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57

JOHNNY GREEN'S WEDDING AND DESCRIPTION OF MANCHESTER COLLEGE.

By Mr Alexander Wilson.
Neaw, lads, wheer are yo beawn so fast?
Yo happun ha no yerd whot 's past:
Aw gettun wed sin aw'r here last,
Just three week sin, come Sunday.
Aw ax'd owd folk, an aw wur reet,
So Nan an me agreed tat neight,
'Ot if we could mak booth eends meet,
We 'd wed o' Easter Monday.
That morn, as prim as pewter quarts,
Aw th' wenches coom an' browt t' sweethearts;
Aw fund we 're loike to ha'e three carts—
'Twur thrunk as Eccles wakes, mon:
We donn'd eawr tits i' ribbins too—
One red, one green, and t'one wur blue;
So hey! lads, hey! away we flew,
Loike a race for the Leger stakes, mon.
Right merrily we drove, full bat,
An' eh! heaw Duke an' Dobbin swat;
Owd Grizzle wur so lawm an' fat,
Fro soide to soide hoo jow'd um:
Deawn Withy Grove at last we coom,
An' stopt at Seven Stars, by gum,
An' drunk as mich warm ale an' rum,
As 'd dreawn o' th' folk i' Owdam.
58

When th' shot wur paid, an' drink wur done,
Up Fennel Street, to th' church, for fun;
We donced loike morris-doncers dun,
To th' best of aw mea knowledge;
So th' job wur done, i' hoave a crack;
Boh eh! whot fun to get th' first smack,
“So neaw, mea lads, 'fore we gun back,”
Says aw, “we 'n look at th' College.”
We seed a clock-case, first, good laws!
Where Deoth stonds up wi' great lung claws;
His legs, an' wings, an' lantern jaws,
They really lookt quite feorink.
There 's snakes an' watch-bills, just loik poikes,
'Ot Hunt an aw th' reformink toikes,
An' thee an' me, an' Sam o' Moiks,
Once took a blanketeerink.
Eh! lorjus days, booath far an' woide,
Theer 's yards o' books at every stroide,
Fro top to bothum, eend, an' soide,
Sich plecks there 's very few so:
Aw axt him if they wurn for t' sell;
For Nan loikes readink vastly well;
Boh th' measter wur eawt, so he could naw tell,
Or aw 'd bowt hur Robison Crusoe.
Theer 's a trumpet speyks an' maks a din,
An' a shute o' clooas o' made o' tin,
For folk to goo a feightink in,
Just loike thoose chaps o' Bonney's:
59

An' theer 's a table carved so queer,
Wi' os mony planks os days i' th' year,
An crincum-crancums here an' theer,
Loike th' clooas-press at mea gronny's.
Theer 's Oliver Crummill's bums and balls,
An' Frenchman's guns they 'd taen i' squalls,
An' swords, os lunk os me, on th' walls,
An' bows and arrows too, mon:
Aw didna moind his fearfo words,
Nor skeletons o' men an' birds;
Boh aw fair hate seet o' greyt lunk swords,
Sin th' feight at Peterloo, mon.
We seed a wooden cock loikewise;
Boh dang it, mon, these college boys,
They tell'n a pack o' starink loies,
Os sure os teaw'r a sinner;
“That cock, when he smells roast beef, 'll crow,”
Says he: “Boh,” aw said, “teaw lies, aw know,
An, aw con prove it plainly so,
Aw 've a peawnd i' mea hat for me dinner.”
Boh th' hairy mon had miss'd mea thowt,
An' th' clog fair crackt by thunner bowt,
An' th' woman noather lawmt nor mowt,
Theaw ne'er seed loike sin t'ur born, mon;
Theer 's crocodiles, an' things, indeed,
Aw colours, mak, shap, size, an' breed;
An' if aw moot tell t'one hoave aw seed,
We moot sit an' smook till morn, mon.
60

Then deawn Lung Millgate we did steer,
To owd Moike Wilson's goods-shop theer,
To bey eawr Nan a rockink cheer,
An' pots, an' spoons, an' ladles:
Nan bowt a glass for lookink in,
A tin Dutch oon for cookink in,
Aw bowt a cheer for smookink in,
An' Nan axt proice o' th' cradles.
Then th' fiddler struck up th' “Honey-moon,”
And off we seet for Owdam soon;
We made owd Grizzle trot to th' tune,
Every yard o' th' way, mon.
At neight, oytch lad an' bonny lass,
Laws! heaw they donced an' drunk their glass;
So tyrt wur Nan an' I, by th' mass,
'Ot wea leigh till twelve next day, mon.
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