FREMAN. Read it, or we'll 'aye yu out o' this.
CLYST. Aw, don't 'ee shake my nerve, now!
[He begins reading with mock heroism, in his soft, high, burring voice. Thus, in his rustic accent, go the lines] God lighted the zun in 'eaven far. Lighted the virefly an' the star. My 'eart 'E lighted not! God lighted the vields fur lambs to play, Lighted the bright strames, 'an the may. My 'eart 'E lighted not! God lighted the mune, the Arab's way, He lights to-morrer, an' to-day. My 'eart 'E 'ath vorgot! [When he has finished, there is silence. Then TRUSTAFORD, scratching his head, speaks:]
TAUSTAFORD. 'Tes amazin' funny stuff.
FREMAN. [Looking over CLYST'S shoulder] Be danged! 'Tes the curate's 'andwritin'. 'Twas curate wi' the ponies, after that.
CLYST. Fancy, now! Aw, Will Freman, an't yu bright!
FREMAN. But 'e 'adn't no bird on 'is 'ead.
CLYST. Ya-as, 'e 'ad.
JARLAND. [In a dull, threatening voice] 'E 'ad my maid's bird, this arternune. 'Ead or no, and parson or no, I'll gie 'im one for that.
FREMAN. Ah! And 'e meddled wi' my 'orses.