William Barnes, that remarkable Dorset schoolmaster turned rector, with his buckled shoes and knee-breeches, and eccentric ideas on the English language, wrote a poem on milking time:
I come along where wide-horn’d cows,
’Ithin a nook, a-screen’d by boughs,
Did stan’ an’ flip the white-hoop’d païls
Wi’ heäiry tufts o’ swingèn taïls.
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
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