[I might at some future
period, if thought advisable, go into a comparison between the
sound of all the letters of the alphabet pronounced in
Somersetshire, and in our polished dialect, but I doubt if the
subject is entitled to this degree of criticism]. The reader will
bear in mind that these poems are composed in the dialect of
Somerset, north east of the Parret, which is by far the most
general.
In the Guardian, published about a century ago, is a paper No. 40,
concerning pastoral poetry, supposed to have been written by
_Pope_, to extol his own pastorals and degrade those of
Ambrose Phillips. In this essay there is a quotation from a
pretended _Somersetshire_ poem. But it is evident Pope knew
little or nothing about the Somersetshire dialect. Here are a few
lines from "this old West country bard of ours," as Pope calls
him:
"_Cicely._ Ah Rager, Rager, cher was zore avraid,
When in yond vield you kiss'd the parson's maid:
Is this the love that once to me you zed,
When from tha wake thou broughtst me gingerbread?"
Now first, this is a strange admixture of dialects, but neither
east, west, north, nor south.
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