music; hey, hear how they play! It’s t’Fife an’ Drum Band fra Throttlepoke Raw, Wi’ as strong a big drummer as ivver yah saw, An’ both his drum ends must be solid as stone, Fer bi t’way ’at he thumps he macks it fair groan. The procession moves off in a double quick pace, An’ all seem delightful—a smile on ther face, As the music strikes up wi’ owd “Robin a Dair,” Toan hauf o’ t’wimmen scarce knaw what they ail; To see the bands marching it wod yah delight, So ably conducted by owd Jimmy Wright. p. 76The weivers led on by Miss Hob an’ Miss Hall, Each dress’d i’ ther jackets, new turban, an’ fall, An’ if you’d o’ seen ’em you’d o’ thowt they wor fine, Wi’ ther nice parasols an’ ther gert crinoline; But as they wor marchin’ foaks sed at Miss Hob, Wor t’nicest and smartest young woman i’ t’job. p. 76 T’next section ’at followed wor a section o’ rakes, Led on by owd blossom, an’ Driver o’ Jacques, Wi’ Ruddock an’ Rufus, an’ Snowball so breet; Along wi’ owd Nathan, Bill Rollin an’ Wreet; An’ Harry O’Bridget, Tom Twist, an’ his pals, An’ Benger, an’ Capper, an’ Jonas o Salls. The lads an’ the lasses come marchin’ behind, An’ rare an’ weel suited wor t’youngsters yo mind; For all wor nah waitin’ fer t’Fife an’ Drum Band, To strike up like thunner ther music so grand; How prahd an’ delighted yo might a seen some, When t’drummer wi’ vengeance wor thumpin’ his drum. An’ who cud hev thowt it?—but let ma go on;— There wor Jacky o’ Squires an’ Cowin’ Heead John, Wi’ Corney o’ Rushers, but not bi hissen, For there wor Joseph o’ Raygills, owd Jess an’ owd Ben. Ye sall seek fer a month, but between nah an’ then, I defy ye ta find sitch a pick’d lot o’ men. Tom Nicholl then marched at t’heead of his clan, An’ it’s said ’at he muster’d his men to a man; There wor Joaney o’ Bobs, an’ his mates full o’ glee, An’ that little dark fella ’at comes fra t’Gooise Ee. All a set o’ fine fellas in heighest respect, Weel up i’ moustaches an’ nicely shirt neckt. p. 77But among the procession at walk’d in his pride, Wor Joey o’ Willie’s ’at lives at t’Beck Side; An’ along wi’ Bill Earby wor marchin’ his friend, Wun Jemmy o’ Roses fra t’Branshaw Moor End. As we pass’d dahn t’tahn the foaks did declare ’At t’best lukin’ men wor Sam Butt an’ Black Hare. p. 77 But t’next at com on an’ made t’biggest crack, Wor
Prev.
Back
Top