第50章

Thinks Abey, t' oud codger 'll nivver smoak t' trick, I'll swop wi' him my poor deead horse for his wick, An' if Tommy I nobbut can happen ta trap, 'Twill be a fine feather i' Aberram cap!

Soa to Tommy he goas, an' the question he pops:

'Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops?

What wilt gi' me ta boot? for mine's t'better horse still!'

'Nout,' says Tommy, 'I'll swop ivven hands, an' ye will.'

Abey preaached a lang time about summat ta boot, Insistin' that his war the liveliest brute;But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, Till Abey shook hands, and sed, 'Well, Tommy, done!

'O! Tommy,' sed Abey, 'I'ze sorry for thee, I thowt thou'd a hadden mair white i' thy ee;Good luck's wi' thy bargin, for my horse is deead.'

'Hey!' says Tommy, 'my lad, soa is min, an it's fleead?'

Soa Tommy got t' better of t' bargin, a vast, An' cam off wi' a Yorkshireman's triumph at last;For thof 'twixt deead horses there's not mitch to choose, Yet Tommy war richer by t' hide an' fower shooes.

Ballad: THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN.

[THIS popular favourite is a mere abridgment and alteration of a poem preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, called THE KING ANDNORTHERN MAN, SHEWING HOW A POOR NORTHUMBERLAND MAN (TENANT TO THEKING) BEING WRONGED BY A LAWYER (HIS NEIGHBOUR) WENT TO THE KINGHIMSELF TO MAKE KNOWN HIS GRIEVANCE. TO THE TUNE OF SLUT. Printed by and for Alex. Melbourne, at the Stationer's Arms in Green Arbour Court, in the Little Old Baily. The Percy Society printed THE KINGAND NORTHERN MAN from an edition published in 1640. There is also a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection, which is one of the imprints of W. Onley. The edition of 1640 has the initials of Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier observes, 'There is little doubt that the story is much older than 1640.' See preface to Percy Society's Edition.]

THERE was an old chap in the west country, A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found, 'Twas all about felling of five oak trees, And building a house upon his own ground.

Right too looral, looral, looral - right too looral la!

Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go, To tell the king a part of his woe, Likewise to tell him a part of his grief, In hopes the king would give him relief.

Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come, He found the king to Windsor had gone;But if he'd known he'd not been at home, He danged his buttons if ever he'd come.

Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump, The gates were barred, and all secure, But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump, There's room within for I to be sure.

But when he got there, how he did stare, To see the yeomen strutting about;He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair, In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout:

'Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King;

Is that the King that I see there?

I seed an old chap at Bartlemy fair Look more like a king than that chap there.

'Well, Mr. King, pray how d'ye do?

I gotten for you a bit of a job, Which if you'll be so kind as to do, I gotten a summat for you in my fob.'

The king he took the lease in hand, To sign it, too, he was likewise willing;And the old chap to make a little amends, He lugg'd out his bag, and gave him a shilling.

The king, to carry on the joke, Ordered ten pounds to be paid down;The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke, And stared again, and he scratched his crown.

The farmer he stared to see so much money, And to take it up he was likewise willing;But if he'd a known King had got so much money, He danged his wig if he'd gien him that shilling!

Ballad: JONE O' GREENFIELD'S RAMBLE.

[THE county of Lancaster has always been famed for its admirable PATOIS songs; but they are in general the productions of modern authors, and consequently, however popular they may be, are not within the scope of the present work. In the following humorous production, however, we have a composition of the last century. It is the oldest and most popular Lancashire song we have been able to procure; and, unlike most pieces of its class, it is entirely free from grossness and vulgarity.]

SAYS Jone to his wife, on a hot summer's day, 'I'm resolved i' Grinfilt no lunger to stay;For I'll go to Owdham os fast os I can, So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan;A soger I'll be, un brave Owdham I'll see, Un I'll ha'e a battle wi' th' French.'

'Dear Jone,' then said Nan, un hoo bitterly cried, Wilt be one o' th' foote, or tha meons to ride?'

'Odsounds! wench, I'll ride oather ass or a mule, Ere I'll kewer i' Grinfilt os black as te dule, Booath clemmink un starvink, un never a fardink, Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad.

'Aye, Jone, sin' wi' coom i' Grinfilt for t' dwell, We'n had mony a bare meal, I con vara weel tell.'

'Bare meal! ecod! aye, that I vara weel know, There's bin two days this wick ot we'n had nowt at o:

I'm vara near sided, afore I'll abide it, I'll feight oather Spanish or French.'

Then says my Aunt Marget, 'Ah! Jone, thee'rt so hot, I'd ne'er go to Owdham, boh i' Englond I'd stop.'

'It matters nowt, Madge, for to Owdham I'll go, I'll naw clam to deeoth, boh sumbry shalt know:

Furst Frenchman I find, I'll tell him meh mind, Un if he'll naw feight, he shall run.'

Then down th' broo I coom, for we livent at top, I thowt I'd reach Owdharn ere ever I'd stop;Ecod! heaw they stared when I getten to th' Mumps, Meh owd hat i' my hond, un meh clogs full o'stumps;Boh I soon towd um, I'r gooink to Owdham, Un I'd ha'e battle wi' th' French.

I kept eendway thro' th' lone, un to Owdham I went, I ask'd a recruit if te'd made up their keawnt?

'No, no, honest lad' (for he tawked like a king), 'Go wi' meh thro' the street, un thee I will bring Where, if theaw'rt willink, theaw may ha'e a shillink.'

Ecod! I thowt this wur rare news.

He browt me to th' pleck where te measurn their height, Un if they bin height, there's nowt said about weight;I retched me, un stretched me, un never did flinch, Says th' mon, 'I believe theaw 'rt meh lad to an inch.'

I thowt this'll do, I'st ha'e guineas enow, Ecod! Owdham, brave Owdham for me.