’Ood, would; nut, not; ax’d, asked; naa, no; nut
    quinny, not quite, not at all.

EASTERN (Group 3):  NORFOLK.

The following extract from “A Norfolk Dialogue” is from a work entitled Erratics by a Sailor, printed anonymously at London in 1800, and written by the Rev. Joshua Larwood, rector of Swanton Morley, near East Dereham.  Most of the words are quite familiar to me, as I was curate of East Dereham in 1861-2, and heard the dialect daily.  The whole dialogue was reprinted in Nine Specimens of English Dialects; E.D.S., 1895.

The Dialogue was accompanied by “a translation,” as here reprinted.  It renders a glossary needless.

  Original Vulgar Norfolk.
  Narbor Rabbin and Narbor Tibby.

      Translation.
      Neighbour Robin and Neighbour Stephen.

  R. Tibby, d’ye know how the knacker’s mawther Nutty du?

      R. Stephen, do you know how the collar-maker’s daughter
      Ursula is?

  T. Why, i’ facks, Rabbin, she’s nation cothy; by Goms, she is so
  snasty that I think she is will-led.

      S. Why, in fact, Robin, she is extremely sick; by (obsolete),
      she is so snarlish, that I think she’s out of her mind.

  R. She’s a fate mawther, but ollas in dibles wi’ the knacker and
  thackster; she is ollas a-ating o’ thapes and dodmans.  The fogger sa,
  she ha the black sap; but the grosher sa, she have an ill dent.

R. She’s a clever girl, but always in troubles with the collar-maker and thatcher; she is always eating gooseberries and snails.  The man at the chandler’s shop says she has a consumption:  but the grocer says she’s out of her senses.

T. Why, ah! tother da she fared stounded:  she pluck’d the pur from the back-stock, and copped it agin the balk of the douw-pollar, and barnt it; and then she hulled [it] at the thackster, and hart his weeson, and huckle-bone.  There was northing but cadders in the douw-pollar, and no douws:  and so, arter she had barnt the balk, and the door-stall, and the plancher, she run into the par-yard, thru the pytle, and then swounded behinn’d a sight o’ gotches o’ beergood.

S. Why, aye! the other day she appeared struck mad:  she snatched the poker from the back of the stove, and flung it against the beam of the pigeon-house, and burnt it; and then she throwed it at the thatcher, and hurt his throat and hip-bone.  There were no pigeons in the pigeon-house, and nothing but jack-daws; and so, after she had burned the beam, and the door-frame and the floor, she ran into the cowyard, through the small field, and fainted behind several pitchers of yeast.

R. Ah, the shummaker told me o’ that rum rig; and his nevvey sa, that the beer-good