Thi mother, chylt? Hoo's forgiven tho lung afoor ivver so lung agoo, chylt!
For a while the travelers were constantly losing their direction, for beyond the thistle fields they again found themselves upon the turning-lands, which swung them around one way and then another. But by keeping the City of Thi constantly behind them, the adventurers finally passed the treacherous turning-lands and came upon a stony country where no grass grew at all.
Our friends entered a large room at the front of the house, where the High Coco-Lorum asked them to be seated. "I hope your mission here is a peaceful one," he said, looking a little worried, "for the Thists are not very good fighters and object to being conquered." "Are your people called Thists?" asked Dorothy. "Yes. I thought you knew that. And we call our city Thi." "Oh!"
Our throats and stomachs are lined with solid gold, and we find the thistles nourishing and good to eat. As a matter of fact, there is nothing else in our country that is fit for food. All around the City of Thi grow countless thistles, and all we need do is to go and gather them.
While the Serapeum is a triumph of engineering, the neighbouring tomb of Thi is of rare beauty, for though its design is simple, the walls, which are of fine limestone, are covered by panels enclosing carvings in low relief, representing every kind of agricultural pursuits, as well as fishing and hunting scenes.
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